Chapter Text
Elain gathered her skirts, running through her garden with excitement. Tarquin is back. Of all the High Lords, Rhysand included, Lord Tarquin was her favorite. He was soft spoken and kind, at least around her. He asked after her garden, her health…he seemed interested in her beyond just her pretty face. She supposed, for a man who looked like Tarquin, her face was merely a sea of beautiful faces he surrounded himself with. It was just a little crush and yet his visits, which seemed to happen more frequently, were the only thing she truly looked forward to all summer.
Autumn was approaching and she expected Tarquin to retreat and Elain was hoping he would take her with him. Summer held the promise of everything she’d longed for since before she’d been turned. Sunlight, warmth, a view of the ocean and perhaps friendship and belonging with people who didn’t think she was spun of glass.
“Whoa!”
A masculine set of hands caught Elain when she rounded the corner from the garden to the yard, preventing her from barreling into them both and sending them careening to the ground. Elain didn’t need to look at who was touching her—her body knew those hands, that voice, that smell. She jerked back, dropping into a light bow.
“Lord Lucien,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on the swaying grass beneath her. His boots crushed the blades under his feet for all he noticed. Did he need such heavy shoes all the time?
“Lucien is fine,” he grumbled. “Be careful you don’t hurt yourself.”
There was no love lost between them, and with those parting words, Elain nodded, slipping past him to get to the house. She didn’t bother to look at Lucien, well aware he wouldn’t be watching her. Five years they’d been mated and she knew less about him now than she had when they’d first started. She didn’t understand the bond between them but resented it all the same. She felt as if she had an arranged marriage to a man she’d never met and did not want.
It seemed to her that Lucien felt the same. He came by but never to see her save for Solstice. He offered a polite gift that she politely thanked him for and nothing else. He’d never tried to converse with her, didn’t seek her out otherwise and Elain was satisfied with that arrangement.
Tarquin was in the drawing room, lovely as always in his loose, turquoise pants embroidered in gold. He wore a matching shirt that was tight against his chest, his long, dark hair thick around his handsome, sun kissed face. She flushed, hating how embarrassed she looked.
“High Lord,” she murmured. Tarquins blue eyes lit up.
“Elain Archeron. Just the female I hoped to see.”
He stood, sweeping into a gentlemanly bow that made her heart race. It could have been this way, she thought with a pang of disappointment. Had she not been saddled with another man, she could have been free to delight beneath Tarquin’s gaze. Even with the affection he radiated, Elain knew it would never be more. Any man that had tried to get close to her broke away when they realized that Lucien would always be waiting around the corner, that everyone expected she would eventually give in.
“Oh? You came to see me?”
“I intend to ask your High Lord as well but I hoped you might join me in my court?”
Her heart pounded painfully in her throat? “Whatever for?”
“My cousin is not a lady—I mean, she is, of course, but she does not enjoy running things as the lady. I am…my court could use some assistance and I was hoping you might be willing to help?
“Of course,” Elain breathed, hardly daring to believe his words at all. She’d thought she’d have to beg him to take her away and here he was, offering without any prompting. Tarquin’s smile was a thing of beauty, his whole body straightening ever so slightly.
“I intend to inform your sister and her mate of your decision, then. We’ll leave tomorrow?”
Elain nodded, giddy with excitement. Freedom. Tarquin would take her far away from Night Court, from the constant prying eyes, from the expectations she, too, would settle down and become someone’s mother…someone’s wife.
Elain left Tarquin in the drawing room to pack her things, wasting an afternoon debating on just how much of the Night Court she even wanted to take with her. Elain was nervous to confront Feyre as well, who wanted the three of them to all live in the same place, to be the family they’d never been able to be.
A knock on the door sent Elain’s heart erratically pounding again. “Come in,” she called, disappointed when it was Lucien Vanserra on the other end, his face set in a scowl.
“You shouldn’t—”
He shut the door firmly behind him, turning the key in the lock for good measure. She watched him flex a hand, creating a ward for silence, one she could not see but had learned to recognize all the same.
“Your sister is irate,” he told her, taking Elain by surprise. She’d assumed it would be him who was angry she was leaving. “She thinks you and the High Lord of Summer are having an affair.”
He took a step towards her, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “They’ve asked if I intend to fight a duel to keep you.”
Elain exhaled sharply. “Do you?”
“No, but whatever you’re playing at is going to start a war between Summer and Night again.”
“Again?” she breathed, mind reeling. Dread settled in her stomach. “Wait. He promised me a position in his court. He was asking Rhysand—”
“The answer was no, Elain,” Lucien told her flatly. “If you want a position in court, ask Rhysand.”
With that, Lucien turned, leaving her alone in her silent bedroom. Blood roared through her body, deafening as she absorbed Lucien’s words.
“Lucien wait!” she called after him. He paused in the hall, looking over the shoulder of his muted blue jacket. “Come back here.”
His golden and russet eyes narrowed to slits though he did as he was told. She grabbed his arm, jerking him into her bedroom.
“I don’t want a position in Rhysand’s court,” she informed him, whispering despite the still lingering ward. “I don’t want to live here at all.”
His expression betrayed his agreement. “I want out.”
“Romancing the High Lord was not the best way to go about it,” Lucien hissed, his hands curling to fists. She ignored the barbed jab.
“If I go any further than the market, someone is waiting around the corner to escort me home. It’s always, wouldn’t you like to bake, Elain? What about some new seeds for your garden, a new dress to pattern? I don’t even like sewing! I wanted to travel before all this. Graysen swore our honeymoon would be visiting the continent and now I’m trapped here with—”
She cut herself off before she could say she was trapped in Night Court with Lucien, aware stating things so plainly would do her no favors. Lucien didn’t seem bothered, his hand flexing at his side.
“Plead your case to your sister. Surely she’s reasonable.” he dismissed. Elain, still holding his arm, tightened her grip.
“You know she isn’t,” Elain whispered. “She wants everything her way. Look at what happened with Nesta. The only way she’ll let me leave this court is if…” Elain trailed off. Lucien looked down at her, lips pressed in a thin line, his irritation palpable.
“If I leave with you,” Elain finished. Lucien arched one of his eyebrows.
“No.”
He pulled his arm from her grasp and Elain flung herself in front of him, blocking his path to the door. Lucien huffed a sigh of irritation. “Figure out a different plan, Elain.”
“You hate it here, too,” she reminded him, practically panting as she worked out the kinks in her plan. “You loathe this place.”
“The solution isn’t going to Summer Court as your chaperone,” Lucien bit back. “I have no interest in that.”
“What do you want?” she asked, fear burning beneath her ribcage. It was possible what he wanted was her to accept the bond, for marriage and babies and—
“I want you to break the bond.”
She gasped, all her tension evaporating. She’d held off, believing it would drive him insane. She didn’t want that on her conscience. She looked up at him, at the resolve on his face. “I want you to let me out of this devil’s bargain, Elain. I hate Night Court and as long as I am bound to you, I am bound to this court—”
“Deal,” she breathed, scarcely daring to believe her good luck. Lucien frowned.
“No one is going to let you leave if you break the bond… you understand that, right?”
Elain blinked. “What if…what if we pretend to accept it? If I did, no one could stop me if I went somewhere with
you.
You’d…you’d have ownership of me, right?”
Lucien’s scowl deepened. “That’s not how it works—”
“Isn’t it, though?” she retorted, thinking of Cassian and Nesta. “If we said we accepted the bond, Rhysand couldn’t keep me out of Summer Court. Stay just long enough for me to be settled.”
“And then what?” Lucien demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
Elain shrugged. “We were always a bad match, right? We gave it our best shot and it didn’t work out. You’ll leave and go… wherever and I’ll stay in Summer.”
Lucien’s silence seemed to go on forever. “How long?”
“A year,” Elain replied immediately. “Or less. No longer than a year starting today if you pretend to eat something I give you tonight at dinner.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed again. “You understand what they’ll expect of us—”
“Oh give me a break. I know what sex is, Lucien,” she snapped, hating how embarrassed she felt just to say it. “Surely you can fake it for one night. I’ll sleep in your shirt, you can put up a ward. Let them blame the lack of noise on my modesty.”
Lucien took what seemed to be a steadying breath. “So many things could go wrong, Elain. I don’t want to be caught up in your games.”
“Then you can sit around waiting for the
rest of your life,”
she whispered without an ounce of guilt. Fury rippled over Lucien’s features.
“You’d be so cruel?” he demanded.
“If you leave me here, there will never be resolution between us.”
They stared each other down, neither giving a single inch. Elain meant every word she said and had every intention of following through. They’d find freedom together, or they’d suffer together but Lucien was the only leverage she had and she wasn’t about to give that up. She knew without asking that he’d leave her in Night Court without a backwards glance if he was ever released from the mating bond. He’d get to live his life and she’d still be confined to her garden.
“Fine,” he growled. “But everyone is going to think I forced you into this so I want nothing but adoration bordering on open lust from you. Do you understand me?”
Elain gritted her teeth. “Shall I sit in your lap, Lord?”
“Yes,” he replied darkly. “And you will touch me like it doesn’t fill you with revulsion.”
“And you? Will you actually look at me , or will you sit across the room while you avoid eye contact?”
Lucien glowered. “I will be so lovesick it’ll make your stomach churn.”
“Fine. If you can be in love, so can I.”
“And if they demand a show of affection?” he pressed. Elain swallowed.
“I will do
whatever is required
to get out of here.”
Lucien clearly did not believe her. “You’ll fuck this up before we ever take a step out of Night.”
“Just put on your nicest jacket, Lucien,” she snapped. “And get out of my bedroom.”
She got out of his way, letting him pull open the door. “Wear something pretty, Elain. They’ll be expecting us to be a little feral.”
He snapped the door shut behind him, leaving Elain alone in her bedroom, still half packed for Summer Court. She dug through the clothes, yanking out a cream-colored dress cinched at the waist. It was sleeveless, with only thick straps to hold up the scooped neckline. She put on a scandalous shift just beneath, the kind that pushed her breasts upwards obscenely. Beneath the neckline of her dress, her breasts heaved, giving her the appearance of heavy breathing when really it was just her laces. Elain pulled her hair down, foregoing a neat style overlooking undone. A little rouge on her cheeks, a little stain on her lips and Elain thought she looked ready to give herself over to the frenzy.
She could do this.
Anything to get out of Night Court.
**
Lucien sat in the drawing room as evening approached, ankle crossed over his knee. The mood was tense despite the light conversation. Everyone was waiting for him to explode over the Tarquin incident. Tarquin was a good male who knew Elain had a mate. If he was offering her a place in his court, it was with honorable intentions. Lucien thought Tarquin ought to be offended that Rhysand didn’t agree, though Tarquin had better manners than anyone from Night Court could ever dream of having.
Lucien wasn’t the only one watching the room silently. Varian had his arms crossed over his chest, his expression betraying exactly what he thought of Tarquin’s rebuke. Lucien couldn’t pretend he didn’t feel a small twinge of jealousy that Elain was willing to make a move now that Tarquin was involved. He suspected the instincts that flared to life every time she was around wouldn’t be so easily set aside, even when she released him from the bond. He could swallow them, could finally fuck her out of his system like he’d been desperate to do for the last three years. He’d long since given up on bratty, spoiled, utterly bland Elain.
“Elain!” Feyre smiled brightly when Elain stepped in, wearing a dress that was so reminiscent of a dressing gown that Lucien felt compelled to look away, if only for modesty’s sake. She was putting on a show, he thought, catching how her eyes darkened when she found him. Darkened with irritation he knew. He smirked, one hand on his tunic. She’d asked him to wear something nice and Lucien, ever petulant, had put on a rugged tunic over a white shirt just to irritate her.
“Sit with me,” Nesta, unaware of the silent showdown happening between Elain and Lucien, gestured for her sister. Lucien raised a hand, beckoning her with just two fingers. She swallowed her open hatred and did exactly as he silently commanded, plunking herself down in his lap. “You’re an ass,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. It looked like a kiss and Lucien couldn’t pretend the open shock on everyone’s face didn’t amuse him. He brushed a piece of hair from her neck.
“What the fuck?” Cassian whispered. Lucien reclined back against the floral patterned sofa, one arm snaked around Elain’s waist.
“We’ve decided to accept the bond,” Elain told the room, caressing his jaw as she said it.
“Since when?” Nesta demanded. Lucien met Feyre’s gaze and shored up his mental defenses, hoping Elain was doing the same.
“We’ve been seeing each other for nearly a year,” Elain told the room, her lie hardly believable. Rhysand narrowed his eyes, but it was Feyre who asked, “how?”
“I still have my apartment,” Lucien reminded her. That was true, at least. The best lies were always peppered with some truth.
“Explain,” Nesta demanded from beside a winking Cassian. Elain flushed as though her modesty was being compromised. Lucien merely shrugged, hoping he projected nothing but pure, masculine satisfaction and not irritation. She was dragging her nails up and down his neck, hitting a particularly ticklish spot. It took all his will-power not to burst out laughing and ruin their entire plan before it ever got off the ground.
“This is wonderful,” Feyre told the room after another protracted moment of silence. “I was hoping, of course…let us throw you a mating ceremony.”
Rhysand, more openly suspicious that something was afoot, nodded from his spot in the chair beside the fireplace. “It’s the least we could do, of course.”
Elain glanced to Lucien, who only shrugged. She ought to have assumed something like this. Lucien said nothing, cocking his head as though a public, drawn out mating ceremony was just the thing he’d been hoping for.
You didn’t think this through and now look what’s happening, he thought, enjoying the tightness of her features.
“I’d prefer a wedding,” Elain replied, catching him by surprise. Nesta winced at the mention of a wedding, a human custom more than that Fae, especially when there was a mating bond in the mix. “I’d like to accept the bond this evening if uh…”
“Oh,” Feyre murmured, eyes wide as she looked towards Rhysand. “You don’t have to ask for permission…”
Lucien’s grip tightened on Elain, catching how her expression nearly betraying her outright anger. “Then its settled,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. Goosebumps erupted on Elain’s arm, forcing a shiver from her delicate frame. Selling attraction was easy when the bond between them took over some of their baser instincts.
“Would you like a room in the House of Wind?” Cassian asked, clearly unbothered by the whole thing. “It’s more private. Nes and I can stay here tonight.”
“That’s not—”
“Yes.” Elain interrupted, looking at Lucien with big eyes.
Privacy,
her eyes seemed to scream. Lucien didn’t want to go to a room that wasn’t already drenched in at least one of their scents. It would be much harder to sell they’d spent the evening fucking if the room was sterilized. He couldn’t argue with her, not publicly anyway. Intending to admonish her in private, he merely smiled.
“Works for me.”
Lucien felt better when Elain was in her own chair, touching no part of him. There was no avoiding eating whatever she served him and Lucien had been sweating the entire thing. Elain, too, seemed to realize if she put food in front of him, he’d have no choice but to eat it. She’d trap him, they’d be forced together—
“I can’t,” Elain whispered to the room, still holding Lucien’s plate. “Can we do this in the kitchen?”
He stood immediately, his chair falling backwards. “Is everything alright?” he asked her, chest rising and falling rapidly. He knew how they looked—uncertain, terrified she’d change her mind. The entire room, seated at the table, was focused entirely on them.
“I don’t…” her cheeks flushed. “Just…this is private.”
Lucien caught Nesta’s eye roll and Cassian’s open smirk. He nodded, wiping his hands nervously on his pants. Stepping around the table, Lucien gestured for Elain to walk into the hall, still holding his plate of food.
“Idiot,” he hissed the second they were out of ear shot.
“Shut up,” she snapped. “I panicked.”
“That’s obvious to anyone with eyes,” he informed her. “They’re going to think I’m forcing myself on you?”
Lucien shoved the wooden door to the kitchen open and Elain flounced inside. She moved to tip his plate into the trash but Lucien caught her. “You’re so bad at this, Elain. Eat the food.”
She looked at the plate, enough for him but certainly too much for her. “It’s too much.”
“Eat it anyway,” Lucien replied. “I will not be accused of compromising you or worse.”
“They wouldn’t—”
“They absolutely would, Elain,” Lucien retorted, his voice no louder than a whisper. “They’ve thought so since the bond first snapped between us which is why your open adoration is the only thing that will do. If you want out of Night, you need to sell them on your love and frankly, you are doing a poor job.”
“Because I don’t love you!” Elain spat, eating what was on the plate all the same.
“Perhaps you love submission, then?” he replied, leaning against the marble counter. “If they get a whiff of your scheme they will banish me for a decade and who will help you then, hm?”
She swallowed. “I hate this, you know. I hate it as much as you do.”
“Of that, I very much doubt,” Lucien replied, resentment burning in his chest. Elain held his future in her hands, could change the terms of their agreement on a whim. He should have demanded she plan it better but he’d been so desperate for freedom he’d been willing to go along. They were equally complicit but Elain was family and he was an outsider. He’d be more heavily blamed.
“What now?” Elain asked once she’d finished her foot. Lucien swept his arm over the counter, sending her plate to the floor alongside the rest of the counter’s contents. She gasped but Lucien wasn’t done.
“Close your eyes and pretend I’m someone you like,” he growled, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her up onto the counter.
“I thought it was pretend,” she breathed, her panic palpable. He rolled his eyes.
“Your arousal is not. I need you to smell like it,” he reminded her. She swallowed hard and, taking him by surprise, pushed the straps of her dress over her shoulders while Lucien hauled his tunic up over his head. He undid his neat ponytail, running fingers through his hair and then, hating himself, groaned loudly while slamming his hand against a cabinet door.
“Lucien!” Elain gasped, eyes wide with fear.
“Just like that,” he purred a hair too loudly. Elain’s breath caught in her throat, still far too afraid to be believable.
“Have you done this before?” Lucien asked her, tossing a pot loudly to the floor.
“Once,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “It was better controlled.”
Lucien ignored that, relieved when the faintest hint of arousal bloomed around Elain. “Tell me,” he whispered.
She shook her head no, biting her bottom lip. It didn’t matter. She smelled of it, of wanting, and that was enough. He reached for her again, pulling her over his shoulder. She squeaked.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, hitting him hard in the middle of his back.
“Getting us the fuck out of Night,” he replied, walking purposefully through the halls while she still scented of arousal. There would be no House of Wind, no privacy beyond the ward he threw up the moment they reached his bedroom. His smell was stronger, more masculine. It would drown her out better, would cover their lack of familiarity up.
Lucien dumped her on the bed. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”
“And in the morning?” she asked him, tucking her hair primly behind her ear, as if she hadn’t just been imagining fucking another male in her mind. Lucien swallowed the irrational rage he felt. He didn’t want her, he reminded himself. The bond wasn’t logical, demanded too much.
“And in the morning, you’ll meet me in the foyer to say goodbye to your sisters.”
She smoothed out the skirt of her dress, clearly nervous. “What if they tell you no.”
Lucien chuckled bitterly. “I’m sure they will try. They’ll be arguing with a mated male caught up in the frenzy. If they try and keep you, it’ll give me the excuse I’ve always wanted to hit one of them in the face.”
He expected her to demand he refrain from violence but Elain only shrugged. “And me?”
“Just keep looking at me with those lust filled eyes and we’ll be fine.”
She glowered. “I was not looking at you with lust filled anything.”
He pointed his finger in her direction, standing just beside the window. “And that’s the problem, Elain. Swallow your pride, dig down deep, and find something you like about me.”
She considered that for a moment. “There is nothing likable about you at all,” she decided with a sniff. Lucien’s fingers clenched to fists.
“Shall I remove myself of my clothing so you might reconsider your stance?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m certain that would only prove me right.”
His smirk was a too confident, lazy thing. “I’m certain you’re wrong.”
Her face twisted with a scowl. “You’ll sleep in that chair tonight.”
“Because you imagine me incapable of keeping my hands to myself?” he snapped, though he strode to the chair beside the fireplace all the same.
“Because the idea of spending a night sleeping beside you disturbs me.”
Lucien rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Do you intend to make this the most unpleasant year of my life, then?”
She didn’t respond. Elain merely curled beneath the deep rouge blankets of his bed, only the top of her head visible in the flickering dark. It was for the best. He was suddenly exhausted from the day and filled with an anxiety he could not shake. In the scheme of things, one year was nothing. He looked at her, that sense of dread only growing.
He could do this without fucking things up…but Lucien was not convinced Elain could do the same.
MONTH 1:
“Elain,” Feyre tried again warily. Elain shifted, uncomfortable with the thick band of Lucien’s shirt tied around her middle beneath her dress. The scent of him was over power, masculine and heady and chafing the bond that lingered between them. She didn’t need to pretend she was antsy and desperate to be reunited—his spicy, salted apple scent was driving her mad. She looked over her shoulder for the hundredth time, wishing he’d step into the parlor and rescue her. “You don’t have to leave with him.”
“I want to,” Elain replied, unable to keep the edge from her words.
“It’s all so sudden,” Nesta interrupted from her spot on the couch. It was an interrogation, the splitting of her and Lucien. “You hate him.”
“I don’t,” she lied, the words bitter in her mouth.
“You don’t want a mate,” Nesta continued, her icy blue eyes laser focused on Elain. “What did he do to convince you to change your mind?”
“He is kind,” Elain gritted, her fingers curling to fists. “He understands me.”
Feyre seemed sympathetic. “Perhaps spending a couple more months here while you two get settled wouldn’t be such a bad thing? We could put you in—”
“No!” she screeched, her anger rising quickly. “I don’t need to be watched! I thought Lucien was your friend, Feyre?”
“He’s not mine,” Nesta interjected silkly. “These males will do whatever… say whatever… to get you to accept the mating bond. How could we not know you two were talking for a whole year?”
“Is that what Cassian did, then?” Elain demanded, privately thinking Cassian had likely worked a little magic to convince Nesta they ought to accept the bond. Nesta narrowed her eyes to slits.
“Azriel chaperoned us. Who chaperoned you?”
“I was unaware I needed permission to spend time with my mate,” Elain hissed, the word acid on her tongue.
“Elain,” Feyre tried a different tact, clearly playing good cop, bad cop. “Is this about Tarquin?”
“This is not about Tarquin,” Elain replied, dread settling in her stomach. She knew what was coming. She could feel Lucien’s own anger, bright and hot, burning in her chest, mixing with her frustrations.
“Stay at least until the wedding,” Feyre pleaded.
“I won’t—”
“You will,” Nesta interrupted, rising from her place on the couch. “No one believes you’ve accepted the bond of your own free will. If you want to run away together,
prove it.”
Tears pricked at the corner of Elain’s eyes.
“We’re trying to protect you,” Feyre told her, taking a step towards Elain. Elain stepped backwards.
“I don’t need your protection,” she whispered, stepping back again into the solid, warm frame of Lucien’s body.
“I presume you’ve been told about our new living arrangements?” he asked, every word dripping with disdain. “We’re being sent to the mountains.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Cassian replied, his hazel eyes dark with dislike though his face was otherwise laid back. “For a newly mated couple, that cabin is a gift.”
Elain shook her head. “You can’t keep us there forever,” she whispered, letting herself melt against Lucien. They were allies in this, at least. Prisoners in the Night Court, unwilling pawns in her sister's machinations. His fingers curled over her waist, digging into the fabric of the purple dress she wore.
“No one wants to keep you forever,” Feyre assured her, blue eyes burning earnestly.
“No,” Lucien agreed dryly. “You merely wish to keep us to ensure I have not forced myself upon my sister.”
“I wouldn’t expect a Vanserra to understand what it means to care about family,” Nesta hissed, each word a sharpened blade. Elain gasped at the cruelty of Nesta’s words. Lucien tightened and Elain wondered why he didn’t abandon the charade entirely. She would have. Lucien was being consigned to an undetermined length of time in the Illryian mountains while her sisters and their mates debated what to do with the pair of them. A year might stretch into two, three, five before anyone genuinely believed they’d become a mated pair of their own volition.
“We’ll go,” Elain whispered, hating herself for acquiescing so easily. “If only to show the both of you how out of line you are.”
“Just until the wedding,” Feyre pleaded, content to let Nesta and Rhysand be the villains. Elain could feel Rhys’s lingering presence in the hall, watching silently, his displeasure filling the room.
Lucien snorted softly behind her, his thoughts plain enough. They would find some other scheme, something else that kept them for longer. Elain swallowed her anger and gestured.
“Let’s get on with it, then.”
Elain was furious when Rhysand unceremoniously dumped them at the top of the mountain. Feyre stood nervously beside her mate, the only two Elain had permitted to welcome them into her and Lucien’s new home. Feyre opened the door quickly, betraying the space as her and Rhysand’s, if all the paintings of Feyre and her friends were any indication. Lucien slammed into Elain when Elain froze in the doorway, staring at the pairs of eyes over the hall. They were being literally watched.
“Do you like it?” Feyre asked her sister, as though this wasn’t a kidnapping. Elain chose to say nothing. Lucien also let his silence speak of his displeasure, dumping their bags in the middle of the large living room, his distaste evident.
“Don’t think setting a quick wedding date will end your honeymoon prematurely,” Rhys growled softly from behind them. “My mate plans to spare no expense.”
“How kind,” Lucien grumbled. “Perhaps she ought to arrange her own, if she is so—”
Rhys snarled, ending whatever insult had been about to fall from Lucien’s lips. Feyre’s eyes darted from Lucien to Rhys, their heights evenly matched though their power was not.
“It’s still your wedding,” Feyre told them. Elain scoffed.
“Even father gave me more freedom when Graysen proposed,” Elain told her sister.
“Well, there was the promise of an actual wedding, wasn’t there?” Rhysand purred, stepping towards the door.
“Until you involved yourself in my life,” Elain whispered, unsure what gave her the nerve to say such a thing to Rhysand at all. Feyre’s eyes went wide and Lucien, perhaps understanding Elain had crossed a line, stepped in front of her.
“You watch how you speak to your sister,” Rhysand murmured, each word lethal. Feyre, too, looked angry and hurt in equal measure.
“I’d be married if you had upheld your promise,” Elain proceeded recklessly. “Nesta and I did everything you asked us to and you turned your backs on us.”
“That’s enough!” Feyre shrieked when darkness roiled off Rhysand in waves, his power a threat. “You can’t be seriously blaming me for Hybern,” Rhys snarled softly, ignoring Feyre entirely.
“You promised us protection that
never arrived,”
Elain accused, her heart pounding in her chest. Lucien backed her up, each step careful, his hand holding the sword hanging from his belt as though it would do anything. “I think you hoped we might die—”
“You certainly would have deserved it, for what you put Feyre through,” Rhys snarled loudly, shaking the walls of the cabin. Feyre said nothing at all, a tear slipping down her cheek. Elain hated them both at that moment, hated Nesta for bowing and perhaps most of all, herself for not just being honest about what she wanted.
“What kind of sister lets a fourteen-year-old go out hunting alone?” he continued, prowling forward.
“Rhys,” Lucien warned.
“I wasn’t her mother!” Elain snapped, her voice wavering.
“You were her sister!” he roared. Feyre lunged for him, yanking him backwards as Lucien snarled, every inch the furious mate ready to protect what was his.
“Get out!” Lucien demanded, unsheathing his blade. “This is ours, now, and you will leave.”
“You’d threaten me, little Lucien?” Rhys asked, unmoving from his place beside Feyre. “Have you forgotten our time together?”
“I have never forgotten what you did Under the Mountain,” Lucien snarled. “Get. Out.”
Feyre reached for the door knob. “Everyone is under a lot of stress,” she said, her voice no longer sad. She sounded cold…angry. “This is for the best.”
Neither Elain or Lucien said anything, standing stock still as they waited for Rhysand and Feyre to leave. “Enjoy the hospitality of my court,” Rhys, unable to leave without having the last word, turned his violet eyes on the pair of them. “Knowing I never wanted either of you here to begin with.”
“Then let us leave!” Elain screamed as the door slammed shut behind Rhysand. Lucien sheathed his weapon while Elain paced the wood floor angrily. “I didn’t ask for his hospitality!” Elain cried, collapsing onto a dark colored sofa. Lucien regarded her warily.
“Why bother explaining yourself to him?” he finally asked. “To either of them? You only make yourself seem worse.”
“Go away, Lucien,” Elain snapped.
“It’s a little late for that,” he muttered, grabbing the straps of their bags. “You know how this ends, don’t you?”
“If you want to leave so badly, go down and tell them it was all a ruse. I’ll still…” she heaved a sigh, her anger escaping her in a rush of air. “I’ll still break the bond. We don’t both need to be prisoners.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “Marriages fail all the time,” he finally told her, reminding her of her own words from the day before. “And I will not give them the satisfaction of being right about you. Nothing has changed. Take a bath, get some sleep, and be prepared for tomorrow.”
She watched him warily. “What’s tomorrow?”
Lucien’s face hardened. “Tomorrow I teach you out to outfox the Night Court.”
**
Lucien slept on the sofa that night, his mind still replaying the angry confrontation between Rhysand and Elain. He’d originally planned to demand she break the bond anyway and let him go…but watching the hatred burning in Rhys’s eyes as he stared Elain down, a female who was so far from being a match to his power she might have been a brand new baby…well, that had disturbed Lucien more than he was willing to admit. She didn’t deserve to face the brunt of that ire by herself.
Lucien could sharpen her like a blade. Rhysand and Feyre hadn’t considered what Lucien could do to Elain without the constant supervision they’d always been subjected to. Elain didn’t need raw, unchecked power to make Rhys feel her wrath. Lucien knew the secrets of all seven courts and now Elain would, too. He considered it a parting gift to her, something that would make the once nervous human into something people ought to fear.
Elain was up at dawn, already dressed, her face pale and drawn. He could see she’d been crying and tried not to let that bother him. He didn’t comment on her appearance as he set about the kitchen. The house was spelled, refilling food and other items as he used them. That was nice, at least. It meant Feyre and Rhysand wouldn’t be up and down every other day to give them supplies. He’d have time with Elain alone, enough time to teach her, to marry her, and then immediately leave her.
That wasn’t how he imagined things going once. “I’m not hungry,” Elain told Lucien, sitting pitifully on the couch. “How long do you imagine they’ll make us stay?”
Lucien shrugged. “If we prostrate ourselves at Feyre’s feet? A couple months.”
She looked towards the window. “I just want to be somewhere warm. Is that too much to ask for?”
“How long do you expect you’ll need?” Lucien asked, unable to keep the exasperation from his voice. She turned to look at him, surprise on her sad face.
“Need for what?”
“To feel sorry for yourself?”
Sadness shifted to anger. “Excuse me?”
Lucien took a bite of the egg sandwich he’d made for himself. “A week? A month? I need to know so I might prepare my own time.”
“You’re an ass,” she accused. “I’m not allowed to be sad?”
“You’re not the only one trapped in this cabin, Elain,” he reminded her. “This was your plan, I am merely your pawn.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. You act as if you get nothing from this.”
“I don’t get it until we’re both granted the keys to our little jail so again, I ask, how long do you intend to feel sorry for yourself?”
“I require no time at all, Lucien. Please, illuminate me on how you’d like us to pass the time.”
He nearly made a quip about undressing, but the thought made his stomach churn with discomfort. The days where he’d once pined, once yearned to know her more intimately had long evaporated. He was too angry, besides, with how things had progressed from yesterday to make light of their circumstances.
“What do you know about Night Court?” he asked instead.
“Are you trying to get information from me?” she asked, eyes narrowed. Lucien laughed dryly.
“Hardly. I’m guessing you know almost nothing about the court you reside in, which of course is by design. Unless I’m wrong? Unless you’ve been collecting little secrets?”
She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t go to Night Court often enough to know anything.”
“Then we’ll start there before branching to the others.”
“How do you know anything about Night Court?” Elain demanded. Lucien left the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest.
“Secrets are currency in Autumn. I am merely a product of my environment.”
She nodded, letting him sit beside her, though she kept a cushion of space between them. “No one suspects?”
Lucien smiled. “It’s not spying the way you imagine. I am merely a courtier and everyone knows courtiers love to gossip. This is true everywhere, even in Rhysand’s tightly controlled court. If you know the right way to smile, the right information to offer as a trade, you can find yourself with important… powerful information.”
“Why would anyone tell you anything?” she asked. Lucien smiled.
“Sometimes they want something from me…other times they simply don’t know any better. I walk in well dressed with a smile and people imagine themselves much smarter, much better versed in court warfare. I don’t mind being underestimated…I don’t require everyone think me the smartest or cleverest.”
“Are you, though? The smartest…the cleverest?”
He smiled. “Every time, Elain.”
She digested that. “Okay. I’d…I’d like to know how you do it.”
“Let’s start with Keir.”
Elain remained silent for the majority of the day, listening to the politics that governed Rhysand’s court beneath the mountain. She had questions, of course— why did Beron want Eris to marry Morrigan? Why doesn’t Rhysand bring his court above the mountain? What is gained by keeping his powerful courtiers so afraid? Lucien didn’t know all the answers, of course. Some things could only be guessed based on the knowledge he had. Perhaps Rhysand simply hated his courtiers and did not care that rebellion was almost certainly brewing in his absence. Perhaps he feared what he might unleash in his city of starlight should the mountain ever be purged. Knowing concretely wasn’t the object, which Elain would learn in time—it was understanding the dynamics well enough she could guess herself and make whatever was happening work in her favor.
Still, her attention and her questions pleased him. By the time dinner came around, Elain agreed to eat though she picked at her plate of chicken and vegetables, her discontent still evident. Lucien pretended not to see it, not wanting to open an emotional conversation he had no interest in participating in.
“The Illyrians, of course, are governed by small tribes each headed by a different—” he paused as a letter floated between them. Elain sighed softly but Lucien, irritated, snatched it out of the air.
It was from Feyre, asking them to make choices around their impending nuptials. He slammed the parchment to the table furiously, nearly incinerating it beneath his anger.
“So we are to pretend nothing was said at all, then,” he complained as Elain picked up the letter, eyes scanning it.
“I can’t believe she’s going to really do this,” Elain murmured. “Lucien, I—”
“We will ignore this for two full days,” Lucien interrupted, aware that Elain was about to give in to her sister and out them both as liars. “Mated couples are too busy to respond to letters, besides. After that, choose the most expensive things. I will pay Rhysand back but it will annoy him all the same.”
Elain shook her head. “Graysen and I were going to be wed in Summer. I had…I had the whole thing planned. It was simple. Small,” she added, eyes still staring at the letter held between her fingers. “Feyre has decided on a Spring wedding and says the whole city will attend. She assumes this is what I wanted but how would she even know? It’s not as if we ever spoke about any of this.”
“Elain,” Lucien began but Elain pushed away from the table angrily, crumpling the letter in her hand.
“She thinks I was done a favor in this life, but what good is immortality if no one hears a word I say?” she demanded. “Elain will live in the mountains, she’ll garden and have a spring wedding and how could she possibly want anything else when this was all she was ever good for to begin with?”
“Elain—” Lucien warned but she wasn’t done.
“I have never been more than my pretty face but you know, Lucien, all I really wanted was to travel. To see the world, to have a friend who loved me because they thought I was more than just my flowers. Feyre and Nesta don’t see it and I…why would I think anyone else does, either.”
“Elain,” he tried again, but she waved him off.
“I’m going to bed,” she replied, turning towards the stairs. Lucien watched her go, hating the guilt he felt gnawing at his chest. He reached for the letter, crumpled and abandoned on the floor.
We will have a summer wedding or no wedding at all, he scrawled back. Paid for entirely by me.
It wasn’t much.
It was the best Lucien could do.
MONTH 2:
Elain woke to the sound of the front door banging loudly. Elain jerked awake in the darkness, grasping for her robe. “Lucien,” she called to no response. Elain slid on her slippers and made her way down the hall to the stairs. Only darkness greeted her.
“Lucien?” she tried again. Only the howling wind outside responded. She crept down the stairs, holding her night dress tightly around her body. Peering out the window, she saw Lucien standing in the snow, only a little better dressed than she was and talking to Cassian. She tapped on the window, indicating the two should come in. They both turned to look at her but neither moved towards the door. Instead, Cassian nodded tightly, wings flaring and Lucien trudged back to the door with a defeated expression.
“What’s going on?” she asked, bracing herself against the bite of cold pouring into the otherwise warm cabin.
“Your sisters want to have breakfast tomorrow. Cassian came to see how we’re handling the frenzy.”
“What did you tell him?”
Lucien’s expression flattened. “That we had cooled down slightly. The breakfast is not a request…you’ve been ignoring Feyre’s letters.”
Elain felt petulant, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want her to plan my wedding.”
Lucien only shrugged, utterly unbothered as always. She could not manage to achieve his level of peace regarding their situation, though she was trying.
“Well now they’re coming to inspect us.”
“I won’t be sitting in your lap again,” she hissed, her stomach flipping at the thought. Lucien scowled.
“No, now you’ll be kissing me nicely on the mouth and calling me darling.”
“I shall not!” she protested. Lucien plopped down on the couch, running a hand through his long, messy hair.
“It’s like you want them all to know what liars we are,” he complained. “I cannot stand how smug your sisters will be.”
Elain rubbed her eyes. “I have only truly kissed one man,” she confided, her heart erratic. Lucien glanced up at her, both golden and russet eyes narrowing.
“Pretend I am him, then.”
“Is that what you’ll do?” she shot back, irritated Lucien would suggest such a thing. He smiled a little.
“No, but only because I do not prefer kissing men.”
“You’re absurd.”
“Just get dressed, hm?” he waved her off before folding his hands over his chest, eyes closed. She almost asked if he was sleeping well on the couch, but she didn’t want to invite him into her bed. Instead, Elain did as Lucien asked, bathing and dressing for an impromptu breakfast. She wondered if Cassian hadn’t warned Lucien as a gesture of goodwill. After all, if her sisters truly wanted to see if anything was amiss, sneaking in early in the morning and catching them sleeping apart was surely a better strategy?
Lucien was dressed and immaculate when she came downstairs, rakish as ever in a cobalt jacket and onyx pants molded to his legs. Elain smoothed out her blush colored dress, chosen because it was both warm and modest. She’d intended to join him on the couch but Lucien stood quickly, catching her at the stairs.
“You look like a lady today,” he said, infuriating as usual.
“You nearly appear to be a lord,” she retorted, pleased when he scowled a little. “Where are your lusty eyes, Lucien? You seem far too displeased when I have it on good authority I am quite pretty today.”
“Oh?” he replied, touching one of the combs pinning back her hair. “Whose authority is that?”
“My own,” she said blithely.
“Perhaps you need a healer to examine your eyes, then,” he offered, fingers sliding down her face to hold her jaw. “You look exactly as you always have.”
It was her turn to scowl. “You can’t be nice, even for one day?”
“I was attempting to pay you a compliment,” Lucien murmured, his face dipping closer towards her. “Should we have your hearing checked as well?”
Elain sucked in a breath just as a loud knock on the door interrupted them. Lucien smiled.
“Did you know they were coming?” she asked. He smiled softly.
“My hearing is very good, Elain. Now go open the door looking adorably flustered and newly mated.”
Still, her hands trembled when she pulled open the door. Feyre and Nesta were waiting, Cassian and Rhysand just behind them. Elain couldn’t bring herself to look at Rhys at all, not after what he’d said to her the last time he was there. Cassian, though, was a much sweeter sight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek when she stepped aside to let them in.
“You look lovely,” he complemented, eyes drifting towards the painted walls. Feyre and Nesta followed just behind him, with Rhysand making up the rear. Lucien lounged against the banister just out of reach, his face impassive.
“I had no time to prepare anything,” Elain admitted, closing the door softly behind her. Lucien finally pushed off the railing, sliding an arm around her waist.
“No need. I’ll cook,” he told her, as if he didn’t do that every day. “Enjoy this visit with your sisters.”
As if she could. Lucien got to leave without having to face the scrutiny of her sisters. Nesta held pretty flowers in her hand and, when Cassian nudged her, handed them over. “For you,” Nesta said awkwardly. “I uh…I picked them from your garden.”
“Thanks,” Elain replied, following behind Lucien for a vase. Remembering what he’d said about kissing and hoping it wouldn’t come to that, she let her hand run over his back absently, as though it were second nature to touch him this way. Lucien shuddered, changing the mood in the kitchen without a word spoken between them. His eyes slid to hers and Elain wondered what he was thinking.
“How have things been?” Feyre asked, clearing her throat. Elain had completely forgotten they were still in the room. Embarrassed, she slid her flowers into an empty vase, trusting Lucien would fill it.
“Fine,” she replied.
“Looks a little better than fine if you ask me,” Cassian teased, gesturing for Elain to sit beside him on the sofa. Sandwiched between the Illyrian and Feyre, it left her to face Rhys and Nesta on the opposite end of the room, sitting in the chairs that flanked the brick fireplace. “Smells like it, too.”
Rhys winced a little at Cassian’s words. Did it smell like they’d been having sex? She wondered how Lucien had managed that, given they slept on totally different floors. Embarrassment flushed over her. She knew exactly how he must have managed such a thing, and Elain didn’t want to think about Lucien in such an uncompromising position.
“How are you two? How is Nyx?” Elain asked instead, hoping to deflect. Rhys seemed to relax a little, as though he expected a showdown and was relieved there would not be one. Feyre chattered about Nyx, her stories punctuated by Nesta’s affectionate commentary. Elain couldn’t help but feel jealousy over Nesta and Feyre’s easy friendship or the way they’d become so enmeshed in the others life. Nesta had found a way forward in Feyre’s court, with Feyre’s friend and not for the first time, Elain wished she too had been mated to one of Rhysand’s brothers. She knew for certain if it had been Azriel, no one would have questioned his intentions.
He would never have gone against his High Lord, a voice suspiciously reminiscent to Lucien’s murmured through her mind. Azriel would never have agreed to her hairbrained scheme and certainly would have stopped her when Tarquin asked her to join his court. Lucien was a lot of things—obnoxious, self-satisfied and arrogant—but he was also willing to back her up, even when she was sure none of this benefitted him at all.
Elain chanced a glance at Lucien, surprised to find him already looking at her. His face betrayed none of his thoughts though that shouldn’t have surprised her. Lucien was the master at schooling his expressions to suit him. She offered him the barest hint of a smile, no longer listening to her sisters. Lucien’s hands stilled, his gaze wholly fixated on her. He smiled, then, so soft she hardly believed what she saw at all.
It was fake, she reminded herself.
But for a moment, Elain wished it was real.
**
Elain was quiet for the rest of the day though better entertained than she’d been. Nesta sent books up later that afternoon with a grinning Cassian. “I hope you know I was against this,” Cassian told Lucien conspiratorially. “I’ve been where you are…Rhys too, if you can believe it.”
Lucien couldn’t. “They thought you tried to force Nesta?” Lucien demanded. Cassian’s expression darkened.
“Yes…and worse, at times. Az accused me of striking her, once. And Rhys, well…you were there with the business with Tamlin. People still whisper that he’s got Feyre’s mind. It’s practically a right of passage if your mate is an Archeron.”
“Except it's her own family who thinks it,” Lucien grumbled, helping Cassian with one of the boxes. Elain was upstairs doing whatever it was she did when she was away.
“If it helps, they want you two to work out. That shit with Tarquin freaked Feyre and Nesta out…you weren’t there but it sounded a lot like a proposal.”
Lucien’s gut tightened at Cassian’s words. “They’re friendly.”
“You sure about that?” Cassian replied, watching Lucien carefully. “He was inviting her to court to help him run things…the way the Lady of Summer might.”
Lucien’s hands clenched to fists and despite his best efforts, a soft growl escaped his throat. Cassian nodded. “I know this is a shit situation. Trust me, I know. But even if what you two said was true…and you’d been sneaking off to meet…fucking isn’t the same as talking. Elain’s got secrets, too. Take this time to figure them out.”
“I trust my mate,” Lucien told Cassian, breathing through his nose in an attempt to calm himself down.
Cassian nodded. “I didn’t come to give you shit. I heard Rhys offered that in spades the last time he was here. I’m offering you my friendship. I’ve been where you are.”
It wasn’t quite the same and Lucien knew Cassian was aware of it. Still, he accepted the olive branch all the same. “She wants to plan her own wedding.”
Cassian nodded, breathing out. “I’ll work on Nes, alright? They just need some reassurances that Elain doesn’t plan to run away forever, you know? They think you two are gonna just take off…never come back.”
“And if that’s what she wanted?” Lucien questioned. Cassian’s expression shifted, reminding Lucien that no offer of friendship would ever supersede Cassian’s willingness to go against Rhys.
“Is it?”
“It’s not,” Lucien lied boldly. “She deserves to travel outside of Night Court, though.”
Cassian nodded, relaxing. “No, yeah, of course. No one said she shouldn’t.”
But Lucien understood what Cassian hadn’t said. Elain could go only with Feyre and Rhysand’s permission. He didn’t owe any of them loyalty, Elain included and yet Lucien found himself unwilling to yield any ground that didn’t allow Elain the freedom she so desperately desired. When Elain returned, eyes puffy, her face too pale, Lucien pretended he didn’t know she’d been up there crying. He merely gestured towards the coffee table his boots were propped against. “Look who has been rewarded for good behavior.”
Elain’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“And you didn’t even have to kiss me,” he continued dryly, pleased when her lips quirked upwards with a smile. She plopped onto the couch beside him, digging through the box.
“All from Nesta, I see,” she said, showing him a book titled The Autumn Flame and it’s cheesy, painted cover.
“You don’t like romance?” he asked, snatching the book from her hands to flip through the pages. Elain shrugged.
“Men aren’t like that in real life. They’re more like you—”
“Absurdly handsome?” he interrupted, choosing to take some offense.
“Charming and gentlemanly,” she retorted, not bothering to look at him. He reached for her chin, tilting it towards his face, surprised by his own actions. Elain narrowed her eyes.
“Is this your famed charm, my lord?” she demanded, her words pure salt.
“I am not famed for my charm, sweet Elain,” he replied, inhaling her sweet, honeyed scent. His heart pounded, body aching to taste her. He swallowed against it. His base urges got in the way of his better sense and yet…yet spending so much time alone with her in the cabin was beginning to wear on him.
“What are you famed for, then?” she breathed, her eyes half lidded. Lucien blinked.
“My enormous co–”
Her hand caught him upside the jaw before he could finish. He didn’t care, laughing at her outraged response. Elain didn’t move from her spot beside him, openly glaring at him.
“Do you feel better?” he asked her, suspecting if she’d truly been outraged, she would have stalked away.
“You’ve grown too comfortable during our time together,” Elain complained, her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Lucien relaxed, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“You’re not the worst company, you know.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Elain retorted primly. “I might have, had you not begun speaking of your cock.”
Lucien spluttered, choking at her words. Elain seemed pleased with herself, straightening a little as she continued to flip through her books. He left her there, suddenly restless, to walk through the cabin again. As far as living spaces went, it could have been worse. There was enough space he and Elain could avoid each other and enough bedrooms he could have had one, if he ever stopped being petty. He’d scoped them out, nose wrinkling at the obvious scent of Feyre and Rhysand everywhere. Lucien had camped on the couch the first night out of anger, but now it was practical. Cassian had come up to warn him but had he come into the cabin, he would have caught them in separate beds. As far as Cassian—-and the Night Court itself as Lucien was under no delusions that while Cassian might be helping him out, he would also report any duplicity to Rhys—knew, Lucien just happened to hear him before Cassian ever made it to the door.
Lucien reminded himself of everything he would do once this was all over. No more reporting to the Night Court. No more reporting to the shadowsinger, no more representing Rhysand’s agenda. He could leave, could go back to Spring or perhaps a different court, even. Both Dawn and Winter had extended offers and Lucien was tempted to take them up on it. He could start over with new females, could get back to his life.
He looked over at Elain, immersed in one of the smutty books Nesta had sent for her, his stomach flopping nervously.
He could do this.
**
Lucien spent the morning alternating between pacing restlessly and discussing a messy trade war between Dawn and Winter that had lasted a century. Elain, sitting bored on the couch, was only half listening. Sometimes Prythian could be so interesting but other times…well. Economics was never going to be fascinating to her. She rubbed her temples.
“Can we go back to talking about all the women you’ve ruined in Winter instead?” Elain asked with a loud sigh. Lucien cut himself off from behind her.
“Fascinated by my love life?”
She scowled, staring out the window towards the sunny, windy day. “Anything is better than this.”
He stalked towards her, coming into view. Elain jumped up, hating that she noticed how good he looked in just a white shirt tucked into a pair of brown pants held up by suspenders. She’d never seen Lucien so casual so often and it was starting to mess with her. Or, perhaps it was the isolation messing with her. She couldn’t figure it out. She’d never once thought him interesting to look at or handsome in any real way. He was, of course, handsome like everyone else was, which made him utterly plain but now…Elain attempted to walk towards the back of the room but Lucien caught her by the waist, hauling her down to his lap.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her face inches from his own.
“Someone is crunching through the snow,” he whispered with fake intimacy, fingers brushing a tendril of hair from her face. “Shhh. Do you hear it?”
She only heard the beating of her own heart. She shook her head no, her mouth dry as he cupped her face, angling her head.
“I’ve only kissed one man,” she whispered as a reminder and she swore his eyes darkened after she said it.
“You’ll kiss another,” he swore, bringing her face down to his own. Elain immediately forgot someone was coming, that they were doing this entirely for show. His lips were soft and the moment they touched her own, heat bloomed beneath her skin, setting her body ablaze. It was every butterfly she’d ever felt with Graysen amplified by their shared bond—or that’s what she told herself.
She slid her hands up his chest, unsure why she wanted to touch him so badly. Lucien growled softly, either because he knew they could be heard or because he liked her touching him. Elain didn’t know, didn’t care in that moment. It was her inching closer, her hands in his hair, her deepening the kiss…and Rhysand, pulling open the door.
Lucien broke the kiss to look at Rhys, still holding Elain against his body. Embarrassed, she dropped her head on Lucien’s shoulder. What was wrong with her, she wondered?
“I’m here for art supplies,” Rhys grumbled, his voice very much betraying how little he’d wanted to come.
“Take your time,” Lucien replied, his voice rough. How was he doing it, she wondered? How did he make himself sound so wild when his heart was so steady, his body so normal? She looked up just as Rhys disappeared up the stairs and Lucien winced, catching the smell of her arousal.
“It’s normal,” he whispered against her neck, as though that helped anything at all. “It’s just a reaction to my touch.”
She nodded, letting him press his forehead against her own. She couldn’t help herself, fingers ghosting over his jaw, her other hand sliding down his chest. Lucien swallowed hard. Perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed? She shifted in his lap and Lucien immediately jerked his leg back, pulling her further down his lap. Their eyes met and he shook his head no, fingers digging through the fabric of her dress.
Boots thundering on the stairs brought them back to their present reality. Rhys held a sketchbook and a little box of charcoals. “Need anything?” he asked awkwardly, looking anywhere but at the two of them.
“No,” Elain whispered, hating the tension between the two of them. “Rhys, I—”
“Good,” he cut her off, his violet eyes seemed almost apologetic. “Feyre is coming up next week about Starfall ah…let me know if you want me to rent you a private balcony.”
Rhys was gone a moment later, closing the door swiftly behind him. Lucien stood, sliding Elain to the cushion beside them. He ran a hand through his hair, looking towards the door.
“Don’t apologize to him,” Lucien snapped after a tense moment of silence.
“Lucien,” she began but Lucien followed Rhysand into the snow, slamming the door loudly behind him. Elain didn’t move, her whole body taut and on edge.
It’s just a reaction to my touch, his voice echoed through her mind. Hands shaking, Elain reached for a book on the coffee table. Just a reaction, she reminded herself. She’d only ever kissed one man, of course her body had leaned into his when he was kissing her like that but…
Elain took a breath. Her first kiss with Graysen flashed through her mind. Standing at the edge of her fathers estate in the human lands, she’d agreed to walk Graysen out.
“I’d like to call on you again,” he’d told her with a smile, turning to look down at her. Elain had bit her lip, her fingers toying nervously with the skirt of her dress. She angled her head, hoping he’d lean down and kiss her. Nerves gripped her as Graysen, reading her cues, bent his head. Ever the gentleman, Graysen murmured, “Would it be impolite to kiss you, lady Elain?”
“No,” she’d assured him. The kiss had been chaste, sweet…everything she’d hoped it would be and Elain had practically floated back home in the aftermath.
She’d never once thought about kissing Lucien. She wished she didn’t know what it felt like, wished she’d never touched his body.
“It’s the bond,” she told herself sternly, opening her book with a frustrated sigh. “The bond makes you want him.”
Even Elain wasn’t that good of a liar.
**
“NO,” Lucien breathed, striding forward. His senses were overloaded by fear, making it impossible to focus on what was happening around him. Desperate to latch on to something real, something that might ground him, Lucien listened to the echoing of his boots against the shiny, dark floor of the Autumn throne room. “Let her go.”
“Hold him,” a familiar female voice ordered. Eyes snapped to his fathers throne, expecting to see Beron giving the order. Tamlin reached for Lucien, pushing him to his knees. Ianthe smiled with gleaming teeth, crossing one leg over the other as she watched him.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d have you?” she purred, her voice dripping like oil. Lucien struggled only to find the blade of a sword pressed against his throat. “C’mon Lucien. Struggle.”
“Get fucked, you cunt,” he spat, echoing words he was certain he’d said before. Ianthe tipped her head backwards, blonde hair spilling around her pale face.
“I intend to,” she swore, standing at the top of the burnished dais. “Aw, Lucien, don’t look so put out. Aren’t you tired of waiting around for a female who is never going to give you what you want?”
Lucien blinked. When had Elain arrived? How had she gotten there? Her dress was dirty…a white nightgown, he realized, so thin he could practically see through it. She huddled on the floor, water dripping off her blonde hair. Eyes wild, arms wrapped around her body. He tried to go to her but the sword pressed harder against his skin. She wasn’t Fae, he realized wildly. She was human, she was going to die—
“Are you done fighting me?” Ianthe asked, crouching beside Lucien. She ran a finger down his cheek, using it to lift his chin. He wanted to spit in her face but nothing worked the way it ought to.
“A pity,” Ianthe murmured, kissing his mouth all the same. He was frozen, unable to move, unable to stop what was happening.
“Complete the rite,” Tamlin’s voice demanded as Beron’s voice ordered, “cut her throat.”
Lucien roared, struggling to his feet to reach Elain but blood spilled over wood before he could move an inch, spreading outwards, inching towards his knees. He couldn’t get to her, bound by magic that instead drew up to his feet, towards a grinning Ianthe, arms outstretched and—
“Lucien!” Elain screamed, hitting him roughly in the face. “Please wake up, you’re scaring me.”
He snarled loudly, the darkness of the night washing over him. Reaching for her, Lucien yanked Elain from the floor into his chest, holding her so tightly he could hear her bones groan in response. She gasped, struggling against his hold. “Wake up, Lucien.”
“I’m awake,” he gasped, the image of her lifeless, bleeding body still burned in his memory. “I’m awake.”
Elain stopped struggling and Lucien loosened his hold regretfully, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest. He supposed, given the mix of confusion and anger from that afternoon, he should have expected something like that. That kiss had crawled under his skin.
“What do you dream about?” Elain asked, rising from the couch to pick up the blanket he’d kicked to the floor. She tucked it around his bare torso and brushed his hair off his face.
“Things I’m trying to forget,” he admitted, leaning back against the couch to close his eyes. “I’m fine…you can go back to bed.”
Elain hesitated. “Why don’t you come with me?”
His eyes flew open. “Excuse me?”
“Not…not like that. Just…in case you have nightmares again?” she suggested, clearly nervous. Lucien shook his head.
“I’m not a child. I’m fine down here.”
He was safe down there, he told himself. He couldn’t risk climbing into bed with Elain and doing something far worse than scream about Ianthe. He’d had more than his fair share of dreams about her, dreams that stretched far beyond one chaste kiss while Rhysand was around.
He’d hurt her, he realized. The expression on her face was fleeting, smoothing into that combative emptiness he was much more accustomed to.
“You didn’t seem fine to me,” she murmured, rising to her feet for a second time. “Sleep alone, then.”
“I—” he paused, wanting her to stay but unsure what he could tell her. Elain turned, looking over her shoulder from the archway.
“I have nightmares too,” she whispered to him when it became clear he was too much of a coward to tell her what still haunted him.
“Of what?” he found himself asking, drawn to her in that moment.
Her eyes clouded over. “A lot of things…they blur together. The cauldron…Hybern…the war. Sometimes I can’t remember where I am or when I am.”
He gestured for her to join him, lifting the blanket so she could curl beneath it. They sat shoulder to shoulder, her heart beating in time with his own.
“Me too,” he finally admitted. “I dream about that day in Hybern, too.”
She turned to look at him, eyes wide. “Don’t say that.”
“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, shame washing over him.
“Look at you, trying to get out of the bond retroactively,” she teased softly, bumping her shoulder against his own.
“I’m serious, Elain.”
“You’re shouldering a burden that doesn’t belong to you,” she told him, her voice rich with sympathy. She didn’t understand, could never understand that he ought to have protected her and it ate at him that he hadn’t. “Surely you have better things to dream about besides me?”
He spoked him in the ribs and Lucien smiled a little. “You’re obnoxious.”
“Clearly not, if you dream about me,” she teased. “In fact, I’m starting to suspect you like me.”
“Ridiculous,” he shot back, letting her see the easy smile on his face. “There is nothing likable about you at all.”
“Dig down deep, Lucien. Isn’t that what you told me to do? Find something you like about me?”
“I believe I said I’d remove my clothes for you, if you were struggling. Are you making a similar offer?”
She pinched him. “There is plenty to like without getting naked.”
He mock sighed. “How can we be sure, though?”
“I’m starting to think you liked being slapped.”
Lucien opened his mouth, ready with more innuendo but Elain held up a finger. “Do not say whatever it was you were thinking.”
“And deprive you of an amusing joke?” he complained. She pushed off the blankets, her cheeks stained red. There was no anger on her face, though he thought he caught the faintest hint of disappointment.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’m going back to bed, now.”
“Perhaps I’ll take you up on your offer and join you.”
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip nervously.
“I’m only kidding, Elain. This is just a ruse, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she promised, leaving him alone on the sofa with nothing but his confused jumble of thoughts. No longer gripped by guilt and terror, Lucien struggled for a moment to come to terms with what he was feelings.
It wasn’t just lust…it was desire. He stared into the darkness as though he could see her retreating form still lingering in the hall. He hadn’t been tempted by her in years, hadn’t even considered the possibility he might when he’d agreed to come to the cabin with her. Now though…now Lucien had to force himself to lay back down, to think of anything but Elain pressed against him, kissing him softly…reaching for him with her small hands to drag him from a nightmare.
Break the bond, he reminded himself firmly. She does not want you.
His body screamed in protest all the same.