After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning. A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.
Elain
Elain stomped through the gardens, brambles catching at her skirts. She halted, tugging the gauzy fabric free and continuing on.
The sun was already settling low beneath the treeline over the hedges, turning the sky a deep purple ribboned with orange. She’d taken the way of the garden because she knew the paths well, but also because she knew she wasn’t likely to be followed.
Ianthe had been sending her on what Elain was starting to suspect was a trail of wild goose chases all day. She needed something from the staff setting up by the fires, the ceremonial paint had been delivered to the wrong place, there were people arriving who weren’t able to find the lot of land they’d been assigned to stay.
When Elain had offered her services, she hadn’t imagined that she’d spend the day being ordered around by her least favorite person in the Spring Court. She’d snuck out before Ianthe could find her again, slipping from her room after she’d locked herself inside to wash the sweat from her body and change. Lindy and Elain had parted ways earlier in the day, with Lindy opting to stay inside the manor.
“I know how Calanmai works. I don’t need to see it in action.” There was something almost sad and bitter in her tone, and after reading about the ceremony and what it entailed, Elain understood why.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in my rooms?” she’d offered for the thousandth time.
Lindy had squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you, again, but I’ll just stay in the staff quarters tonight. They’re going to be celebrating on their own, and I’d rather be amongst a crowd.”
Elain understood the urge. She thought she might tear someone’s head off if Lucien were in the same position as Tamlin.
Now, as she slithered out through the gardens, she released a breath when it seemed no one had followed her. She wanted to be alone, and she wanted to enjoy the night—a distraction of her own. She navigated farther and farther away from the manor and closer to the edge of the rolling hills of bonfires ahead. Already, she could hear the music, the pounding of drums, and the smell of the burning timber was heady in her nose.
She tread a little more carefully, avoiding another hedge filled with brambles and pulling her skirt up past her ankles to be safe. It was fire night, and she wasn’t going to let anything else keep her down—or away from it.
It had been a long two weeks since the ball. A long two weeks since the morning after her nightmare where she’d woken up to find Lucien gone. Apparently, he’d been called away urgently for business in Dawn, and Tamlin made apologies on his behalf. She’d tried not to be offended, but they’d never had a chance to speak about the kiss in the hall or her nightmare or the fact that he’d stayed in her bed. He might have fled before sunrise, but the place beneath his pillow had still been warm. He’d stayed with her the whole night.
Since then, she’d been trying to keep busy, making sure her mind and hands were occupied whenever possible. Tamlin had asked for a bit of help with for Calanmai as it approached, and otherwise she’d been keeping busy in the gardens with Lindy, listening to all the details of whatever tentative thing was forming between her and the High Lord.
But Lucien had gotten back earlier today. She had felt him the moment he’d winnowed back onto Spring property, his heart thundering in her chest more loudly than normal, as though it had missed beating in time so close to hers.
She’d been trying to find him all day, her tasks pulling and tugging her away at every available opportunity. It had become so ridiculously pointed that she wondered if Ianthe was doing it on purpose. Elain rolled her eyes just thinking about it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever disliked anyone the way she disliked the priestess. She kept meaning to ask Tamlin why he kept Ianthe around, but every time, she remembered that she, too, was a guest here. She always backed out, feeling it wasn’t her place.
Tonight, though, there was nothing Ianthe could do to stop Elain’s mission to find Lucien in the already huge crowds. The orange streaks in the sky had faded to a violet as deep as a bruise when Elain left the garden walls and stepped through the gates.
It was a warm night, the air heavy but nice on her skin. The dress she’d picked was more revealing than she was used to, but Alis had said it was a little more fit for Calanmai. Right before she’d told Elain to not go out without an escort from one of the guards. Exactly what Tamlin had also told her as he blushed and stammered through a very vague reasoning for why he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on her. She’d been too embarrassed to ask anyone about the details of Calanmai after the ball, choosing instead to blush wildly while she looked them up herself in a chair in the dark back corner of the library.
She’d hoped she’d run into Lucien before then—maybe even see if he’d go with her so they could talk once she’d felt him return within the wards of Spring.
But in the end, Lucien hadn’t come to see her. She was hurt he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t sent a letter. She wanted to talk to him—needed to talk to him. At the very least, perhaps, he might show her mercy. He could put her out of her misery, tell her the kiss was a big mistake, and she could begin to pick up the broken pieces of her heart with her tail between her legs and move on.
Her heart throbbed at the thought, the bond chafing so raw in her chest she thought for a moment she might be sick.
“Hush,” she admonished it, then nearly laughed at herself for talking to it. What was she even supposed to do with an unclaimed bond? When he rejected her, would the bond understand that? Or would it just stretch out forever, endlessly looking for the other half that didn’t want her, until she died?
Perhaps she would need to leave Spring. It hadn’t felt quite so overwhelming when he’d been gone. Maybe she could find some peace elsewhere—another court, even, if her sisters ever remembered she existed.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing so far from The Wall?” The voice leered beside her in the dark. She was far into the crowd now, and though many members of the nearby Spring Court knew who she was, she didn’t recognize these fae.
They were tall and lithe, almost spindly in their build. Their teeth looked nearly as sharp as their eyes, and something about the way they looked at her made her want to recoil.
“I’m a guest of the High Lord,” she responded, holding her chin up and trying to remain calm. The people she’d met so far were mostly curious, but something here felt more nefarious than that.
“The High Lord would let such a precious gem out of his sight?” The one in front stepped closer, and Elain stepped back. “Seems irresponsible.”
“Well, he correctly assumed the Cursebreaker’s sister could take care of herself,” Elain replied, injecting as much confidence into her voice as possible. As though being doused with cold water, the fire in the fae’s eyes died.
“The Cursebreaker’s—”
“Sister, yes. Elain Archeron.” She held out her hand mockingly, and the fae jerked back.
“Our apologies. We didn’t know.”
At least her sisters were worth something here, Elain thought as the fae scrambled off, talking in animated whispers amongst themselves with their heads bowed low, shooting a single glance back before disappearing into the dark woods. Elain scoffed.
The crowds were buzzing as she approached, the refreshments doled out freely and the fires blazing high. The drums were so loud now that she could feel them in her bones, a beautiful buzzing that filled her body with a strange sense of joy and wonder.
Around her, people danced, talked, and sang. A band played in the distance, their instruments doubling down the fun and frenetic energy of the drums. Elain wanted to dance, as though her feet were pushing her to do it without her consent.
She didn’t see Lucien as she looked around, his shock of bright red hair nowhere to be seen. Inside, she felt that bubble of hope sink even lower into her stomach, the way it had been for days now. Still, his heart thrummed next to hers, the beautiful beat telling her that he wasn’t far.
Beside her, people were speaking.
“—just took off toward the manor—”
“—came out from the cave and simply bolted away—”
She took in only parts of the conversation, but stood next to a young couple and asked what was happening.
“The High Lord.” The male nodded toward the massive cave in the distance, the small light glowing and flickering as the drums pounded away. “He came out once the ceremony began, but didn’t choose anyone. Just took off back toward the manor.”
“I’ve never seen it happen before!” the female next to him replied, all flushed cheeks and gossip. Elain grinned.
“Right back to the manor, you say?”
I’ll be damned.
He’d gone after Lindy after all.
Around her, the crowd was already rustling, whispers and quiet jubilation spreading as a figure made its way back over the hill. It was too dark to see anything—too swift to make out any shapes—but in the silence, Elain could make out a peal of quiet, familiar laughter and just barely see the bobbing of dark curls as the figures descended into the cave.
A year ago, she might have thought this barbaric. Actually, she was sure she would have. It likely would have changed how she’d seen both Tamlin and Lindy. But Elain was an entirely different person now, and just about everything had changed. The only thing she felt, other than the slight tinge of a blush on her cheeks, was elation for her friends.
The two were enamored with each other, and Lindy had made Tamlin work for it. He’d gladly risen to the occasion. Elain’s grin spanned ear to ear as the drums heightened, the crowd resuming their celebrations. Around her, people danced and sang and ate and drank, the feeling so euphoric that it pulsed like blood in her veins.
She grabbed a glass of mulled wine herself, sipping as she swung along with the crowd, the music beautiful. It was like her feet wanted to move on their own, twist and twirl her along the throngs of people who were happy to be here, to celebrate the land and the life it gave.
Elain found herself nearly overwhelmed with the gratitude of those around her—a whole celebration based on second chances and rebirth. The lore of it all had touched something inside her when she’d read about it, but now, in it, she felt it take her over completely.
Elain was alive. She had never felt alive like this. She’d lived her whole life muted, gray painted over swaths of hidden color like a sodden canvas. But now, Elain had been living as herself in a land she’d thought existed only in fairytales.
As she spun with a group of females—hands sweating and firm, supportive and gentle—she felt the tears rolling down her face as she danced and swayed. The fae around her smiled, twirling her out and back when her turn came, and trusting her to do the same for them.
Elain had such sudden clarity that this was where she belonged. This—this land of magic and friends and family like she’d never known—was the closest she’d ever felt to living.
She danced for what felt like hours, her heart pounding and full, feeling safe and cared for and included. She spun until her feet hurt, until the colors of the fires and sparks blurred around her. Finally, when her throat was dry and her head starting to thump, she bade her goodbyes and headed back toward the manor. Toward her home.
The drums beat softly through the walls as she moved through quiet, lacquered halls, her bare feet near-silent on the marble. She could still hear them as she removed her pretty dress, washed her body in the tub, and crawled into bed. She could hear them as she faded in and out of sleep, the residual sparkle of the wine she’d had swimming prettily through her mind, shifting the stars and the shadows from the faraway fires into delightful scenes on her ceiling.
Elain could still hear the drums as she tossed and turned, the steady beating of them shifting into something more familiar, more lovely. It beat right next to her heart, closer and closer until her eyes shot open in the bed.
She knew, somehow, that Lucien was right outside of her door, her body moving before she could tell it otherwise. Feet padded across the floor, the satin of her nightgown swishing around her thighs as she opened the massive, wooden doors to the hall.
She’d been right—he was there—surprised to see her, his brows high and eyes wild like he could feel the drums too as he stood between their two doors. Almost like he’d been waiting. Almost as though he’d been talking himself out of something.
Elain wasn’t sure if it was the wine, or the drums, or the magic of the night that possessed her. Perhaps it was everything, and the time they’d spent apart. But her body was moving through the door, stepping toward him where he stood closer to his.
“Elain.” Her name was a shaky whisper, his eyes flashing to her chest and back to her face. She didn’t feel embarrassed; she felt bold.
“You left.”
The words were simple, perhaps less accusation in them than hurt, but the whisper filled the empty hallway nonetheless. The words struck, though—she could see each as it landed, something like guilt in Lucien’s eyes. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it meant.
“Will you let me explain?” he asked.
She found she wanted that more than anything else. She nodded.
“I left on business, but I stayed in Dawn. I was looking for answers. About the vines.” He stepped closer, and Elain inhaled on impulse, filling her lungs with the smell of him. “About you.”
He’d gone searching for answers. He’d left to find something that would help her.
“And what did you find?” she asked, fighting every urge to bridge the small space between them and put her hands on him. The drumbeats shook the walls, shook her bones.
A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Nothing yet, but I have leads. I wanted to see if there was a way to help. Wanted to see if perhaps, especially with what happened to your sisters, there was something about you that wasn’t as human as you’d thought.”
The words he said shifted in Elain’s head, forming a picture of something new. Lucien had gone to find answers, to find if Elain might not be entirely human after all. Lucien had gone to look because the possibility might change things…because Lucien might—
“You kissed me,” were the words that found their way out of her. He nodded.
“I did.” This time, it was Lucien who stepped closer, the heady rush of the space between them making Elain woozy. He hadn’t been trying to leave her. He had been trying to find answers for her, something that might allow them to be together for more than just right now.
She opened her eyes, looking up at him and finding him so close that she couldn’t help but reach out her hand. Just over his collar, she stopped, hesitating, and Lucien closed his own eyes.
“I can’t stay away from you anymore, Elain,” he said, the words so quiet she could barely hear them.
She let her fingers fall, brushing over his collarbone and taking note of the sharp exhale of breath from his lips.
“Do you want to?” she asked, feeling the heat of his skin sear into her like a brand on her soul. The drums beat into a crescendo so loudly that she was no longer sure what came from outdoors and what was the beating of their hearts.
“No.” The word was firm, but it was almost lost in the collision of their bodies, chests and arms and lips crashing together all at once. It wasn’t like the kiss in the hallway of the ball, no trepidation or hesitation. They were immediately locked into each other, limbs twining and mouths moving and a door opening behind her as the air rushed through. She could just barely tell from the scent that they were in his room as the door clicked shut behind them, the darkness swallowing them again until her eyes adjusted.
His mouth was on her jaw, her neck, and she was seeing stars behind her eyes. Where his body pressed against hers, her silk nightdress pushed up, exposing her thighs to the air and how wet she was between them. At each point where he sucked into her skin with those perfect lips of his, her body arched forward, wanting more—more touch, more contact, more, more, more.
“Lucien,” she sighed the name into his neck like a prayer, suddenly aware of her back against the wall of his room. She’d been in here before, back when she first arrived, that smell enticing her before she’d even known who he was, what he was to her.
A sound hummed low in his throat, almost a growl as it rumbled between clenched teeth. “Can I please touch you?” She could hear the restraint in his voice, feel it in the rigid hold of his frame. But when she nodded against him, everything was a sudden flurry of movement. His hands were beneath her thighs, her body lifting, skin moving against the gilded wallpaper. A gasp left her lips as her feet left the ground, but Lucien was kneeling, holding her up with one of her thighs over his shoulder and the other resting on his arm.
“I cannot tell you how long I’ve waited to do this,” he murmured into her thigh, the sensation of it causing Elain to rock forward and close her eyes. He was lifting her like it was nothing—like he could do this all day, and the proximity with which his lips moved to where she’d let no one but Graysen touch her before was making her heart rocket around in her chest. He moved closer, dragging his skin against hers until she was vibrating with anticipation. Her chest was exploding with the sensation, the need, the longing finally coming to a head.
She heard where he inhaled, heard something that sounded like a sigh as she felt his breath skirt over her most sensitive skin. She’d have begged had he not immediately closed his mouth over her, his hot tongue moving across her so intentionally that all Elain could do was close her lips tightly to pull back the scream that wanted to escape from her throat.
Lucien pulled back and Elain almost cried at the emptiness. “Exactly as perfect as I’d imagined you’d taste,” he said, words barely discernible as he dove back in. Elain had never felt anything like this—never known she could feel anything like this. Graysen had barely touched her, had thrust against her for a while before spitting into his own hand and readily chasing his pleasure with no regard for hers.
But Lucien—gods, Lucien.
Lucien was devouring her like a final meal. Like he’d been a man starving and she was what he’d chosen to slake his hunger. Behind her, his hands grabbed at her ass, sinking into flesh that had never been touched so possessively with such need. She could feel the pulsing of him within her ribs, the arousal so potent that it was nearly a tangible thing as she bucked against his face.
“Oh, gods,” she whimpered, somehow noticing in the sweltering heat of the pleasure ripping her down that she’d switched to addressing the plural gods of Prythian in the time she’d been here. He took it as a sign, doubling down and she almost swore she could feel him smiling against her. She was babbling, begging, though she knew she wasn’t making any sense. She couldn’t care—nothing mattered except his mouth on her and the iron grip of pleasure coiling tight and hot around her spine. When he moved slightly, adjusting his fingers just enough to include them in his ministrations, Elain detonated, an orgasm harder than anything she’d ever felt rocking through her with the force of a storm.
She wasn’t sure when she’d had her feet lowered to the floor, wasn’t sure when her consciousness had floated back into her body as Lucien loosely held her, pressing kisses softly into her neck and along her collarbone. She came back into herself, feeling his hands brush up and down her arms, over her waist and hips, and she felt treasured. It was nothing she’d ever experienced before—nothing she ever thought she would. But as she cleared the haze, she could feel Lucien against her, still hard and considerably larger than she’d been expecting.
She tried not to balk as her hands began to explore beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing and moving along his searing skin. His trousers were held by a tie, and Elain swiftly undid it, loosening the leather and tugging down the waist of them. Her fingers explored lower and lower, and Lucien let his forehead fall against her shoulder, his arms practically shaking against her as her fingertips finally made contact.
“Elain…” It was a plea if she’d ever heard one, soft and beautiful against her chest where he’d leaned in when she touched him. And as her fingers closed around him, barely touching, he exhaled so hard that she’d worried at first she’d hurt him.
“Is this okay?” She’d never done this with Graysen, though he’d tried to get her to put her mouth on him once and she’d blatantly refused. The thought of doing that with Lucien, however, piqued her interest in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Cauldron, yes, Elain. It’s more than okay.” She smiled against his hair, her hand tightening just enough to hold a little pressure as she moved up and down the length of him. He muffled a curse as he bucked forward, and her grin widened. It was fun to elicit this reaction from him. She’d been so passive with Graysen, but something about Lucien, about the way she could feel how he wanted her in her own veins, pushed her to do more. To play. She stopped, pulling her hand back, and Lucien sprung up.
“I’m so sorry, Elain. I was carried away, I—” But his mouth closed so fast his teeth clacked as she slipped down the wall, settling on her knees. Even in the dark, the light from the outside sent shadows across the angles of his face above her, illuminating him just enough for her to see the wide-eyed awe on his face and the breath on his parted lips.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she responded before he had a chance to stop her. And she did. Since the thought had passed through her mind moments ago, it had consumed her. She wanted to taste him—to know what the weight of him felt like on her tongue. Perhaps she wouldn’t be good at it, perhaps it would be messy. Still, the thought made the place between her legs throb all over again, the goosebumps blanketing her arms as she placed her hands back on his thighs.
Though it was hard to see in the dark, she leaned in, resting just the tip of him on her tongue. The length of him was heavy and soft, smooth in her mouth as she closed it over him. Above her, Lucien made a strangled sort of sound that only motivated her. She raised her hand to the base of him, holding him firm and steady while she let her mouth and tongue explore. She based her movements on the way he held himself, shaking and pitching forward, his hips moving out of time even though she could tell he was desperately trying to hold himself back.
Before, she might have been embarrassed by the saliva, by the obscene sounds her mouth and hand made as they moved over him. But she was inspired by the way he leaned forward and gripped the wall for dear life above her. The way one hand came down to cradle her jaw, soft and possessive and gentle and just barely held back from losing control all at once. Elain experimented with touch and movement, with pressure and rhythm, until she could feel the tightness in her own chest, until she knew he was close.
“Elain,” he gasped. She continued. “Elain, if you don’t stop, I’m not going to be able to.” She nodded once, bobbing her head on him and hoping he understood. She wanted to taste him, wanted to do this for him and know forever how it felt. He shuddered against her, his fingers twining in her hair as his body lurched forward.
He tasted as good as he smelled, something spiced and salty and almost sweet. Elain slowed as she swallowed, pulling herself gently off of him as he sagged and sighed above her. She tried to stand on her own, but he barely let her move before he was lifting her again, pulling her body up and to him so that her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist. He was kissing her, mouth moving against hers as he carried them across the room and set her gently on the bed. This close to the windows with the curtains pulled back, she could see every detail of his beautiful face in the glow from outside. He looked like she felt.
“This time, I get to ask you to stay.”
Elain simply nodded, settling back against the pillows as he crawled in beside her and tugged up the sheets. This time, there was no space between them as she shimmied down beneath the covers, his broad hand coming around her stomach and pulling her tight against him. She was exhausted, her body finding the safety that it had craved for so long in his arms and immediately letting her relax so intensely that she could barely keep her eyes open. It felt like sunshine and fire in her chest, something tight and expanding and wild as the bond wrapped around them.
His heart beat next to hers, that ribbon stronger and more physical than it had ever felt between them.
Elain yawned, but the words whispered out too. “I can feel you, Lucien. I can feel your heart beating with mine.”
It was the closest she’d come to saying it, the closest she’d come to telling him about the bond. Behind her, he tensed slightly, his body curving around hers as though it wanted to protect her from something. The feelings of comfort and concern warred inside her.
Had she gone too far?
“Elain, I have to tell you something,” Lucien spoke so close that she could feel his lips brushing the skin of her shoulder.
Her breath froze in her lungs, realization dawning on her. He couldn’t possibly know, could he?
“I should have told you sooner, and I’m so sorry I kept this from you. I just didn’t know how to explain what was happening.”
He did know. He thought she didn’t know.
All this time…
She spun around in his arms, turning to face him close in the dark, and that tugging in her chest flared into something wild, acknowledged.
“Mates.” The words were out of her in a breath, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then, Lucien was up on his elbow staring at Elain with a sort of incredulity that she’d never seen. He looked almost like he was on the verge of tears.
“You knew?” He spoke the words like he didn’t dare to believe them. Elain’s heart nearly exploded. Had he known the whole time, too?
“Since the first night I saw you,” she whispered back, reaching a hand up to touch his face, to make sure he was real.
“And you know what it means?”
“I’ve been doing some reading.” She smiled, and his laugh was wet. “I thought it was something from storybooks before I came here. Before I met you.”
Something like a sob tore from Lucien’s throat, and his arms were around Elain in a heartbeat.
Had he known the whole time? Had he been afraid of what she’d think?
Almost as if he’d heard her thoughts, he spoke into her hair. “I thought it wouldn’t be fair to tell you all this—to put it on you when you were all but exiled here. I thought you’d hate me.” She barely heard the last part of his admission, his words covered in such pain.
“I ruin everything I touch, Elain. I was so scared that I would ruin you, too.” Her heart was breaking for him, the emotion in his voice so painful that it hurt her down to her bones. She held him closer.
“And then, you told me about the magic, and I thought there might be hope. There might be something to the idea of the Cauldron matching us. That you might survive…me.”
“Oh, Lucien.” She was crying now too, the tears soaking his hair as it pressed against her face. He pulled back, the strands sticking to her face as he did. But his face was more open and earnest than she’d ever seen, something so vulnerable that Elain felt like breaking herself open just to let him search for whatever he needed.
“Do you want this?” he asked. “Do you want me?”
It wasn’t the first time either of them had asked, or the first time they needed to know, but Elain could feel how important this was—not just for Lucien, but for her, too.
All her life, Elain had done what was expected of her, trying to fit in inside of her upbringing, trying to find a home that was hers. Elain had never asked for what she wanted, always going with the expectations and standards and demands of everyone else.
Now, here, it was time for Elain to finally ask for what she wanted.
She cupped his face in both her hands, using her thumbs to wipe the moisture off his cheekbones. His eyes never once left hers, but she knew he could feel her answer in his chest before she said it.
“The chance to be happy? To be with you? I would give anything.”
This time, when he kissed her, she didn’t hold anything back.
After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning. A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.
Elain
The party was still raging on, bright lights and loud music and happy people. Between the euphoria left still pounding in her chest from kissing Lucien and the massive success of the ball, Elain was overjoyed.
She had done this. She had made sure that everything was perfect—that this whole week went off without a hitch and culminated in tonight. She had done it to feel needed, to feel like she could still provide something of worth. But mostly, she’d done it for her friend, Tamlin.
He was currently on the dance floor—which surprised her—with Lindy, which didn’t.
The smile on his face was wide and unburdened, and for the first time since she’d come to Spring, there was no trace of sadness on his face. All the work had been well worth it.
Beside her, someone came up to speak to Lucien, and Elain hovered close by. They weren’t touching—they hadn’t had time to discuss…well, anything really after the kiss. She wasn’t sure what it had meant.
But to her, it had meant something. It felt like the culmination of everything, all the feelings, the longing, the yearning, the bond. Even now, with him at her side, she could feel it thrumming wild and excited between them, a pulse beating with the rhythm of both their hearts.
Something inside her felt settled, but simultaneously excited, like everything had just changed. Her fingertips ached to reach out and grab his hand—to twine his fingers with hers and ask him what this meant, if it meant something to him like it did to her.
Instead, Elain forced herself to the refreshments, letting Lucien socialize and grabbing a small crystalline cup of punch for herself. She had worked to bring this night to life, and she wanted to bask in the glow of it. It truly was beautiful—unlike anything she’d ever seen. For the first time in a very, very long time, Elain was proud of something she’d done.
“Well, that’s certainly interesting.” The strange feeling beneath her skin had alerted Elain of Ianthe’s presence just before she spoke. Elain refused to remove her eyes from the dance floor to look at the patronizing priestess.
“What is?” Though she was certain she knew what the priestess meant. Ianthe jerked her chin toward the dance floor.
“Tamlin taking pity on the gardener at this lovely ball you’ve put on.”
It took everything within Elain to not react right away, her fists clenching on reflex, fingernails digging into her skin. Still, Ianthe continued.
“It’s just so like him to include the lesser help on such a beautiful night. Don’t you think?”
“Well, you’re here, so I suppose so.” Elain had reached the end of her waning patience with Ianthe. She still wouldn’t look at her, but she could hear Ianthe’s offended gasp.
“Do you have any idea who my father was?”
Elain had grown up in polite society—she knew how these things worked, and she knew exactly what Ianthe was hoping to do by bringing up her father and whatever relationship he’d had to Spring and Tamlin’s family. But with all her reading, Elain knew that Ianthe’s father was dead. He held no power here.
Elain looked at her now.
“I do, actually. A decorated war hero, his only daughter devoted to the temple and climbing the ranks so fast. He must have been so proud.” Ianthe’s face paled, as she understood what Elain’s words implied.
“But he’s not here now. And even the best family trees can’t undo the sort of darkness in your heart, Ianthe.”
Before Ianthe could respond, Elain turned and walked off. She wasn’t going to spend any more time dulling the sparkle of her night tonight. If the priestess wanted to be miserable, Elain would let her, but she wasn’t going to commiserate.
Even as she walked, she could see the shimmer of Lindy’s dress as Tamlin twirled her across the floor, both happier than she’d ever seen either. Ianthe wasn’t going to ruin this.
As the night wore on, everyone partied until they were exhausted. Shoes were piled by the doors as people continued to dance, and Lucien and Elain had made almost a game of looking at each other from across the room. Every time his eyes found hers, her chest pulled tight. She wondered if, even after their kiss, he still couldn’t feel it.
Eventually, Lucien and Tamlin and Lindy all made their way back to where Elain was standing, everyone delightfully tired as the night wound down. Elain could tell Lindy was vibrating with excitement for how the night had gone. She grasped Elain’s hand in her own, squeezing it with a promise of later. Elain couldn’t wait for the details.
“What an event, Elain. I couldn’t have imagined anything like this,” Tamlin said, taking in the now-quieting rooms of the manor. “It was incredible.”
Lindy was all but pressed into his side, both holding on to the last shred of propriety for dear life. “It’s truly beautiful. You did an amazing job.”
Elain clapped her hands together. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without your money or your flowers, so I guess we all deserve a round of praise!” she teased, then turned to Lucien. “And for you answering all my endless questions, thank you.”
Lucien grinned, the first time they’d truly spoken since the run-in in the hallway painting his cheekbones pink.
“It looks like we’re going to have to keep you on staff for our big events,” he teased back. His eyes shot to Tamlin. “Calanmai is soon. Perhaps we can assign her to something." Tamlin choked on his drink and Lindy blushed bright scarlet.
Elain looked among them. “Calanmai? What is that?”
The group was quiet until Lucien spoke up. “It’s a Spring tradition—specifically intended to help the fertility of the land.”
Tamlin cleared his throat. “Perhaps Elain might look it up on her own terms in the library,” he suggested, his gaze pointed as Lucien laughed.
“Perhaps she might.” Something in the gaze he gave her was loaded, something else behind his eyes. At that moment, someone came up and began to talk with Tamlin, bringing Lucien into the fold too. Lindy and Elain stood closer, looking out at the courtyard beyond the ballroom doors.
“I will be getting every detail possible from you tomorrow, understood?” Elain whispered. Lindy laughed softly beside her, squeezing her hand again softly.
“Thank you,” she whispered back, the meaning weighted past the two words.
When the horrid crawling of her skin began again, Elain had to use every bit of willpower to not roll her eyes.
“Such a lovely night, was it not? Elain, you outdid yourself!” she cooed, coming up into their small circle as though the entire encounter earlier hadn’t happened at all. She handed Elain a mug.
“The kitchen servants told me they’d brewed this for you, but were worried about coming to the dance floor. They said you’d know what it was.”
Elain had nearly forgotten her tea, but as exhausted as she was, she didn’t want to miss a night. Begrudgingly, she thanked the priestess. Ianthe seemed about as interested in staying to talk to Lindy as Lindy seemed in doing the same, so she flitted off, her eyes likely set on some available nobleman. Elain snorted to herself and sipped the tea.
She hoped between that and all the hard work coming to an end, she’d finally get a good night of sleep tonight.
The brew worked quickly as soon as she and Lindy took seats to rest their feet, exhaustion sweeping over her as the crowds waned. She bid her goodnights, hugging Lindy with promises of tomorrow and waving to Lucien and Tamlin across the hall.
Elain fell asleep thinking about the kiss, about Lucien, about how it felt to have his hips pressed into hers and his mouth on her skin.
+++
Elain knew immediately that she was dreaming, though she wasn’t entirely sure how.
Everything looked normal, felt normal, except the woods didn’t look like Spring anymore. It looked like fall. Elain had a sudden pang of nostalgia for the way the forest around the manor looked in late October, and the ache dug deeper when the thought struck her that she’d never see them that way again.
Around her, the reds and oranges melded together, both on the trees and on the ground, and Elain walked through the paths that seemed naturally ingrained in the ground. It was quiet, just the rustling of the leaves against the wood in her ears.
Just as she turned around a curve in the path, something—someone—dropped down from the tree in front of her.
“Oh!”
The woman—the female—in front of her smiled, upside down, the grin splitting her face as her dark coils and tendrils of ivy bobbed in the air.
“Hello there!” the female responded, her voice low and dulcet, but still a chirp in the quiet air.
Behind the swinging female, the flitting wings caught Elain’s eyes and she nearly gasped with delight, holding it back just in time to not be offensive. The woman flipped down effortlessly, hair flying as she pivoted upright.
“I haven’t seen anyone here in ages. Who are you?” she asked Elain.
“Where exactly is here?”
“Well, it’s…” She paused, as if unsure of how to answer. “It’s usually quiet here. How did you get here?”
“I think I’m dreaming,” Elain answered. “I know I am.”
The woman nodded. “My name’s Jes. I’m glad to see someone else here. It’s not bad, but it does get lonely.”
Elain still wasn’t quite sure where they were. “I’m Elain.” Jes’s eyebrows jumped at the name.
“Elain!” It was like an exaltation. “You’re Elain!”
“Yes, have we met?” Elain took a step closer to her. She did feel almost like she recognized the face, though she was sure with the other features she’d remember.
Jes clapped her hands once, her smile wide and eyes bright, even as they watered a bit. “It’s you. You’re Lucien’s Elain!”
The phrasing jarred something inside Elain, and she understood without understanding. This was the woman she’d dreamed of—the woman Lucien had dreamed of—on the nights his nightmares were particularly bad. It was always just flashes, tiny pieces of visions and not the whole picture. That’s why she hadn’t recognized her at first.
But how did she know Elain?
“I know a lot more than you think. Once you’ve died, there isn’t much to do except for check in.” The admission was dark, but Jes was still smiling. She sighed joyfully. “It’s you. You’re his mate.” She put her hands on Elain’s arms and squeezed, and Elain was surprised by how warm her palms felt against her skin. “It’s so, so good to meet you.”
“It’s good to meet you too,” Elain responded. And it was, though she wasn’t entirely clear on who Jes was or had been to Lucien. She knew Jes had been important, and that she’d died horribly in a way that Lucien blamed himself for. She knew he’d been in love with Jes, but the rest of the details were murky.
“You probably have so many questions, but I have to warn you, there’s rarely enough time.”
Elain felt Jes’s warning to be true, the awareness that she was sleeping and likely to wake up at any time clear in her mind.
But more than anything, if there was any chance that this was real, she knew what questions she needed to ask. “Are you okay here? Are you happy in this…afterlife? Whatever it is?”
Jes’s smile widened so profoundly that it almost surprised Elain.
“You’re asking so you can tell him. So you can get back and let him know I’m okay, aren’t you?” Elain wasn’t sure how Jes had understood her motivations, but she nodded anyway. Jes closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the sun that was cutting through the trees. She took a deep breath, then let it loose, taking Elain’s hand in her own.
“I see why you’re his mate. Yes, please tell Lucien I’m okay. Time works differently here. It hasn’t felt so long to me, and I have everything I could possibly want. Please also tell him that what happened wasn’t his fault. That I don’t blame him, and I never did. Not for a minute.” Her smile was so, so sad.
“I will,” Elain nodded. “What did happen, exactly?”
At this, Jes’s smile became almost mischievous, though it was toned down by the sadness in her eyes. “That, you’ll have to hear from him, I’m afraid.” Elain understood. “Do you have any other questions for me?” Jes asked.
Elain thought, but nothing came to mind. Sure, she could ask about the afterlife here in specifics, but something told her that, when her time came, it would look very different from this. She shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
As if she knew what Elain had been thinking, Jes smiled softly. “Then I need to ask you some things, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” She wasn’t sure if she had any answers that would be helpful for the dead, but Jes seemed genuinely kind, and she would help in any way she could.
“Do you want to live, Elain?” It certainly hadn’t been what she’d been expecting.
“What?”
“It’s important for things that are coming. I need to know that you want to live.”
Her kneejerk reaction was to say yes, of course I want to live. But Elain hadn’t forgotten the way she’d felt before. Hadn’t forgotten that night in the bath tub. Hadn’t forgotten the bruises or the way she’d been okay with dying.
But things were different now. She hadn’t had those thoughts in months. Since coming to Spring. Elain looked forward to each new day, each new possibility.
“I do,” she said, her voice sounding rougher than she’d wanted it. She cleared her throat. “I do want to live.” And she did, mostly. There were still dark days, but she’d been better. She’d been okay. She wanted to believe she could stay that way.
Jes looked understanding, empathetic. “Will you stay? Will you fight to stay for him? For yourself?”
Elain nodded. She hadn’t thought about it that way, but if she and Lucien were to accept the bond one day, if it turned out to be something he wanted, it wouldn’t just be about her anymore. She couldn’t give up if her very soul was tied to someone else’s.
But, Elain felt confident that she could be with Lucien. That she could be happy in this new life if it meant they could be together. Jes seemed satisfied as she took Elain’s other hand in her own and flipped her forearms facing upwards.
“There is something coming,” Jes whispered, and Elain looked down and gasped. All along her inner arms, dark green lines ran through her skin. They moved and shimmered, though she couldn’t feel a thing. Her eyes shot to Jes’s, steady and holding.
“Do not trust her,” Jes warned, but Elain didn’t have a second to ask who she meant, because she was slipping, falling, sliding back into a vision. A vision within the dream.
Soldiers marching in the dark, crushing flowers beneath their boots. Blood covering stone and grass, a shadow darker than she’d ever seen passing over a battlefield. Ianthe’s stone glowing in the dark, Tamlin trapped in chains. Lucien, screaming, covered in blood.
She couldn’t see Jes anymore, but she could feel the warmth of her hands. Could hear her voice.
“It’s falling apart,” Jes whispered the words, but Elain already knew them.
“What does it—” But Elain’s eyes were shooting open, nothing but the dark night sky to meet them.
“ELAIN!” Someone screamed her name from a place so deep she felt it in her bones. Ahead of her, the stars sparkled. Was she still dreaming?
“ELAIN!” It was Lucien. And then, Elain fully woke up.
The crisp night air was sharp on her skin, and she heard her own gasp as she felt it leave her lungs. It was then she realized why she could see all the stars.
Elain was standing on the balcony railing, the marble cold beneath the arches of her feet. Behind her, Lucien was still screaming her name, but all Elain could focus on were the vines that had twined themselves tightly around her body. They climbed her legs and over her hips, curled around her waist and arms and shoulders and neck. They were tight enough to hold her, firm enough to keep her steady but not squeezing hard enough to hurt.
“Lucien?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep but otherwise steady.
“Elain.” It was a gasp of relief, and she felt it rebounding among her ribs. “You’re awake?”
She nodded, the vines loosening around her as though they too understood she was no longer sleeping.
“Can you help me down?” she called back over her shoulder, looking and seeing that he was much closer than he’d thought, a wall of vines slithering down to the lacquered floor and back toward the lattices on the sides of the manor.
She breathed deep and looked back in front of her, the stars still glittering wildly in the sky—and two stories of open air beneath her. Elain’s stomach turned and lurched, her eyes swimming suddenly with dizziness. But Lucien’s hands were replacing the vines on her hips, the warm expanse of them holding her steady.
“Come on down. I’ve got you.”
She realized she was shaking, her joints swaying as she tried to crouch and almost found she couldn’t. But Lucien was already gathering her into his arms like it was nothing. Like they’d done this a million times before. Her body calmed as he pulled her against his chest—she hadn’t realized how cold she’d been—and he carried her inside, shutting the door with his foot behind them and turning the lock with one hand.
Over his shoulder, Elain watched as the last of the bright green vines receded back off the balcony and onto the walls.
Lucien set her down on the bed, pulling a blanket over her shoulders immediately and coming to crouch in front of her.
“Are you okay?” Elain could see the fear on his face as clearly as she could feel it in her chest. She nodded.
“I was sleeping. Dreaming.” She wetted her dry lips, remembering Jes and the autumn woods. “How did you know what was happening?”
“I felt—I heard you scream.” Had she been screaming? Her throat didn’t feel raw. As she pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders, something caught her eye. All up and down her forearms, those green lines remained—lighter now, but still present.
“What are those?” Lucien asked, his fingers tracing the pattern and sending goosebumps skittering across her skin.
“I have no idea.” Even before their eyes, the lines were fading, pulling back like the vines outside had. They rescinded into her skin, practically disappearing as they watched in awe.
“Would you like some tea? Something hot?” Lucien asked, and it suddenly sounded like the best thing in the world.
“Yes, please.”
Elain wrapped herself in a robe, pulling it tight around herself before tying it. For the first time, she noticed Lucien was in night clothes—trousers and a loose shirt. She peeled her eyes away from where it flared open at his chest.
They were quiet as they snuck down the back stairs to the kitchens. Elain wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but the sky was still dark around them, no signs of dawn on the horizon. Still, the manor was quiet, the lights turned down low. Everyone had retired from the ball, the embers of the great bonfires across the hills settling through the windows. In the kitchens, it looked like the cabinets had exploded. The staff were clearly waiting until morning to start the massive undertaking of cleanup. Only a single sconce lit the space, spilling a low golden light into the kitchen. Lucien immediately got to work starting the kettle, and Elain found two cups from the cupboards.
Lucien cleared his throat, and Elain turned to find him leaning against the counter.
“Has that ever happened before?”
“Have I ever woken up surrounded by vines trying to throw myself off a balcony?” She pretended to think. “Can’t say I have.”
Beneath the concern, she watched Lucien fight a smile.
She rummaged around the tea cabinet, looking for the bags she was familiar with, but she found the box entirely empty. She was surprised when Lucien popped up right at her shoulder, reaching gingerly around to grab another box when he saw hers was empty.
“I keep this type handy to help with sleep on nights where I struggle. It tastes good, I promise.”
She nodded, and he took the two portions over to the mugs, prepping everything while Elain watched him work. His hands moved quickly for their size, adept in tying off the little mesh bags and pouring the hot water from the kettle. Immediately, the air smelled fragrant, cloves and something citrus filling the air as they steeped.
She stepped closer to smell, then realized how close she was standing to Lucien.
His mouth was so close to her brow, the room barely lit and quiet around them. She spoke to keep from pulling him to her by the lapels, to keep from kissing him again until her lips were swollen and bruised.
“I’ve had visions before. I’ve seen things. I think, in a way, that was happening tonight.” Part of her wanted to tell him about Jes, about seeing her there and what she’d say. But another part of her wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Visions?” he asked, as if unclear on her meaning.
“It started as just dreams when I was young. But as I got older, I noticed a pattern. I’d get the strangest sense I’d seen something before as it happened. As the years passed, I started to understand that the dreams were predictions.” She stopped and took a breath. “They used to be just flashes, feelings. Little pieces that left me to parse out meaning on my own.”
“But now?”
“Ever since I crossed The Wall….they’re different. Vivid. I see things more fully. Even just the flashes feel detailed. And there are voices. People talk to me like they can see me there.”
Lucien’s brows furrowed further. “And these visions. They come to pass?”
She thought back to all she’d seen. “Most of them do. Though there are always some that don’t.” She thought back to Tamlin in chains, the vision of Lucien screaming. She hoped some wouldn’t ever come to pass.
“Is there anyone else in your family like this?” he asked.
“No one. At least, not that I would know. I’m not sure how readily a human would admit to it, though.” She couldn’t have imagined ever telling anyone about her dreams except perhaps Fiona. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Anything,” he answered, their mouths still so close that their breath mingled.
“The words she’d worried about for so long spilled out from her lips. “Besides the visions, other things have happened. I mean, before tonight. Once, I accidentally held a broken flower, and it healed its own petals. I don’t know any other humans who can do that.”
His eyes searched her face. “Neither do I,” he answered.
She wanted to tell him about Vilja, but refrained. She had found her walking through the woods on her own when she shouldn’t have been. And she hadn’t even figured out what the prophecy meant yet, though she had written it down on a slip of paper and hidden it in her desk.
“Have the vines ever tried to hurt you before?” he asked, though the question threw Elain a little.
“I don’t think the vines were trying to hurt me,” she answered honestly. “I think they were trying to keep me safe.”
They were so close now that Elain’s arm was against his, heat passing back and forth between them. He wanted to kiss her—she could feel it—and she began to close her eyes.
“Do you hear that?” Instead of his lips on hers, she felt the rush of breath as he asked. She paused, listening hard. She did hear it then, the quietest notes of a piano playing through the closed doors.
“What is that?” The two grabbed their mugs, creeping quietly into the staff hall. As they moved through the dark, the music grew louder and louder. It was coming from the ballroom. From where they were, they could peek through the door unnoticed since it was the staff entryway. Lucien went first, then quickly gestured for Elain to come look.
There in the ballroom, the piano enchanted to play alone, were Tamlin and Lindy, dancing in the near-dark. Elain nearly gasped at the sight, the moonlight spilling through the massive windows and over her friends. They were doing a slow dance, less planned moves and more swaying in each other’s arms. Lindy’s head was laid against Tamlin’s chest, their hands clasped tightly and resting against their bodies.
Elain felt a sharp tug in her chest, then looked up to see Lucien looking at the two. His expression mirrored exactly what she was feeling, that happiness for their friends so overwhelming that it nearly made her want to cry.
“Come on,” she whispered, gesturing back down the hall. They didn’t speak again until they returned to their rooms, pausing in the hallway between their doors.
She needed to go into her room, but her feet were planted on the floor.
“Will you be okay tonight, Elain?” Lucien asked, sensing her feelings the way he always seemed to.
She decided to be honest with him, favoring the truth over keeping anything from him now. “I’m afraid it’ll happen again.”
There was only a moment of hesitation from him before he stepped forward, his mug still in hand. “Did you—would you like me to stay?”
Elain hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted him to ask until the words released a wave of relief in her chest, like the tension had simply gone out of her.
“Please.” It didn’t feel like begging, and she didn’t feel as strange about it as she might have thought. Lucien himself seemed relieved to have asked.
The two came into her room, still absent of every light but the moon. She turned her back to him as she removed her robe, sliding beneath the covers and feeling the moment the mattress shifted as Lucien did the same. As always, the heat coming off of him was so potent she could feel it across the space between them. She wanted to curl into his arms, to let the warmth of him seep beneath her skin and into her very bones.
She didn’t, though. She simply tried to close her eyes and forget that she was in a bed, beneath the covers, with her mate.
After a few moments, she could feel sleep already trying to bring her under again.
“Lucien?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for staying with me,” she replied through a yawn, covering her mouth and blinking hard.
She could feel the thrumming in her chest, pattering like the wings of a hummingbird. She wondered if he could feel it too.
His words were far away as sleep took her under.
“Always, my lady. Always.”
Lucien
It had been an hour since Elain had fallen asleep. At least, that was his best guess. Lucien didn’t have a clock, and time had seemed utterly meaningless since the moment he’d felt the strange tearing on the bond rip him from sleep earlier, only to see his mate teetering on the balcony railing.
He’d been terrified, a fear like nothing he’d ever felt before coursing through him so violently that he still thought he might be sick even now.
Jes had flashed in his mind, her eyes open and glassy as she lay twisted in a pool of her own blood. He’d seen just as easily how Elain might have looked, broken irreparably on the stone patio below. His stomach twisted and his eyes burned.
But she was here. Tangibly, physically here. In fact, after she’d fallen asleep, she’d tossed and turned her way across the bed until she was tucked into his side. He’d let her, remaining unmoving and simply basking in the comfort of her warmth and smell and touch.
She was here. She was okay.
Visions.
Lucien’s human mate was having visions. Had been having visions for some time now. There was nothing that could have prepared him for that, let alone that it wasn’t the first time, nor was it her only magic. If he’d had any doubt about her story of fixing the crushed flower, the vines alone might have convinced him otherwise. He’d thought they’d been trying to harm her—some magic gone horribly rogue.
But she’d felt sure they were doing the opposite, protecting her. And once she’d suggested it, he knew it to be true. They’d been holding her back while something else tried to propel her over the edge.
Knowing that was almost worse—that some external force had been trying to cause Elain harm, and Lucien was no closer to knowing what it was than he had been when he’d come bursting in, still half-asleep, and seen her fighting to fall to her death.
What might have happened had he not?
As if sensing the tension climbing in him, Elain rustled in her sleep, pressing her cold nose into his ribs and sighing.
She was perfect, even ruffled, her wild curls a drape over the pillow behind her. He couldn’t believe he was here, sharing a bed with his mate. She fit so perfectly into the crook of his arm, the intermingling of both their scents around him smelled so perfect, so right.
He’d worried the bond would drive him wild, the way people spoke about it. That it would make him feral and he wouldn’t be able to control himself. But here, now, the only thing he wanted was to keep feeling the sweet puffs of breath against his skin, to hear the little noises she made in the back of her throat as she burrowed deeper into the covers and into his side. All he wanted was to hold her here, to watch the shine of the moonlight settle into her curls when they draped over his arm.
Her arm twitched then crawled across his torso, tucking in on the other side. Lucien felt like he might split in two.
In the moonlight coming through the window, her arm looked normal again—not stripes of green disrupting the milky white. He reached out to brush his fingers up and down her arm, but pulled back at the last moment.
He’d never seen anything like it.
There were a few people he thought he could ask, and a surefire place close by that he knew he could start.
Elain sighed against his chest, her fingertips just barely brushing his skin. He felt it in every vein, and he thought he might be happier than he could ever remember being before.
Lucien wanted this bond more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life, but he needed answers first.
After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning.A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.
Lucien
It was unbelievable how lifelike the manor looked.
Lucien remembered, long ago, what it was like to have the place wild and loud and bright. To host parties that he'd helped plan, to see members of the court and even some from farther away dancing and talking and eating and drinking until the sun came up. Those nights had made him feel the closest he ever had to having a home, like he’d contributed, like he belonged somewhere. Once Amarantha had come, those nights had dwindled then died out. But seeing it like this again made Lucien so nostalgic that it nearly hurt.
The Spring manor had always had a layout for hosting, the massive rooms and sprawling landscape perfect for a massive crowd. The gardens were a huge draw, as was the grandeur of the manor itself. Tamlin wasn’t exactly the socialite one might imagine as a host, but Lucien had always somewhat liked doing the legwork of talking to people and meeting those who would travel for the parties and festivities of the past.
He’d loved the food and the lights and the people—the chance to feel like his efforts were noted and appreciated, as well as the ability to have some fun. Those parties had been some of his favorite memories in Spring, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed them.
Lucien had been thinking back on those endless parties in his mind all week, but he’d never, ever seen anything like this.
For the past seven or so days, vendors had been coming and going in a rotating procession of food and decor and goods and wine. Visitors of all varieties were camped across the green hills of Spring as far as the eye could see, wild bonfires going at all hours of the night as people arrived from both near and far. Elain had commissioned what Lucien had been told was a sort of travelling troupe of people—a recommendation from a member of the staff whose uncle swallowed knives as an attraction. He could see the tent practically stretching into the twilight clouds from the deck of the manor.
Elain hadn’t just planned a ball—Elain had planned days of activities, shows, entertainment. Dining and itineraries and immersive experiences Lucien knew without a doubt that people would be talking about for centuries. And the guests were already eating it up.
Lucien wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tamlin smiling the way he had been. The crowds of people, all willing and excited to come and pay homage to him, to check in, to participate in this after everything—it was bringing a light back into his High Lord’s eyes that Lucien hadn’t seen in a long time. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever see it again, to be quite honest.
It had been a week of revelry and happiness that the court deserved after so long starving of any real joy. The staff were buzzing and busy and laughing as they worked, and in the chaos of it all, Ianthe had been scarce—perhaps the biggest bonus in Lucien’s eyes. Now, as it all culminated in the night of the ball, he was happy to watch it all come together.
But the ball itself, for all its grandeur, wasn’t the most wonderful part of the week.
At the heart of it all, rushing around like a spinning top, was Elain. Beautiful, lovely, entirely perfect and overwhelmed Elain.
Lucien had taken to just watching her work when he wasn’t busy actively helping. Elain was always soft and kind, but he’d never seen anyone crack the whip of efficiency and wield it with such agility as she did. In all his days of planning and organizing, he could never have pulled off anything of this size and scale. He wasn’t sure he knew anyone else who possibly could.
Still, everyone Elain met seemed enchanted by her, ready to help in whatever way they possibly could. She was planning and organization and skill and joy, and Lucien had spent the last few weeks wondering how much longer he could hold on to any sense of keeping himself away from her.
His visit with the Suriel had only confused him, leaving him with more questions than answers. And all he’d done since that day was think about the barely-there brush of her lips against his in the water of the starlight pool. But this new side of Elain had taken what little willpower that he had left and shredded it to bits. She was so smart, so clever, so capable. He was in awe of her and the ability to have planned such a massive and impactful event with such care. He couldn’t imagine a world where he’d ever viewed her, even just on description alone, as Feyre’s vapid, socialite older sister.
And now, standing beneath endless fae lights draped across the gardens and courtyard filled with people, he wasn’t sure any part of him wanted to hold back anymore.
Of course, there was risk. And of course she was human. And Lucien had history—his stomach turned to think of what it might mean for Elain if patterns held. But she was his mate. Not only that, but she was perfect for him, Cauldron-blessed or not. She was quick and fun, she matched his wit and asked smart questions. She kept Lucien on his toes, and he could feel her good intentions. More still, he could feel how much she wanted him, too.
The Suriel might not have given him any straight answers, and he might not have any idea of what the prophecy it had given him meant, but Lucien wanted Elain—no matter the fear, no matter the consequences. No matter the amount of time they may have.
He wanted her, and he wanted her to want him just as badly.
But Lucien knew he needed to tell her about the bond. He needed to make sure she understood the many implications of the two of them being together. The fact that she was human, and he never would be.
It wasn’t fair to her to engage in anything until she knew. And Lucien wanted nothing more than to start this on good footing so it would last for as long as they had together.
He couldn’t do it tonight—this was everything Elain had been working for. If she didn’t react well about the news of the bond, it would overshadow all the good she’d done here. She deserved to enjoy the ball in all its glory.
But Lucien would do it soon. He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer.
Elain
Elain’s gown shifted and rustled around her ankles, pretty tulle and taffeta in a bright forest green shimmering in the lamplight.
She’d been just sitting at her vanity, ready for what felt like hours, but refusing to get up and go downstairs just yet. She could hear the revelry from her window, knew what a great success the ball and this whole week had turned out to be.
But Elain had not been sleeping, her dreams wilder and wilder each night, that strange voice still talking to her, sweet and reassuring and slow.
Her friends in the kitchen had given her some tea to help her sleep after they’d caught her yawning, but she didn’t think it was doing much good. Every night, regardless of how tired she was or what she did to ward them off, the dreams and nightmares would twist together, that voice echoing in her ears and leaving her wide awake before the sun.
She’d gotten ready too early today, coming straight back to her room after spending the morning in the library. Since Tamlin had told her the space was hers to research, she’d been in more than once, a spread of books across the desks and a candle or five burning low as she pored over the recent history of Prythian.
The books seemed to use magic to update themselves, and just last week, she’d finally gotten the full, detailed story of Amarantha and Feyre’s involvement with it. Elain had been up long into the hours of the night, forcing herself through every gruesome detail the book she’d found could provide. And when she was done, she’d vomited into the waste basket tucked into the corner until tears streamed down her face.
Her little sister.
Elain had very few memories from early childhood, but she remembered the first day Feyre was laid into her arms. She was bright red and squawking, barely a few hours old with a bright swooping curl of hair on her round head. Elain vividly remembered the night nurse saying she’d been crying since the second she’d breathed air, but when they laid her in Elain’s arms on the chaise, she’d gone totally silent.
Elain was entranced as she’d opened her eyes, the brightest blue she’d ever seen. She remembered in that moment feeling like she was holding the world in her arms—her little sister, hers to care for, to love.
Her baby sister, the savior of Prythian.
Her nightmares had been relentless since, but she pressed on, still dissatisfied with the information on Nesta. Certainly, something had happened after Feyre had freed Prythian that brought Nesta to her. Elain remembered what she’d seen—her sisters were indisputably both fae, and she wanted to understand how.
Feyre’s circumstances seemed vague in the book at best, a general nod to the fact that her sacrifice and the willingness of the High Lord of Night, her mate, to love her loudly despite her being human, had led to her immortality. That was all the detail she’d found. There were no incantations, no spells, no potions or herbs that she could find. It was almost like a fairytale ending.
And then the princess and the prince lived happily ever after forever…
She refused to take no for an answer, pressing on into each book that might possibly have more. And this morning, she’d finally had some luck with Nesta.
Tucked on a shelf was a thin tome, so small and indistinguishable that she’d looked right over it twice. And inside it was only a short footnote: the High Lady of Night’s sister and her mate, the General of the Night Court.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to confirm Elain’s suspicions. Both sisters had found their mates. Both had fallen in love. Both were now immortal.
Was that what it took? A tie to their mate to trigger immortality?
Elain fought that bubble of hope as she wondered if there was a way she could have the life she dreamed of. What if Lucien was holding back because she was human, but there was a way to make it so she was fae, too?
Would it change everything?
The cord in her chest had flared to life as if in answer.
Elain felt him now, a quiet and steady hum, and all she wanted was to be near him. She pushed up from the vanity, brushing down her skirts and walking to the door. She would find a way to explain all this to Lucien—the bond, her awareness of it, her theories about the future.
But not tonight.
She had worked hard, and tonight was about Spring.
Lucien
The drink in his hand was sweating as he leaned against the foyer wall. From here, Lucien had a wide view of the grand ballroom, a swirl of bodies within painting the marbled floor with color. Everyone smiled as the music swelled around them, bright and fun and celebratory.
He remembered when he was younger, before grief and rage had taken things from him. He’d loved to dance as a youngling, twirling around his mother’s skirts at gatherings as the music played. Now, Lucien couldn’t truly remember the last time he’d danced.
From the corner of his eye, a flash of green drew his gaze to the stairs. It was all he could do to not choke on his own inhale.
Elain Archeron, in all her human glory, stood at the top of the stairs like an angel.
Lucien was hypnotized, following every step she took down the staircase and down to the ballroom. He had a perfect view of her, though in the crowd, he wasn’t sure that she’d see him.
The green fabric flowed around her ankles like a pool of bright vines, the delicate embroidered flowers in deep maroon crawling up her legs and hips and curling around to her back. Her dress was tight around the bodice, lace just barely covering her arms. She’d grown tan and freckled in her time here, and Lucien loved it. She looked most at home outside, in the gardens, beneath the sun. It brightened her in ways that made his chest squeeze.
Her eyes found his suddenly, a smile widening across her face as she lifted a hand to wave as she reached the bottom. She held up a single finger, signalling she’d be right back before disappearing into the kitchens. Leave it to Elain to come to the ball looking like royalty and get straight to work.
Lucien was still struggling to get his pounding heart under control, inhaling slowly and deeply, but catching notes of her scent floating across the room. He had the sudden urge to hide her away—to make sure no one else saw her looking so beautiful.
Ridiculous, he chided himself, but the bond was riding him so hard that his teeth clenched uncomfortably.
He was going to need to talk to her soon—he truly wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the unacknowledgedment of it roaring like an inferno in his chest. He wondered if even her knowing about it, acknowledging its presence alone, might help the unending need to tell her, be close to her, touch her…
Lucien clenched his fists tight and tried to focus on other things.
Across the room, standing just at the meeting place of the ballroom and the expansive refreshment table, stood Tamlin and the gardener, Lindy. Though Tamlin hadn’t said as much to him, Lucien wasn’t blind. He saw the way his friend looked at the pretty gardener from a distance, noticed how enthusiastic he was about Elain working with her on the decorations so he’d have more excuses to talk to her.
Over two centuries, and Lucien had never once seen the High Lord improve upon his skills when it came to romancing. But he’d also never seen him so tripped up talking to anyone. Even from here, he could see the dusting of pale pink across his best friend’s cheeks as he spoke. Lindy seemed just as tentative, her hands moving jerkily as she spoke as those she wasn’t sure what to do with them.
Lucien grinned, and wasn’t even all that surprised when she stepped back to reveal the smallest thread stretching between them. It was shimmering and thin, coated in tiny purple flowers, and the burst of joy that exploded in his chest at the revelation was so strong he almost felt like crying.
No one deserved it more than Tamlin, and the way he stared at Lindy as she talked confirmed it. Lucien wondered if his friend had any idea at all.
As he stared at them, the image flickered in his mind, turning from Tamlin and Lindy to himself and Elain—flirting openly at a party, dancing, holding hands. He could see that shining, thin bond between them bright and functional and accepted, strong and solid as a rod connecting them.
He wanted that with her, more than he thought he might have ever wanted anything before. In all of this, the guilt of realizing Jes hadn’t been his mate seemed to weave through everything else. But he knew, somehow above all else, that Jes wouldn’t have wanted him to throw away his own happiness. She had been kind and she had truly loved him. If she couldn’t give him the love he deserved, he was certain that she’d insist in her stubborn, willful way that he find it again.
The truth was, Jes would have loved Elain. Everyone loved Elain. Lucien himself thought he might love Elain.
His chest lurched again, the feeling from somewhere outside himself this time. Like a physical draw, his eyes found hers across the room as she emerged from the staff rooms. Beautiful and staring at Tamlin and Lindy the way he’d just been.
The longing in his chest was not just his own, and he could see it plain as day across her face. Did she want this just as badly as he did? Would she still if she understood what the bond was—what it meant?
It was all too much to consider that she might run when she found out. That all that interest and feeling and emotion he’d been pushing aside for months might not mean the same to her. That she might be so startled by the concept of a mate that she’d want nothing to do with him.
The thought itself was so physically painful that Lucien staggered back, turning down a back hall into the east wing and fleeing into the dark.
Elain
Elain had seen Lucien slip off into the service hallway, looking unreasonably pale, right after she’d felt a stab of something painful in her chest.
She barely hesitated before walking after him. No one who would miss her had seen her yet, and she slipped quietly into the dark behind him, closing the doors with a quiet snick.
The sconces were barely lit, all the staff working in the kitchens and around the manor to help with the festivities tonight. Still, he could see his receding figure not far ahead, and she called out.
“Are you leaving?”
He stopped so quickly at the sound of her voice that she worried he might topple over, but watched him whip around instead to face her. As always, in the glow of any firelight, his face was beautiful, all angles and shadows and illuminated features. Her heart pounded.
He opened his mouth then shut it again, then began to walk toward her. It was so quiet in the hall that she could hear his footsteps, each one falling with purpose on the plush carpet. Her breath lodged in her throat.
He was dressed so stunningly, always cleaning up more nicely than anyone she’d ever seen, here or beneath The Wall. It was only now she noticed the colors of his clothing matched her dress, the greens and deep reds complimenting each other so perfectly it was almost enough to make her laugh as he came into her space.
“You didn’t try any of the apple tarts,” she offered, then immediately could have smacked herself for such a strange observation. He’d know she’d been watching him, and the shame of it burned her cheeks. She was thankful for the darkness.
Before, he’d made it so clear time and time again that he wasn’t interested in anything beyond friendship with her. She’d almost been ready to accept it, too, until the day at the starlight pool. Since then, she hadn’t been able to let go of the hope. He’d been about to kiss her—their lips touching. She’d played in her mind over and over again that day what she might have allowed had Ianthe not ruined things.
And now, now that she knew there was a chance she might become like him—that there could be a way to escape her own humanity. She needed to know if it might change things for him. She’d questioned over and over again the morality of telling Lucien about a bond he couldn’t feel, but she was more sure that she couldn’t go on like this without him knowing.
It wasn’t fair to him to know that she could feel what he felt. Wasn’t fair for only one of them to know. She’d almost prefer he reject her outright knowing than to live in this unending torture of what if.
She wouldn’t tell him tonight, but she needed to tell him soon.
“I hadn’t made it to the food yet,” he answered, his voice deep and low as it rumbled in front of her. He was whispering, but she still felt the timbre of it reverberate in the air around them. She was embarrassed how weak in the knees it made her.
“You should try them before you go. I made them all myself.” His eyes closed for just a moment, as though he were fighting saying what he truly wanted. When they opened again, she was fixated on them—one gold, one russet, both the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, especially when they were focused on her.
He seemed as though he wasn’t going to respond, and she wondered if he really had been leaving for good.
“Where are you going?” Elain hated how desperate she sounded, hated him to hear her this pathetic.
But she didn’t want him to go.
“I just…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His thumb caught the edge of his hair, pulling a bright red strand forward over his forehead.
Elain wasn’t thinking anymore—she was only moving, her fingers gently taking the strand and brushing it behind the pointed tip of Lucien’s ear. His lips parted, an exhale on them so quiet that she only heard it because of their proximity. She felt it across her skin.
“Elain.” Her name was a plea, and it sounded like music to her. Her fingers landed on his neck and stayed there, his skin hot beneath her touch. She couldn’t pull away if she’d tried, the pull toward him so strong that she felt if she didn’t touch him now she might die. Her chest was screaming, his emotions and hers a whirlwind of sound, sensation, and need.
She knew the need was not solely her own.
“Why don’t you want me?” The question poured out of her against her will, all her insecurities spilling to the floor in between them like dirty secrets in the dark. Another person for whom she wasn’t good enough.
Lucien physically recoiled at the question, then stepped back closer immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and something like determination.
“Elain, I fear I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life,” he responded, and something burst wide open inside Elain, relief so palpable she could almost reach out and touch it. It seemed like something similar was breaking inside of him, a wall holding the other out crashing and burning inside them simultaneously.
“Do you feel it, Elain? Do you want me too?” The vulnerability in his own words was so comforting to her that she let her hands both fall to his chest, fingers gripping his lapels for dear life. She couldn’t believe this was real. It was happening.
She nodded, ready to repeat his own answer to his question, but Lucien was already moving, and Elain was simply happy to go along with the pull of his arms. His hands were on her, one on her waist and one in her hair—barely enough time to register either before his lips crashed into hers. She could feel her own body reacting, her fingers lacing into his hair, just as lovely and beautiful as she’d imagined it would feel in her hands.
She was stumbling back, his hands pulling her close to cushion her, then letting her lower her back against the wall, their lips never breaking contact. His mouth was plush and pliant but insistent against hers, the sweep of his tongue something she’d only dreamed of. Graysen had barely bothered to kiss her, and when he had, it had been awful—teeth and sloppy tongue and saliva.
This was entirely different, a dance of lips and tongues that sent so much heat through her veins that Elain was certain she could catch fire and not notice a difference. She made a noise in the back of her throat, and in response, Lucien pulled her closer. She loved the feel of his body against hers, the hardness of him against the softness of her curves feeling more right than anything else ever had. She wanted him to pull the lace from her shoulders, to press her bodice down and—
The opening and shutting of a door down the hall broke them apart, some staff members carrying something from the back kitchens to the floor. But it had been enough to break the moment.
Lucien had turned to conceal her, to block her and protect her modesty from anyone incoming, and the gesture alone had her melting all over again despite the fact that her heart felt like it might be living outside of her chest. He was breathing heavily too, his back rising and falling against her chest while her hands rested on his hips. When he finally turned around, the smile on his face was unlike any she’d seen on him before.
There was something so charming and boyish in it, so unburdened and joyful. She felt the emotion echo in her own chest, the longing and happiness and relief all muddled together until she wasn’t sure who they belonged to. She hoped for both.
“Perhaps this isn’t the best spot for this,” she offered to break the silence. Lucien’s laugh echoed in the hall, sounding like the church bells she used to so love from the village. Her grin was uncontrollable, so firm that it hurt her cheeks, but she didn’t care.
“Come, my lady. Let’s get you back to the ball.”
My lady.
The words sent goosebumps up and down her arms. A kiss from her dreams, from her visions—she could hardly believe that it was all coming true as he straightened his lapels and took her hand, leading her back to the light of the party.
After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning.A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.
Elain
Another month passed, and Elain watched in wonder as the weather subtly shifted back to the heavy warmth of late spring. She spent the majority of her time working on the ball in earnest, the date tiptoeing closer and closer.
Currently, she was trying to wrap up final invitations, though a notice of the event had gone out already. People would be waiting for these fancier invites, Lucien had told her—especially the noble families of Spring. She needed them to be perfect.
This wasn’t helped by the presence of Ianthe who had come to check on her progress. The feeling Elain got around the priestess had not improved. In fact, since that night, her wariness had doubled down, that strange humming louder and wild in her veins like an alarm bell. It was so visceral now that it felt truly uncomfortable at this close proximity, but it was impossible to escape Ianthe’s presence in the manor.
Ianthe had been colder to her since the encounter that night with Lucien, but even with the icier exterior, the priestess still kept her fake, toothy smile on her face when she spoke to Elain. It reminded her of a snake ready to strike.
None of them had spoken about that night, but Lucien had been pointedly more absent than not lately. He’d answer her questions about the ball, then disappear into thin air on some special trip to another court. She hated to ask Tamlin, and she avoided it when she could, feeling a little pathetic since he now knew the truth of the situation. She trusted that he wasn’t going to tell Lucien anything, but she hated the pity in his eyes all the same, even if he was only trying to be a good friend.
Today, Tamlin was gone from the manor, too—patrolling. There wasn’t quite as much of a reason to do it daily as there used to be, he’d said, but the routine of it kept him busy and kept the court safe. She’d watched him leave from her window as he’d set out earlier, smiling and forgetting her own problems for a bit as she’d watched him stop by the gardens. He and Lindy worked awkwardly through their conversations like two first-season socialites at a ball.
Elain had grinned so hard to see it that her cheeks hurt. She’d told Tamlin all about Lindy that night by the fire—or, at least, the things she thought might help him get to know her well enough to speak to her in person. Elain knew Lindy was interested in the High Lord, so setting a small match to the tinder seemed like the least she could do.
She loved seeing it play out in front of her very eyes like a romance book in real life. But since Tamlin had left the gardens, Elain’s mood had soured substantially.
She’d cut her finger sealing envelopes, the blood dripping across parchment and ruining at least three letters she’d already signed and sealed. Then, a shipment she’d been expecting of decor had mysteriously disappeared, evaporating seemingly into thin air. She’d need to re-order that as soon as possible if it was going to arrive in time. And now, Ianthe was here, smelling of overbloomed flowers and breathing over her shoulder.
She’d been humming some song right in Elain’s ear, and the sound of it, for whatever reason, was giving Elain the worst headache she’d ever experienced in her life. She was reminded of a story Fiona had told her once of singing women in the sea, their voices so sharp that men would drown themselves over continuing to listen. She gritted her teeth.
“Any word from Feyre?” Elain forced herself to ask. Anything to stop the humming.
“No, but your sister is a very busy fae. She probably hasn’t had the time,” Ianthe responded, that too-sweet tone grating almost more than the humming had.
Of course not. No time for her sister.
Suddenly, Elain was fighting the most abrupt feeling of burning behind her eyes. She blinked hard, replacing the sudden grief with anger.
When Ianthe spoke again, it was all Elain could do to not physically shove her out of the room. “Is there anything I can do to—”
“No, it's fine. I’ve got it.” Elain made sure her words were clipped, though she was certain even if Ianthe got the message, she wouldn’t heed it.
The last thing she wanted was Ianthe’s company. She just needed to get the letters to the mailer and then, perhaps, she’d wander the gardens a while. Lindy was likely gone for the day by now, but at least Elain could feel something other than that swirling well of rage and grief that sometimes swelled beyond her control. Her eyes burned again and she almost growled with the frustration of it all.
Ianthe opened her mouth to speak again, but Elain was already moving, leaving no room for conversation. This was the darkest day she’d had since she’d been here, and that was saying a lot. But she couldn’t seem to break free from the spiral happening in her head. Her fingers ached to go to her legs, to pinch until the pain blossomed across her skin and averted her mind elsewhere, even for a little while.
She gathered the final invitations into the basket, grabbing it and hauling it into the hall and leaving Ianthe behind. She didn’t really care if she was being rude, all sense of courtesy evaporating like a breeze. Who cared if Ianthe thought she wasn’t proper?
Even Elain was aware of how her feet stomped on the carpet. She felt like a petulant child, but the rage almost felt good. She’d never been allowed to express any emotions growing up—shoving each untoward feeling down until it was packed neatly and quietly away. Walking hard felt good, showing aggravation felt good, and for once, being something other than the quiet and demure woman she’d been molded into felt good.
She was so in her own head that she rounded the corner too quickly, catching her foot where the rugs met and stumbling just enough that the basket in her arms wobbled and crashed to the ground. The invitations fluttered down like snow, a moment of shock passing over Elain.
Then, everything came to an awful, screaming head.
“Fuck!” She’d only ever heard Feyre and Nesta mutter the word, had never let something so crass pass her own lips. But now, it made her feel marginally better. She turned and kicked the basket, her anger needing an outlet. Immediately, the pain radiated up her foot and leg, and she used it again.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK.” Through the fury, a near-hysterical laugh tried to bubble up her throat. She could feel the tears on her cheeks before she’d realized she was crying, and she was ready to drop onto the floor and let the tears fall in earnest when she heard that voice.
“Awfully sharp language for such a lady.”
Elain’s head whipped around, but her judgment was clouded. Her heart wanted to leap as it always did when she saw him, flipping and cartwheeling like everything was right in the world. But he’d been avoiding her, and she’d had just enough today to want to confront him about it.
Why does everyone leave me? Why do you keep leaving me too?
But before she could get the words out, her chin wobbling and fighting it, Lucien’s face softened, his hand shooting out in offering instead.
“Come on, let me show you something,” he offered. She barely hesitated a moment before grabbing it.
+++
The woods were bright with sunlight on the path they took, winding deeper and deeper into the forests of Spring. It smelled like loam and earth and blooming flowers, sweet and light and lovely in the warm air.
The horse Elain was riding on had the prettiest silver coat, and it felt soft and well-maintained beneath her fingers. It had been years since she’d properly ridden a horse, but she still insisted upon riding on her own. Though Lucien had offered to share.
He’d helped her collect the letters from the floor, depositing them gently back into the basket and walking with her to the drop off. They didn’t speak as he led her to the barn, her face still burning up to her ears. When he’d asked if she’d ridden before, she provided an immediate confirmation. She wasn’t sure she could be that close to him, either with the bond or with her embarrassment for the way he’d caught her acting.
She still couldn’t believe he’d seen her tantrum in the hall.
But slowly, as they rode deeper into the woods and Lucien talked about the land and the creatures and the flowers here, a feeling of calm that had been evading her all morning began sinking back in. By the time they were deep into the gorgeous forest, she felt much better—like she could take a deep breath again.
Her horse trailed just next to Lucien’s, a pretty mare that was such a unique shade of brown it was almost copper in the sun. Elain couldn’t help but think how like his hair it was, the shine and color of it nearly identical.
He’d turned around as she was looking, and no amount of pretending could have hidden the fact that she’d been staring at him. She’d been saved by them reaching their destination, and Elain gasped as they entered the clearing.
Ahead of them was a pool, the light reflecting so strangely off its surface that she wondered, for a moment, if she might still be dreaming—if all this morning had simply been a series of dreams. But it felt real, despite how otherworldly it looked. It was surrounded on at least half the edges by rocky outcroppings, stones of various sizes banking the trees and the water. A small waterfall ran down over the larger rocks at the far end, only about ten feet in the air. The water itself glimmered like nothing she’d ever seen before, nothing in nature coming close. It looked almost like molten metal, the surface shimmering brilliantly and unnaturally under the midday sun as it lapped the shores.
“What is this?”
“This,” said Lucien as he hopped from his horse, tying the reins loosely to a tree before coming to help her down, “is the starlight pool of Spring.”
She tried and failed to keep her focus on the strange water as his hands found her waist, helping her to the ground. The heat where he’d touched her was still radiating long after he took his hands away to tie her horse up. She wanted to run her own fingertips across the skin beneath her dress, to feel the sear of his touch on her skin.
Instead, he was walking past her toward the water, and without hesitation, she followed.
“How did you find this place?” she asked.
“It’s been here for ages, and no one’s really sure where it came from. It was here when Tamlin was a child, and there’s nothing on it in the library. Even the oldest locals always remember it being here.”
“So it’s not a secret?” she asked, scanning the water and wondering how deep it might be. It wasn’t terribly large, though it still seemed larger than life to her.
“No, though rarely do I run into others here.”
She turned to look at him and found his gaze already settled upon her. His cheekbones flushed a dark rosy hue. “Do you come here often?”
“To think, sometimes,” he admitted. “I like to come here when I have a bad day.” At that, his lips tipped into a half smile. “You seemed like you could use a distraction.”
She certainly wouldn’t argue with that.
“Come on,” he responded, tilting his head slightly toward the wooded, far edge. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Again, Elain didn’t hesitate. Lucien might not know about the bond, might have no interest in her at all besides perhaps friends who lived in the same manor, but she did trust him implicitly. She wasn’t sure if it was simply his character, or the bond itself, or the connection she felt to him outside of all the rest, but she knew she trusted him to keep her safe. Felt that, no matter what might happen, Lucien would never let any harm come to her.
She followed his steps into the low brush, feet stepping carefully where his had been.
“Do you want to talk about this morning?” he asked as they walked, him pausing to hold a branch up for her to pass beneath. She waited on the other side for him to lead again.
“It was silly, really.” She tried to wave any seriousness or specificity away. “Do you ever have those days where it’s just one thing after another? There’s just no chance to recover between hits?”
Lucien chuckled. “More often than you know.”
“I was already irritated, and then Ianthe wouldn’t leave me alone,” she groused, her hackles rising even at the mention of the priestess from her own mouth. She watched Lucien’s shoulders tense and wondered if she shouldn’t have brought her up at all.
But then, she saw them shaking ahead of her and realized he was laughing.
“Nothing sours an already bad day further than the presence of that swamp witch.”
The words surprised Elain so wholly that a laugh barked out of her and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Lucien’s head turned as if on a swivel, as though the sound itself had drawn his gaze almost into whiplash. They’d both stopped walking, their eyes meeting and holding without either looking away. Elain could feel the rushing of his heart.
Then he cleared his throat and the moment was gone. “We’re just about there.” He held his hand back and she took it, the warmth of his palm pressing into hers as they climbed a grassy incline. As they reached the top, she realized that they were at the top of the rocky outcropping she’d seen when they arrived—the one with the waterfall.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered, only a little bereft when he let go of her hand. From up here, the pool really did look as though it were made of starlight pulled from the night sky. It glittered blindingly bright beneath the sun, looking more precious than diamonds or silver.
Elain peeked over the edge, stomach turning with the height as she looked over the small falls. A flash of motion in the corner of her eye drew her away from the drop, but her stomach kept flipping as she realized Lucien had removed his shirt.
Immediately, she averted her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked, forcing herself to look at the trees and not at the half-naked male beside her.
“We’re going swimming. Come on.” She chanced a look back up to see him pulling off boots and socks.
“We’re doing no such thing,” she countered, unable to even pretend to look elsewhere now that his entire torso was on display. His skin was bronzed and gleaming in the sunlight that poured down from the treetops. It was littered with scars, some small and some much larger—a map on his skin that she wanted to trace with her fingertips.
“You need a distraction. Everyone in Spring should do this at least once. You live in Spring now; it’s basically a rite of passage.”
Elain’s mind caught on him saying she lived here now, like this was something decided. She supposed it was. It had been. Even if her sisters eventually remembered she was alive, she wasn’t sure she’d ever want to leave. She might have worried before about overstaying her welcome, but Tamlin always seemed to insist that his home was open to her as long as she wanted. Her work in the gardens and on the ball and in the kitchens let her feel like she was earning her keep.
So, she supposed, this was her home now.
She drew her eyes back to the water below, to the drop to get there.
“Come on, Elain. Trust me.” She did, but…“You need this. I can tell.”
“I don’t know how to swim,” she countered. She didn’t, truly. She had gone into the lake behind their house sometimes, but usually no deeper than her waist. She was sure she could float, but she didn’t feel very confident past that.
“It’s not very deep,” Lucien answered, as though reading her thoughts.
“What if I don’t come back up?” Her voice sounded smaller than she’d have liked, and she cleared her throat.
“I’ll hold your hand, you hold your breath,” he replied, sounding sure. When she turned back to look at him, he was grinning. It was more open and excited than she’d ever seen him before, and it was enough to compel her to keep it going. She could feel his excitement fluttering in his chest, something new and foreign and delightful.
“Okay, fine.”
His grin widened as she bent down to remove her boots. If he thought she was taking off her dress, he had another thing coming. Finally, barefoot and jittery, she took the hand he held out to her as they walked to the edge. Beneath her feet, the rocks were smooth, proving this was as well-traveled a spot as he’d described.
“Is it warm?” she asked, stomach still flipping violently as she tried not to think about the fall.
“There’s a way to find out,” he answered, the teasing in his voice bolder than she’d ever heard it before. She felt his hand squeeze hers.
“Ready?” he asked, his hand in hers and his eyes on hers too.
She would never have done this before—never gone into the woods unattended or even been in a dance hall alone with a man. But Lucien was no man, and Elain was not that girl anymore. She filled her lungs with air and gave a curt nod.
“Ready.”
As soon as she felt the tugging of Lucien’s hand, she slammed her eyes shut and jumped. She felt the water envelop her, cooler than the humid air but still warm and silken on her skin. It felt like satin sheets around her, encasing her and holding her close.
Her feet met the bottom, solid and smooth like aged rock and silt atop it, and she remembered to kick back up. Lucien’s hand was still in hers, tugging tugging tugging her up. When she broke the surface, she took in a deep breath, using her hand to shove the wet curls from her eyes before she realized she was swimming and panicked a little.
Immediately, Lucien’s hands were on her arms.
“Steady kicks, I’ve got you.”
Elain listened, letting him support her as she kicked her legs and found a rhythm, no longer worried about her head slipping beneath the rippling surface.
“You did it,” Lucien said, and her eyes shot to his. He looked beautiful in the water, the silvery water dripping off his hair and down his face. A single drop paused on the Cupid’s bow of his lip, and the urge to kiss it off him was so overwhelming she nearly kicked herself forward to do it.
“I did it,” she answered instead, her words barely more than a breathy exhale.
There was nothing else between them but the sound of their breathing and the distant splash of the falls. She had done it. She’d jumped. His hands were still on her skin. She wished he’d keep them there. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, the beat of it so palpable she was convinced she could hear it.
Though she’d already felt like she belonged in Spring—like this was her second chance—something fundamentally had shifted when she jumped from the rock and hit the water below, his hand never leaving hers. This was a new life, a new start, a new Elain.
It made her want to be bold.
So, when his fingers brushed her arm beneath the water, her eyes tracing the movement through the silvery veil of the surface, she smiled.
“Someone might mistake you for trying to romance me, Lucien.” She waited, the words in the air between them, studying his face. His eyes moved from hers, over her lips, then back again, like he was making up his mind. His jaw twitched, clenching and unclenching, and she swore she could hear the whirring of his gold eye as though it too were working something out. Deciding.
“What if I want to romance you, Elain Acheron?" In her chest, the bond flared to life so violently that she almost expected to see it between them. Lucien’s eyes widened, nostrils flaring as he looked at her, then between them.
There was no possible way he couldn’t feel it.
On her arms, his fingers clenched, snug enough to pull her closer. Closer, still.
Her last look before closing her eyes was at his lips, plush and perfect as they opened just slightly. She wanted to know what they tasted like, and she was about to find out as he closed the last of the space between them, the brush of them just barely against hers—
The splash was so startling that Elain managed to jolt even in the water, Lucien moving so quickly she barely registered until she was staring at his back covered in silvery drops of water.
When Ianthe surfaced across the pool, Elain was momentarily filled with such murderous rage that she was almost alarmed.
He’d been about to kiss her. Their lips had touched.
“I didn’t realize I’d find you two here!” Ianthe called, and Elain’s teeth gritted so hard that she felt her jaw creak. Lucien was already moving them to the shore, a hand still steadily tugging Elain with him.
“Just showing Elain the pool before heading back,” he responded, sounding polite as ever. Elain noticed the clip to his words.
“Well, stay awhile! I just got here!”
“No thanks, Ianthe. I promised Elain I would help her with locating the decoration shipment that was lost.”
Elain didn’t miss the flash of something in Ianthe’s eyes. A question formed in her mind.
“You’re no fun!” Ianthe complained, back stroking across the water. Lucien had continued to tug Elain along, coming out of the water near the rocks and scaling them quickly to grab their shoes as Elain wrung out her skirts.
“Sorry, Ianthe. Business calls,” he responded, jumping down two rocks and then to the ground before walking toward their horses, his hand on Elain’s lower back.
On the shore, they passed the pile of Ianthe’s clothes, and Elain understood she was naked in the water. The rage and fury in her chest burned into something ugly.
“Next time, then!” Ianthe called behind them, and Elain’s hands formed into fists.
“Maybe,” Lucien provided, all of them freezing at the sound as a branch fell to the ground by the water. It was enough to shake Elain from her daze as Lucien helped her onto her horse. They were riding away before Ianthe could respond again, and each hoofbeat away left Elain’s chest feeling lighter.
After a bit of time and some distance between them, Elain spoke up. “Why is she here?”
“Stalking us, probably.”
“No I mean, why is she in Spring?”
Lucien sighed. “Supposedly to help with bouncing back after Amarantha. Her father and Tamlin’s father were close, which should tell you all you need to know about her. But she appeared and offered help, then wouldn’t leave. I fear Tamlin is too devoted to not being rude to kick her out.”
Elain scoffed, but she wondered how much of Tamlin’s life now was spent atoning for the things he felt were his fault.
Lucien spoke again, quieter this time. “Thank you for stepping in that night.” It was the first time they’d acknowledged it since.
“It was truly no problem.” Though her blood was boiling again remembering. “Has she done that before?”
“Many, many times. She would romance anything that looked at her sideways.” Lucien’s voice held an exhaustion that Elain didn’t like. She wanted to ask if he’d ever welcomed the attention. She didn’t want to know. But that deep jealousy was back, that fire bolting like lightning through her veins.
Ahead of her, Lucien inhaled sharply. Elain knew he felt it too. He was feeling the bond.
But Elain knew how this went. Lucien had been open with her today—fun and at ease and mischievous—and at any moment, he would run. She wasn’t sure she could stand seeing such a perfect day ruined with that heartbreak, so she cut it short before he could as they broke out of the woods and back onto the manor grounds.
“Thank you anyway. This was a lovely day, Lucien.”
“It was my pleasure,” he responded, his voice calm. She wondered if it was relief, and the thought broke her heart a little anyway.
+++
When Elain entered the manor, it was cool after the heavy sun had been beating on her skin. She needed to change into dry clothes, to braid her hair back. Lucien had stayed at the stables to brush the horses out, and it seemed no one else was home.
But as she entered the foyer, Elain slammed to a stop.
She sniffed. Sniffed again.
Pears and jasmine were faint in the air—so faint it was barely there.
But Elain knew the smell of her sister. Before she knew it, she was running, checking the foyer, the adjoining rooms.
“Feyre?” she called, voice frantic. Were her sisters here? Had they finally seen the letters? Had they finally come?
The relief warred with something oily in her stomach. Now that there was a possibility that she could leave, did she even want to anymore?
She slammed into Alis in the hall, nearly knocking a basket of laundry from her arms.
“My gods, Elain. Where are you running?”
“My sister, was my sister here?” Elain’s voice was ragged, and Alis’ brow scrunched with concern.
“I just arrived, but there are no records of any visitors this morning. I checked when I came in.”
Elain’s heart deflated, but there was something next to that disappointment in her chest. Something that felt concerningly like relief. She would consider it later.
Even now, the smell was fading.
“I just thought I smelled her…” she tried to explain. “I’ve been outside a few hours. Maybe I just need a bath.”
Alis was looking at her clothes now, taking in the damp, muddy skirts and raising a brow.
“I can run one for you—”
“No, no need. I have it handled. Thank you, Alis. Sorry for running into you.” Alis looked concerned, but Elain was already walking away.
Still, the foyer smelled familiar, a scent that she’d know even in the dark.
Lucien
Lucien’s heart was still beating nearly out of his chest, though Elain had been inside for over an hour now.
He’d felt her, and she’d looked at him like she’d felt him, too.
Certainly, she couldn’t know.
That was why Lucien had left the barn, gone straight to his quarters and back out to the chicken coop with a cloak in hand, hoping to not run into anyone on the way.
The woods were cool in the shade, his pants still damp from the starlight pool. He should have changed, but it was so far from his mind. Elain was on his mind—consuming his mind. He wondered if he shouldn’t have taken her there, but when he’d seen her so upset this morning, there had only been the option to cheer her up. He hated to see her so bereft.
So he’d offered a solution.
But there, covered in the lovely, glowing water, he hadn’t expected how ethereal she’d look. Hadn’t expected that the bond would light up between them like a godsdamned beacon. He’d just barely tasted her lips, and he knew now that would never be enough. He couldn’t stay away from her—he wasn’t sure anything could keep him from her now.
There was only one thing keeping him from following Elain into the manor, into her room, into the bath. From leading their horses away from the manor instead of toward it, telling her everything, and letting her have anything she wanted. Anything she asked for.
But Lucien needed assurances. Needed answers.
So Lucien was going to the place he knew he could find them.
He slaughtered the chicken effortlessly, leaving it in plain sight as he rigged up a simple trap. He’d never tried this before, but if Calla had managed it, how hard could it be?
He’d begun drifting off in the tree he’d climbed into when he heard the rope snap up. Ahead of him in the clearing, a mass of dark robes swung from a bony, disintegrating heel caught in the rope. Its grin was upside down, leaving it too look more like a horrifying grimace.
“Ah, the seventh son. Come yourself this time instead of sending a human?”
Lucien scoffed under his breath, but flushed all the same. It hadn’t been his proudest moment.
“I have need of your wisdom.” He figured a little flattery couldn’t hurt, but the Suriel’s dark empty eyes seemed to flash with something that looked almost like amusement. It swung lightly.
“I know what you seek, son of light. You brought a cloak?” the creature nodded its decaying chin toward the branch he’d slung it over. He nodded in confirmation.
“I did, along with the chicken.”
The Suriel licked at its horrid, sharp teeth, then nodded as if in contemplation. With the swaying, it would be almost comical, almost easy to forget that this was a creature as ancient as the land itself.
“If you cut me down, I will give you what you seek.”
“How do I know you won’t leave before I get what I came for?” Lucien asked carefully. He didn’t want to insult the Suriel, but he didn’t want to have this all have been for nothing either.
“A bargain is a bargain, little lordling, no matter what creature enters it.” He hadn’t been called a lordling in quite a few centuries.
Still, he pulled his dagger, cutting the Suriel loose slowly so that it wouldn’t crash to the ground, then stepping back to watch as it inhaled the still-feathered chicken he’d slaughtered for it.
When it was finished, it turned, licking again at the gaping maw of its mouth before the depthless chasms of its eyes settled back on Lucien. For all his bravado, his heart was racing.
“What is it you seek, little heir?”
Clearly, the Suriel knew about his parentage, but that left him feeling almost reassured about the answers to his questions.
“I need reassurance,” he said, trying his best to sound braver than he felt.
“As do most who seek me out.” The Suriel’s smile was horrifying in its emptiness. Lucien assumed that it already knew what he wanted, knew everything from his past as it knew everything about everyone who existed in Prythian—its knowledge was fabled and limitless if the stories were true.
“If I allow myself to love her, if I accept the bond, will it kill her?” The question dragged out of his mouth, the words dry and clinging. The Suriel tipped its head.
“You are asking the wrong questions, lordling.”
Lucien hated nothing more than teasing word games. “Then tell me, how do I ask the right ones?” What was left of the Suriel’s lips pulled back gruesomely over its teeth.
“What will you do to keep it from killing her?”
The question chilled Lucien’s blood, a half-confirmation of his fears right at the forefront. But there was hope in it.
“So, being with me, accepting the bond, puts her at risk. But there’s a way for me to keep her alive?”
“Not as she is, but yes.”
The words rolled through his mind, alarms blaring.
Not as she is.
He was playing every horrid scenario—horribly maimed, injured beyond belief, absent in her own mind. What would she sacrifice if he were to love her? What could he possibly do—
“The final Archeron has a journey of her own, lordling. You can lead her to where she must be, but she is the one who must jump.”
There was somehow an almost impish glow in the darkness of the creature’s eye sockets.
“What does that mean?”
It almost seemed to sigh. “There will come a time where you must follow instead of lead. You must jump after her, not ahead. You assume this is your decision alone to make, and you, as most males tend to be, are incorrect.”
Lucien ignored the dig at his ego.
“The things you want, Lucien, the life you seek, it is not out of reach.”
“All I need to know is if there’s a way.” He could hear the pleading in his voice, the begging coming through.
The Suriel grinned again, that strange smile spreading wide and stained and dark across its decaying face. When it spoke again, the voice was different—a cacophony of voices twined into one.
The three-faced goddess, three gifts bestow
With bloodline certain, but not yet known
Each with a gift from times of auld
One life, one death, one rebirth told
A prophecy. The Suriel was giving him a prophecy.
The wheel of fates begun to spin,
A binding of souls, the veil is thinned
All hinged upon the thread of worth,
Each choice will mark the role’s true birth
No stars shall shine without the Night,
No Day shall break without the sight.
No Bloodshed clears without the flame,
A cleansing fire to purge the claim
So heed the call, the fearsome tales,
Or else the dark fates should prevail
The Cauldron spurn, the fire will burn,
And from the dust, all things return
As it finished, the creature seemed to almost shake itself off, returning to its own mind.
“What does it mean?” he asked, forgetting himself and stepping toward the Suriel. It didn’t flinch.
“Things are coming, lordling. Your decisions now and forward mean more than ever.”
“Does that mean she’s in danger? Am I the one putting her in danger?”
“The danger comes whether we want it to or not, Spell-cleaver.”
Lucien recoiled at the name, stumbling back and snagging his ankle across a fallen tree, and he reached back to catch himself..
Together, together. It’s falling apart.
The words echoed around Lucien as though they were in his own mind, but when he looked back up to ask another question, the Suriel and the cloak were gone.
After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning.A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.
Elain
The air was a little cooler tonight, and Elain could feel the sheets tucked beneath her feet to keep them warm. She wiggled her toes. Despite the low temperatures, she could still hear the gentle hum of the cicadas singing outside in the dark trees. She’d left just one balcony door cracked open for the fresh air, and she was thankful for it.
She had been dreaming of her sisters, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. But she’d been dreaming of them in the lake behind the manor—the one beside the towering willow tree. She hadn’t been out there in years, even before she’d fled. The dream hadn’t felt like one of those dreams, but sometimes they didn’t. Still, she hadn’t woken up feeling like it meant something was coming. The details had been vivid, but they lacked that strange sheen that she could hardly define around it.
Perhaps it really had just been more of a memory. She’d been sitting on the cold marble bench beneath the trees sweeping branches—perhaps her trek to the woods had triggered the memory—and watching her sisters play in the water. That in itself made her think it wasn’t a memory, if only because the two hadn’t been screaming at each other.
In her soft bed, Elain tucked her chilled fingers beneath her cheek, grasping the threads of the dream before it was gone. She couldn’t make out the words her sisters had been saying, too far away for her ears. Nesta had been braiding Feyre’s hair into a crown, the strands dripping into her sister’s freckled face, though neither seemed to notice or care.
In the waking consciousness she had now, she wondered if that wasn’t just the perfect interpretation—her sisters together, though they never wanted to be in real life, if only to be away from her. She’d tried and tried to push the feeling away, but with still no word from either sister, it was getting harder to do.
She could still feel the press of the cold marble beneath her while they’d stood in the sun, a small smile pressed onto both their mouths.
Had they really cared for her so little?
She shook her head against the pillow, physically trying to banish the thought—trying to not let it swell and combine with the rejection she felt from Lucien, too.
She certainly wasn’t getting back to sleep. Since she’d left her old life, she rarely slept a full night through anymore. Oddly enough, it didn’t leave her feeling as tired as she thought it might have. Elain used to always be a deep sleeper, aching for hours and hours of time asleep and still feeling exhausted as she dragged herself from bed. Here, though, she often spent her nights wandering or reading, and even then she didn’t feel the exhaustion that had once plagued her.
Maybe Graysen had truly been the problem all along.
The night was crisp as Elain stepped onto the balcony, wrapping the sheet around her shoulders and pulling it tight. Her sisters were fresh on her mind, and it was hard to not wonder where they were. She’d seen a map of Prythian in the library when she’d returned her books—watched how far north from here it stretched. She remembered being a child and staring at a very different map in her father’s office, wondering when he might come home again. She had been young, but even now she remembered the way the house had smelled of new spices for days after he’d return, everyone in the house practically buzzing. But before all the excitement coming home, there had been the quiet of the house, and she’d stared at that map, wondering where on it her father might be.
Now, as she looked over the hills and forests as far as the eye could see, she wondered if her sisters were out there, just beyond the horizon. She wondered where they were, who they were now. She wondered about the men they loved—the males, she supposed.
Vilja had said that Elain already had everything she needed, and she’d spent a good bit of time thinking about it in the days since.
“There is nothing to give you that you do not already possess.”
Elain was happy enough here—far happier than she’d ever remembered being—but the knowledge that she’d been left behind wasn’t a wound that was going to heal on its own. She wasn’t sure she had any gifts unless you counted a strong sense of deja vu. The visions weren’t something that she could make heads or tails of half the time, and it wasn’t like she could control them. Though occasionally, she thought of the flower that Ianthe had crushed in the gardens…
Something shifted in the corner of her eye, a presence down below and Elain’s gaze followed it.
Down where she could see the lower deck, bathed entirely in moonlight, she could now just barely make out the dying embers of a fire—and the towering frame silhouetted beside it. Her eyes adjusted quickly for how dark it was, shifting until she recognized Tamlin, his face tilted back up and looking at her.
“If you’d like to come join me, I can stoke the fire back up,” he offered. Elain, still surprised to find she wasn’t the only one awake at all hours of the night, simply nodded, pulling the sheet more tightly around her and stepping back indoors to wind down the inner manor and back out to the deck below.
Tamlin was in the same position he’d been in when she emerged, but the flames of the fire were roaring high, the light bouncing off of him. The fire only made her mind wander to Lucien.
She settled into the chair beside his, pulling her feet up beneath her and tucking them under the sheet. She’d forgotten slippers.
“Why are you still out here? It's so late.” Tamlin almost smirked at her question, his eyes shooting up just momentarily to the balcony above where she’d been just moments before. Then, he eased back in his chair, his gaze shifting to the night sky.
“I often find I can’t sleep anymore.”
“You seem sad.” The words were out of Elain before she thought better of them. But truly, she was comfortable with Tamlin now—it didn’t seem too strange to point out the obvious. In fact, when she said the words, his eyes closed and lips twitched at the edges, face still turned up to the stars.
“I’m working on it,” he replied, a tinge of humor in his otherwise low demeanor.
Elain had had dreams of Tamlin too since she’d arrived. Smidgeons of what she guessed were from under the mountain. She hated these dreams, these glances of pain and grief and fury. It felt like looking into a bedroom that belonged to a stranger, spying in on their worst moments.
She wasn’t one to pry, hadn’t questioned any of them past what they were willing to offer. But she knew their time under the curse had been horrific for all those involved. And Tamlin seemed to have been at the very center of it all. She was just about to offer him the chance to talk about it, if he ever wanted to, when he spoke.
“I thought, for a while, I might have loved your sister.”
For whatever Elain had expected to come out of Tamlin’s mouth, it was nothing even remotely close to that. He cracked open an eye and looked at her, smiling shallowly again to see what she imagined was the shock across her face.
“I thought you loved the other human girl. The one who…” Elain didn’t want to say it. For as little as she knew, she did know that a human girl had gone beneath the mountain with Feyre and not come back out.
“Calla. I was confused. For a while, I thought I might have loved her, too.” He reached a hand up, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. For his size, Elain had the strangest sensation suddenly that he was just a small child. A small child in a big world that hadn’t been kind to him.
“I think I was seeking to be loved without really knowing what that meant. And I don’t think I would have known what it looked like, even if it had been as clear as day.”
The words fell like stones into Elain’s chest, one by one.
“I understand.” Her agreement was quiet, but something in her tone was enough for Tamlin to look up. “I know that sounds trite, but I understand.” And the way his expression shifted in front of her, she could tell he believed her.
“I didn’t grow up in a loving home. My parents did not love each other, and there was no love between my brothers and I either.”
That, she also understood well. “It’s hard to mimic what we haven’t seen,” she added, and he nodded, looking away. She understood he wasn’t the type to share a vulnerability, that this meant trust to him. She wanted to offer something, too.
“I thought that the man I was engaged to marry was going to be the love of my life.” Tamlin turned his face up, giving her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. She pressed on. “I thought it would be like all the books. That he might be the other half of my soul,” she continued on, waving her hand with a self-deprecating flourish.
“I grew up reading all about it. Knights and princesses, kings and queens, soldiers and their paramours.” She looked down at her lap, her voice quieting. “I think the disappointment hurt more than anything else, like my chance was gone once I realized what kind of man he really was.”
“I certainly understand that,” Tamlin responded, and his tone told her she should believe him. “I thought—I wasn’t sure what I thought. I didn’t want to be like my parents. I always thought I would marry for love one day. I never thought I would be High Lord. Never thought I would end up in the middle of a curse that—”
He cut off his own words abruptly, his face still turned away. “I did care for Feyre. As a friend in the beginning, and as something more complicated by the end. There was never a way there. She had a mate, and I think more than anything, I was confused. By the time Calla came, I thought that, maybe, it was my last chance. For the curse. For someone to…” He sighed, letting his words drift again. Elain fought the urge to reach out, to tell him how thoroughly she understood. That crushing panic that everything you’d wanted had actually amounted to very little. How it felt to get left behind, to watch the last ship out creep away without you on it.
“I’m so sorry you went through that, Tamlin.” It was all she could seem to say without looking too deeply into herself, without letting someone else view the ugly, gaping void inside of her.
“Thank you. It’s not perfect now, but it is better. I think losing the expectations, as painful as it was, helped.”
Maybe that’s what she needed—to accept that it was just her. That it was just going to be her. But she wouldn't say that to him. He didn’t need to hear the words.
“At least that's something good to hope for then,” she offered instead. Tamlin turned back to her, and though she could see the lightest traces of silver lining his eyes still, the smile on his face was earnest now.
“Sometimes, being broken isn’t the end, you know? If something breaks, it has the chance to be made into something new.” The words echoed in Elain’s head, the meaning feeling weightier than she could parse out. She was here, in this new and foreign land. Her old life was gone—and with it all the expectations that had been laid out for her since birth. It might have nearly broken her to live that life, but she was here now. She could be something new.
“How do you live again?” She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to ask. The look on Tamlin’s face told her that he understood the desperation.
“I don't know, truthfully. It’s been one day at a time since then, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I notice things have gotten better without me even noticing.”
The next question seemed even more strangled. “How can you bear it?” His smile stretched a bit more at that, though the sadness lingered in his eyes.
“What else is there to do but hope for better?”
Elain supposed he was right about that too. She had been making the most of Spring, but the thoughts of home and disappointment mixed with grief had still plagued her. She’d thought more than once about how happy she was here—why was she letting everything that had been keep her from living again? From taking advantage of this second chance?
Tamlin spoke again. “You know, Lucien has been hurt, too.”
She wasn’t sure how she was meant to react to the words, but she felt the blush creep up her neck all the way over her cheeks and ears.
“Oh?” She chanced a look at Tamlin to find his grin pulled farther now into something much more smug.
“It’s not really my place to say—”
“Oh, of course not—”
“But, you might find the two of you have more in common than you’d thought.” The exchange had left her breathless, and she wasn’t sure how much Tamlin knew already, or how much she wanted him to know if he didn’t already suspect. But he’d been open with her, kind and vulnerable, sharing his own experiences.
Somehow, the firelight in the dark felt more anonymous, comforting even.
“I…” She wasn’t sure where to start, adjusting the sheet around her and pulling it more tightly. “I’m not sure Lucien would be willing to share with me.”
Tamlin’s brow furrowed a bit as he pushed. “Why’s that?”
“Well, he’s certainly always very polite with me. But I don’t think he’d feel comfortable enough with me to share all that.” She waved a hand around emphatically, trying to emphasize the levity of what she meant.
Tamlin smiled. “I did.”
“Well, yes, but we’re friends.”
“And you don’t consider Lucien a friend?” The wicked smile that had morphed on Tamlin’s face was enough for Elain to understand he was goading her.
“There is…a certain type of feeling when Lucien is around,” she admitted. How much could she tell him? How much should she? She couldn’t mention the bond—it was sacred amongst fae. Could Tamlin keep that a secret from his best friend? His loyalties would always be with Lucien, and Elain wasn’t sure she wanted Lucien to know.
As soon as she even thought the words, she knew with startling clarity that she didn’t. She didn’t want Lucien to feel pressured to do…well, anything involving her, really. He didn’t feel that way about her, and he certainly didn’t feel the bond. It would be cruel to force something like that, to have him feel obligated in any way.
But Gods she wanted to know more, wanted to understand this thing that connected them.
As if sensing her hesitation, Tamlin spoke again. “You can trust me, Elain. I won’t tell him anything you don’t want him to know unless his safety is concerned.” Her heart warmed at his protectiveness over Lucien, but she could also feel the sincerity in his words.
“Is there something you’d like to ask?” he prodded, the smile audible in his voice.
Oh, damn him. But she wanted the answers so badly.
“I heard something once, from a friend back home.” Her heart ached to think of Fiona.
“Oh?” he encouraged.
Elain nodded. “My friend Fiona. She was the daughter of the cook, and eventually the cook herself. She got me out.”
Tamlin didn’t speak at that, and Elain didn’t lift her gaze to look. She was busy thinking about Fiona, her dark hair and strange eyes. It was so clear to her now looking back that she’d been something other.
“We grew up together. She was a bit too wild for Nesta, a bit too calm for Feyre’s wilds. But she was perfect for me. We would spend hours together reading in my window.”
“She sounds lovely.” Tamlin’s voice was soft.
“She was.”
Is? Could she have made it out? Elain shook her head—she could still barely stand to think of it.
She cleared her throat. “There were books, stories she told. Back then, of course, I thought they were all fairytales, but now I wonder.”
“What is it you’d like to know, Elain?” he asked, almost as though he already knew and was daring her to say it.
Her throat was suddenly so dry, the words itching to get out, but stuck there. “The thing you mentioned when I arrived. A mating bond. Could that—does that ever happen? A human and a fae?”
Tamlin didn’t speak right away, and when she looked up, his green eyes were still focused on her. The smile hadn’t left his face, and it felt almost understanding.
“It’s happened once before, perhaps twice, if you believe the rumors.” Something about the look on his face made things click into place for Elain.
“My sisters?”
He nodded. “It wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility for someone who was born human to be bound to a fae. Especially not if two of her sisters were, too.” His eyes flashed upward quickly toward the manor like he’d heard something, then shifted back to her.
There was no denying Tamlin knew what she was asking, clearly had already suspected it himself. The understanding on his face was so reassuring that Elain felt the slightest burn of tears in her eyes.
“I think…I feel like he belongs to me.” The words were hoarse, but they felt true as she said them.
“Then I wouldn’t discount that feeling. The library here certainly has more information than I possess. Maybe you should look into your questions past what I can answer,” he suggested.
“Am I allowed to borrow the books?” she asked, wondering already what she might find.
“Elain, you’re welcome anywhere, and allowed to do anything.” He chuckled, and she smiled for the first time since she’d woken.
“And for the record, this can be your home as long as you want it. We all love having you here. Lucien, too.”
Though she'd always had a place to live, she’d never really had a place that felt like home. But the welcome here felt like something entirely different. It felt both like coming back to someplace she cared for, and experiencing someplace entirely new simultaneously.
“What can I do in return?
“You're planning the ball,” he deadpanned, raising a brow.
“Yes, but what else?” It hardly felt like enough. She saw him go to brush her off again, but then pause right before. He hesitated, eyes shifting away almost as though he was embarrassed.
“Anything, Tamlin. What can I do to help?” she encouraged.
“Perhaps,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Could you tell me more about your friend in the gardens?”
Lucien
Lucien woke up for once without his hand on his cock, but nevertheless, Elain was on his mind. He’d been dreaming of her, her curls swaying in the breeze under the branches of a weeping willow. It looked smaller than the ones here, the branches thinner, but she looked almost at home beneath it, the arch and sway of them surrounding her as though keeping her safe.
She’d been looking at something else, neglecting the cross stitch in her lap in favor of looking out into the distance. Somewhere, Lucien could hear laughter echoing, but no part of him wanted to look away from her. In his dreams, he was free to look. To feel deeply and to want openly.
But still, he couldn’t help but feel that she’d looked so sad. He felt it in his chest, that echoing that he often did. But just as he’d gone to walk to her, to hold her perhaps—chase that feeling somewhere far away where only love and joy and peace remained—he’d blinked awake in the darkness of his own room.
It was far too dark to be even approaching morning, and stiflingly hot. Lucien was, as always, twisted into the sheets, the fabric pressed against the sweat of his mostly naked body. Without thinking about it, he reached out to feel for her, to make sure she was safe.
Often, it was just brushes of feeling, and if he pushed it away enough, he could get used to feeling almost nothing at all. Other times, when Elain felt things strongly, it was like a punch to the gut. She couldn’t possibly know, but gods, the way she sent him her feelings sometimes…The other night, when she’d walked in on Ianthe harassing him, the possession he’d felt intertwined with his ribs had nearly consumed him wholly, his fire itching and aching to shoot from his hands. He’d felt her jealousy in every piece of his being, every fragment of his soul. It had been all he could do to rein his own feelings back in.
Her possession, her protectiveness over him had nearly bowled over any walls he’d erected to keep her out. He’d wanted it in that moment. He’d wanted her.
But now, now it was mostly quiet. There was a low hum of melancholy, a tangible sadness that seemed almost permanent in Elain’s side of the bond. Lucien hated it. He yearned to rid her of it, and hated himself more when he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t let himself, he corrected. Angrier even still about that.
He was the one standing in his way. But in either situation, that would be the case.
Still, he was losing this battle.
He tried desperately not to think of her as he tossed and turned, shaking his sheets out and trying desperately to get comfortable again. He got up and tossed open a balcony door, hoping the fresh air would coax him back to sleep. It didn’t.
Instead, every time he began to drift, it was her face again. Her smile. Her blush. Her stubborn will and knife-sharp wit that he wasn’t sure she’d had much time to show off. He loved watching her bloom here, despite the fact that he hated not allowing himself to be a bigger part of it. He yearned to show her more things, to bring her into this world.
Elain. His Elain. His mate.
Her muffled, lilting voice filtered in as he began to dream again. Then, louder, before Lucien realized he wasn’t dreaming at all. He shot up in the bed, all senses on alert until he heard it once more, trilling lightly through the open door.
Slowly, quietly, he crept to the doorway, trying not to make a sound. He could hear two voices, both of which he would know deaf. Tamlin and Elain were talking below.
He calmed the instinct he had to snarl, tried to staunch the emotion in his chest as he crept, ridiculously, on hands and knees to the open night air. As he came to the edge, hidden fully by the stone and vine bannister, he could hear them more clearly, bits and pieces of words floating up to him.
“It wouldn’t be entirely…realm of possibility for someone…born human....Especially not…sisters.”
There was a beat of quiet as Lucien shifted closer, just barely knocking a planter on the balcony and righting it before it could make any more noise.
“I think…I feel like he belongs to me.” The words nearly bowled him over, the flowering bond in his chest suddenly wide open as though he’d blown through a set of doors to unleash whatever was inside.
It was just a simple sentence, but the truth in it had nearly taken Lucien out.
I feel like he belongs to me.
She felt the bond, whether she understood it or not. She felt him—that need and want and connection. He’d assumed, as a human, that there wouldn’t be any recognition. That she might have gone forever not knowing, and Lucien could have lived with that. Would have fought to live with that.
But knowing she felt it too changed everything.
I feel like he belongs to me.
She had felt like his since he’d seen her that night, blurred by smoke from the fire and the alcohol in his veins and whatever mystery potion Helion had given him. He’d fought against it with every scrap of will, but he had felt that way.
His. His Mate. His Elain.
I feel like he belongs to me.
There, leaned against the balcony’s edge, Lucien realized how much he truly, earnestly wanted to be.
After the death of her father and the disappearance of both her sisters, Elain Archeron resigns herself to a quiet, joyless life bound to a man she doesn’t love. But when her betrothed decides she is worth more to him dead than alive, Elain flees into the night with nothing but the shoes on her feet and the desperate hope that she might survive until morning.A strange voice leads her beyond The Wall to a land she thought only existed in storybooks, where she runs into the male who has lived in her dreams for as long as she can remember.
Elain
Today, the gardens were absolutely teeming with the smell of honeysuckle, and Elain released and filled her lungs over and over again. It was one of the warmest days she’d felt since arriving in Spring, and she was loving the feeling of it on her skin as she walked through the flowers and vines.
Lindy had explained to her that, while yes, the court was in perpetual Spring, they did still have shiftings that mirrored seasons throughout the year. Some days early on felt like true spring—crisp mornings, nights too chilly to be out with bared arms. Then, as the mid-year approached, the days would be warmer, coming close to the kinds of summers she was used to from her time beneath The Wall.
But those summers of her childhood had been humid and heavy, the air all but dripping off her skin once it made contact. Even as a child, if they hadn’t been able to steal away to the small creeks surrounding the manor, Elain had wanted very little to do with the sweltering blanket of summer humidity.
But here, even as the air warmed, it felt light on her skin. The sun seemed to dance over it, and her freckles had fully bloomed in all the time she’d been spending with Lindy in the gardens. It had simply been too hot to wear the dresses with the long sleeves she was so accustomed to, but no one seemed to bat an eye as she switched to the ones that bared her entire arms. Lindy wore the same, and it seemed much less common to cover skin in Prythian.
Elain was adjusting, slowly but surely.
As she rounded the next turn in the maze of evergreen hedges, she saw Lindy, already packing her items into the basket she regularly carried though the sun had barely crossed the midline of the sky.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Elain asked with a mock-posh accent. Still, Lindy jumped a little before she turned, and Elain giggled.
“Gods, Elain. How do you move so silently? You’d think with fae hearing I’d at least be able to hear you coming.”
The mass of devil’s ivy and jasmine wrapped around Lindy’s feet. It was what they’d been working on all week—separating the two when they’d become inexorably intertwined. Elain had just about gotten to the point that, despite Lindy’s determination, she was ready to let the plants cohabitate and see what happened if it saved her fingers from another day of pruning.
“You’re just distracted.” Elain waved her off. “Worried a certain High Lord might catch you here alone in the gardens?” Elain was getting bolder about teasing her friend, especially considering every time she brought up the High Lord of Spring, Lindy blushed about ten shades of red under the bright sun.
“Hush, you,” she shot back, tossing the final trowel into the basket and removing her gardener’s apron. “I was simply surprised, that’s all.”
Elain surveyed the leaves and vines in the space they’d been working, noting a staunch demarcation in between. “Looks like you got them separated after all.”
Lindy nodded, wiping a hand across her forehead. “I got here early today to do it. Since I’m helping my father this afternoon, I wanted to get it done.”
“You should have called me out.” Elain had spent her morning rising slowly, finding the manor empty and taking her breakfast in her room while the sun passed across the sky. She hadn’t seen anyone in the yard, so she’d been reading the last few hours—some ancient looking romance she’d found poking out of the desk drawer.
“Bah, I didn’t need the help, but I always love your company. Next time,” she proclaimed. “If you want to help while I’m gone, you can always source some of the fig and strawberry from the woods to divide the vines. I was going to do it tomorrow, but it would help me to get ahead.”
She and Lindy had discussed this yesterday—the plants that would separate the two so they wouldn’t get tangled again. “Sure, I’ve got nothing else planned for today except a few more things to run past Tamlin.”
Lindy blushed again and Elain grinned. She’d been leaning heavily on Lindy for advice when it came to planning the ball for Spring. A nature theme had felt right—bright colors and petals and crawling vines—a return to what made Spring feel so alive. Tamlin had stressed that he wanted the ball to feel like home for the people who lived in this court, the ones who had stayed after the fall of Amarantha and throughout the blight. Though Elain’s awareness of it all was purely from what others had told her, she knew it had been horrible. Those who had fought deserved a night to forget and enjoy. The fact that Tamlin was trusting her with so much of it was an honor she wasn’t sure she was worthy of, but she was so grateful for the distraction.
Lindy handed the basket over, brushing her own hands off and tossing back her mass of curls. “You can just leave whatever you find in the basket here when you’re finished. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
Elain nodded, taking what she needed out. “I hope you have a good day with your father,” she added.
“And I hope you have a good day with the shrubbery,” Lindy teased. “Should I call you a guard before I go?”
Elain scoffed. It had been long over a month now since she’d arrived, and she’d been so good about following the rules. “Certainly not. I don’t need to bother the guard so I can grab some plants. I’ve been at the edge of the woods without help before, anyway.” She pushed away the visual of her getting stuck in the cherry tree.
Lindy grinned, squeezing her shoulder before she turned to leave. “See you bright and early tomorrow?” she asked.
“Bright and early,” Elain repeated.
She waited until the footsteps fell away. Waited, even then, to count to 200 and back. Waited until there was nothing but her breath and silence and the quietest rustling of the flowers and leaves in the breeze around her. Then, Elain got up to go.
The fig and strawberry were right on the edge of the woods, just beyond the garden hedge. They were sprawled low across the ground, easily removable roots that would come up nicely and replant elsewhere, just as Lindy had explained.
Elain reached them and kept going, the sun eclipsing around her as she passed into the trees with a last look behind her. She hadn’t needed a guard to get to the fig and strawberry plants, but she hadn’t wanted a guard for what she actually came to do today, either.
Elain had been dreaming about a house in these woods, and today, she planned to find it.
She walked lightly over the twisted roots, larger than her torso and older than time itself, it seemed. Around her, the sun fell through the thick canopy in bright, thick beams, splashing over the ground in beautiful patterns. The air was fresh in here—crisp almost in comparison to the heat outside the shade of the woods. It smelled like flowers and turned soil and peat, and Elain inhaled.
She loved everything about Spring. Loved the scenery and the weather. Loved the trees and the flowers. Loved the smells and the sights and the sounds. She loved the manor and the staff and her new friends here. Loved how, for maybe the first time in her life, she felt like she belonged where she was—like she was meant to be here. She loved it all enough that she could nearly forget about her sisters sometimes—could almost shove away that gaping hole in her chest when she remembered how they’d left her. How they continued to. Was it because she was still human, and they weren’t? That they’d gone off to become something new, and they’d forgotten all about Elain in the process? She pursed her lips as she continued walking, something in her stomach twisting the way it always did when her thoughts wandered here.
Elain loved Spring, but everything seemed to come back to the fact that she was a human here. The novelty had worn off, so her friends didn’t treat her differently anymore, and neither did the staff. Alis, especially, was quick to humor her, not shielding her feelings or treating her anymore as the wounded, muddied fawn she’d met the first day. But in the end, she was human. She was reminded every time someone new came to the manor, ogling the girl they’d heard rumors about. Each time Bron and Hart and any of the other guardsmen she’d come to know treated her like glass.
She was especially reminded every time Lucien seemed to draw back, to look right through her suddenly, even if they were having a good time. The worst part was, Elain could tell Lucien enjoyed her presence—that he wanted to know her and wanted to even flirt. But inevitably, every time, his eyes would snap open as though remembering he wasn’t interested in humans—wasn’t interested in her.
She thought that might have hurt more than her sisters’ betrayal, honestly.
She tried not to feel the rejection, but it was a dead weight in her chest. She still knew so little about mates, about what it meant to have one, but every time Lucien pulled back from her, that openness in his eyes shuttering closed, it felt like someone was dropping an armoire onto her chest.
But today was not about her sisters or Lucien. Today was about Spring, and about the dream she’d been having every night for the past week. Her feet carried her through the woods like she’d trod the path a thousand times, her mind barely having to consider where she was going. Around her, the trees grew thicker and the forest darker, but the pillars of light shining down seemed to shine even more brightly. Unlike the woods when she’d fled from the manor, she wasn’t afraid of these at all.
In her dreams, the house in the woods was really more of a cottage in a big clearing, the light spilling down just like this with motes of dust and nature sparkling in the air above it. It was stone, painted white and crawling with lush green vines. Atop it stood a stone chimney surrounded by a slate roof straight from a fairytale book.
Elain had no idea who lived there, but in her dreams, she knew there was something inside she was seeking.
The determination to find out what had been haunting her all week. So when Lindy told her that she’d be missing a day and also gave her a reason to be near the woods, Elain trusted the divine intervention that seemed to pop up from time to time. She was no stranger to trusting her dreams, especially since they almost always came to pass, one way or another.
She was making good time, noting landmarks as she went so as not to lose her path back, when she came upon the first weeping willow she’d found within the woods. It looked just like the one she’d climbed beneath when she’d first entered Spring, huge and towering, branches swaying softly in a breeze so soft she couldn’t even feel it on her skin. Above it, the canopy had cleared entirely, shrouding the tree in full sunlight exactly like the cabin from her vision.
The tree itself was massive, nearly two stories high and wider still. Elain couldn’t help but approach it, that strange humming energy that she felt more often than not alerting her senses and beckoning her closer. In the sunlight, the thin leaves sparkled, the brightest greens catching the light and reflecting it back almost like mirrors. Her hand extending slowly, Elain reached out to touch it, anticipating the sleekness of it as her fingers pressed against the greenery.
“Ah, what’s this? A new friend in these woods?”
Elain jumped back so hard she lost her footing, tripping and landing straight on her ass among the roots. She’d yelped when she’d fallen, one hand trying to break her fall and the other flailing somewhere over her heart. Her eyes whipped across the clearing to where she’d heard the voice, coarse and ragged, and she was met with the figure of what looked like a tiny, old woman.
Surprise aside, Elain was more shocked to see what looked like someone’s grandmother this deep in the forest. She was small—much smaller than Elain, even—and so aged that the lines in her face were folded almost neatly into deep creases. Her hair was so white it looked like the down of a goose, pieces of it floating around her face like the willow branches in the wind. Elain hadn’t seen a single fae who even looked middle aged, and she wondered how old this one must be to look this old.
“I’m sorry. You startled me.” Elain’s words were breathless as she stood, brushing her skirts and tail end off. The woman just tipped her head, her face breaking into a wide smile with teeth so old and brown they looked almost like wood in her face. Somehow, though, the smile itself seemed so warm and genuine that Elain felt no danger here.
“The final Archeron,” the woman quipped, something near to amusement in her voice. Elain was still so taken with watching her that it took a moment for the words to process.
“What did you say?”
The woman simply smiled, adjusting her arm a bit and flicking her wrist. Behind Elain, a sound like the whooshing of wind roared past so loudly that she fought against the urge to cover her ears with her hands. When she turned to see the source of the sound, she reeled to find the weeping willow entirely gone, the small, familiar cabin now in its place. She was gaping when her head swiveled back to the old woman.
“Well, I can’t have just anyone be able to find it, now can I?” She gave a nod of her chin toward the entrance, and despite the fact that the entire house had been a rather large tree just moments earlier, it truly was exactly like the one from her dream.
Somehow, the inside of the cabin seemed even larger than she’d imagined. Though the weather outside had been warm, the inside of it was cool. The woman led Elain through her kitchen to a small wooden table that appeared hand carved, the surface detailed with a million small flowers and vines. Without thinking, she ran her fingertips across it.
“I’d offer you tea, but it’s far too warm for that.”
She wasn’t wrong. Elain had just been thinking that she could use some cool water. As though the woman had heard the thought, she filled and set a cup of cold water, the glass already condensating, on the table. Without a second thought, Elain picked it up and took a sip, letting the chilled water soothe her throat. Perhaps Elain should have been slower to trust, but something about this woman’s presence was soothing—kind, the way a mother or grandmother’s should be.
Elain had been a big proponent of trusting her instincts as of late, and they were telling her this woman was safe.
She eased into the chair across from Elain, her joints creaking in tandem with the wood of the seat as she did.
“Elain Archeron, so different from your sisters you are—”
“How do you know my sisters?” The question tumbled out, and Elain almost forgot to be polite in the wake of the revelation.
“—but already changing…”
The woman took a pause, grinning ear to ear like a cat who got the cream. Elain realized she was breathing heavily.
The old woman folded her hands in front of her on the table, leaning back with ease into the chair wings. “My name, dear flower, is Vilja. And I have met your sisters.” She quirked a brow. “They certainly seem to have risen to the occasion.”
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.
Vilja. Vilja. Vilja. The name was so familiar, information from a dream.
“Are you the one who turned them into fae?” Even as she asked, Elain felt certain she knew the answer. She felt more validated yet when Vilja’s answering smile sharpened.
If she’d turned them, could she turn Elain, too? A feeling inside her flared to life, a sparkle of something that felt like excitement—felt like hope.
“I gave them each a gift.” Her eyes surveyed Elain, tracing up and down before landing and staying on her face. “It doesn’t appear you need one.”
“Can you—could you turn me too?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked, that something she’d once feared as a bedtime story was something she might want, too. Want badly enough to ask for it. But there were other things at play now—other reasons she might want this.
In response, Vilja simply tipped her head again, and for the first time, Elain thought she looked almost more animal than fae.
“You would be willing to give up the life you knew to be here forever? To live forever?” There was no judgment in her question, only curiosity.
A picture of Lucien flashed in Elain’s mind, of the warmth that filled her chest when she thought of him. But he wasn’t the only thing. Elain thought of Spring and Lindy and the nights on the porch with Tamlin, Bron, and Hart. She thought of the warmth of the kitchen on the chilly mornings when she came to help, the way the sun filtered through her bedroom windows.
She thought about how everything here felt like a home she’d been chasing her whole life. How, even without Lucien, without her sisters, she’d never felt so at peace.
Nothing from her human life had ever felt that way.
“I would.” There was an irrefutable certainty in her words that surprised even her. Vilja smiled.
“I will tell you what I told your sisters, lovely flower. There must always be a sacrifice.”
Elain didn’t stop to ponder what she was asking. “What would you need?” Vilja’s grin widened at the question, and Elain thought the emotion in her eyes looked almost like pride. Still, she shook her head.
“That’s not for me to tell you.” The words were not what Elain had been expecting.
“But I thought—I thought you could change me. You changed them.” The sadness she felt was so abruptly strong it felt like her chest was collapsing, all the hope deflating from her like a dying breeze.
“I cannot give the gift of immortality. Only the Mother and the Cauldron have such powers.”
“But Feyre, and Nesta—”
“Came to me with dilemmas, in need of help. I gave them the tools to use what they already had.”
“So give it to me, too.” Elain was practically begging now, shocked by the desperation in her voice as she leaned across the table, the opportunity slipping through her fingers as she grasped Vilja’s.
But Vilja’s smile held steady, her hands soft as Elain realized they were holding hers in return. Her eyes were kind.
“There is nothing to give you that you do not already possess.”
“I possess nothing!” The declaration was out of Elain before she could stop it, pain lacing the words as they rasped out. “I am nothing.” The admission felt like taking a knife in her chest, twisting it until it burned and tore out the rot in her—whatever it was that she couldn’t get right.
She expected Vilja to recoil, but instead the woman’s hands squeezed her own, bringing her closer. Elain was surprised at the gentleness of them, so out of place and unexpected in this fog of desperation and sadness.
The eye contact was both jarring and soothing, like she could see past everything Elain had so carefully curated over the course of her life. Past the society mask, past propriety and charm. Vilja was looking deep, and somehow, Elain knew that she was staring straight into the darkness that lived inside of Elain. She could see the dreams, see the visions, see the secrets. She could see the rage and the pain and the grief that Elain refused to show. She could see the bruises and the night in the bathtub in the manor. The shame ate across Elain’s skin, but Vilja did not balk. In fact, her hands pressed harder, the strangest look of understanding on her face.
“You have everything you need, Elain. There are no gifts I can give you, because they are already yours.” She repeated the sentiment again, but this time, the frustration Elain felt was overshadowed by the wild humming in her veins. She hadn’t felt it begin, hadn’t noted the now-familiar buzz under her skin. But now, it was so strong she felt almost as though she was shaking, her teeth close to clacking with the force of it.
“What’s happening?” she whispered, her eyes looking down to see the trembling wasn’t in her mind.
“Don’t fight it, little flower. Welcome it.”
“What’s happening?” She yelled it this time, the panic beginning to swallow her whole. Vilja’s voice began to fade.
Welcome it.
Elain’s ears were rushing, her vision flickering in an out, black and blinding white. At some point, her hands had left Vilja’s and gripped the wood of the table, the pretty, carved grooves beneath her fingertips. She thought she heard it cracking.
There was something bubbling in her stomach, crawling up her throat in a way she couldn’t stop. Fractals of light exploded across her vision, bright, blurry colors painting all she could see. She meant to call out—to beg Vilja to help—but when her mouth opened, that thing clawed its way out of her.
A voice spoke, and it took a moment before Elain recognized it as her own. It was slow, steady, calm, and confident. It was a tone she’d never heard from herself before.
The three-faced goddess, three gifts bestow
With bloodline certain, but not yet known
Each with a gift from times of auld
One life, one death, one rebirth told
The words spilled out, an unstoppable flow once it had begun.
The wheel of fates begun to spin,
A binding of souls, the veil is thinned
All hinged upon the thread of worth,
Each choice will mark the role’s true birth
No stars shall shine without the Night,
No Day shall break without the sight.
No Bloodshed clears without the flame,
A cleansing fire to purge the claim
She was saying the words, but she was seeing Lucien.
So heed the call, the fearsome tales,
Or else the dark fates should prevail
The Cauldron spurn, the fire will burn,
And from the dust, all things return
The words stopped, Elain’s teeth clacking shut so hard that she felt her skull rattling. She gasped for breath, the world swirling around her like a dark gray mist.
Around her, Vilja’s voice echoed.
Good luck, little Archeron. I do hope we meet again.
“Wait.” Elain begged, perhaps only in her mind as the rainbow world tilted and began to fall apart.
It wasn't Vilja’s voice anymore, but she remembered those words from somewhere far away. A memory under water, just out of reach.
There was a flash of color—of copper in the sun—and she called after him, hoping he might come back for her. Even if she was nothing. Even if she was only human.
“Lucien!”
But the flash of red was gone, everything going dark. She twisted, turned, everything rolling over until she felt like she might be sick. It wasn’t words that came up this time, but vomit, spilling from Elain and hitting the floor in the darkness.
She was suddenly aware of cool air on her skin, the brush of satin and cotton and muslin beneath her fingers as she forced her eyes to blink open.
It was still dark, but she could make out the sway of the curtains in the moonlight, the blinking of stars.
She was back in her room.
How had she gotten back?
Elain wiped a hand over her mouth, the taste still bitter in her mouth as she leaned over the edge of her bed. She’d truly vomited on the floor at least, and sweat covered her skin. Perhaps a very lucid dream.
But as awareness came back to her, she could feel the divots still pressed into her fingertips from the tabletop carvings.
***
Elain’s bare feet padded softly over the cool marble of the manor. She hadn’t been able to get back to sleep after her nightmare—or whatever it had been.
The lights were mostly low, the sconces barely flickering in the halls. Elain wasn’t up often at this hour of the night, but from her early mornings in the kitchens, she knew the magic made things darker at night in the manor.
Though she was still reeling a bit, this was helping ground her. All of this had begun to feel so normal to her—this was home now—and her stuttering heart was finally starting to calm back down. After she’d calmed her breathing in bed, she’d gotten up to clean the floor rather than waiting until morning. She’d debated a bath, but instead settled for washing her face with cold water and swishing some in her mouth until she felt somewhat normal again. Her hair had been an impressive mess of tangles, so she’d taken a few minutes to braid it back before throwing on a soft house dress and shawl and venturing downstairs to see if she could find some tea.
It’s not as though she’d be going back to sleep.
Elain pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders as she reached the downstairs. She guessed it was closer to night than it was morning, but perhaps she could light some candles and read. She really did need to get into the library soon and restock the books that had been left in her room. Perhaps Tamlin had some helpful histories that she could use to learn about Prythian. If she was going to stay here, she might as well learn about—
A sound stopped her in her tracks, her instincts pressing her against The Wall and telling her to listen. It wasn’t more than a moment before it happened again.
Laughter. Female laughter. A giggle.
Something crackled along Elain’s spine without her really understanding why. She was already stepping forward, her hand gliding over gilded wallpaper.
A voice floated quietly over the air to her, still louder than it should have been in the quiet of the night. The words choppy.
“You could—but it’s not like—too good for that—”
Ianthe. There was no mistaking that saccharine crooning. But Elain stopped cold again at the response, clear and louder, a voice she’d have recognized deaf.
“Ianthe, I said no.”
Elain was in motion, her body flaring with something she wasn’t sure she’d felt before. Nor would she be able to place it. Ianthe was alone with Lucien. Lucien was alone with Ianthe. In a room. At night. She flung herself around the corner to where the studies were, where Tamlin and Lucien worked. Something was working its way up her throat, something was—
She stopped.
Her sense overriding whatever primal idiocy the mating bond had roaring through her veins. She forced a deep breath, filling her lungs so hard they stung at the stretch. In her periphery, something caught the low light. As she moved her hand, she could see the gouges where her fingernails had caught the golden paper and ripped it entirely from the wall.
“Enough, Ianthe.” Lucien’s voice was stronger now. Not only could she hear the annoyance in it, but she could feel the suffocation and anxiety and anger in his chest. Bursting in without sense would make her look crazed, might even give Ianthe a reason to believe that something was happening when it wasn’t.
But perhaps there was another way…
When Elain pushed the door open, she was composed, her knuckles rapping elegantly on the wood as she pushed in. At the sight of Ianthe perched on Lucien’s desk, her priestess robes hiked far too high on her thigh to be modest as she towered over him, Elain nearly erupted.
She could feel the snarl climbing her throat like bile, her nails piercing the skin of her palms as she tried to control herself. In her chest, the tugging on the bond was so violent that she was nearly seeing stars. Lucien’s head shot up as soon as she walked in.
“Lucien!” she called. “I’m so sorry to interrupt at such a late hour, but I couldn’t sleep and I was working on the planning for the ball and had a ques—oh, Ianthe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. I can come back if you’re busy!”
The look on Lucien’s face was both panic and relief, while Ianthe’s could burn through stone.
“I’m not busy—” Lucien offered, standing from the desk and closing the book he was using to ignore Ianthe. Elain fought a smug smile at that observation. At the same time, Ianthe nearly hissed out, forgetting her mask.
“What could you need this late at night?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I was combing through the guest lists and seating,” Elain explained easily, steadily, with a smile as bright as the sun on her face.
“And you needed Lucien for that?” Ianthe asked, sliding off the desk like a snake disturbed from its nap in the sun.
“Well, yes.” It wasn’t lost on Elain that Lucien had all but come to her side since she’d entered. “As emissary, he’s familiar with all the families. So he’s the best resource I have.”
Ianthe eyed her up and down, seeming to remember the facade she wore in the daylight and shifting to something more akin to the placid smile she normally wore. Her eyes were still sharp, and the malice in them wasn’t something Elain could unsee. She’d been right to not trust Ianthe.
“You didn’t bring anything with you,” Ianthe accused. Elain didn’t miss a beat.
“I wasn’t even sure he was awake.” She turned her head to look at Lucien. “It can wait until morning.” She was giving him a final chance to back out if he wanted, though she felt certain that he did not.
“I’m actually going up. If you’d like, I can escort you and you can ask.” She felt his relief in her chest, and for once, she was so thankful for the one-sided bond. She didn’t need to question if she’d done the right thing by stepping in.
“That would be great. Thank you.” She turned back into the room. “Goodnight, Ianthe!” And if she injected just a bit of false enthusiasm into her voice, what of it? She didn’t stay to see Ianthe’s reaction as she passed through the doors, Lucien on her heels. They didn’t speak as they traveled the halls, though Elain wasn’t worried about Ianthe following. It would be too obvious, her rooms in entirely the opposite direction on the first floor of the east wing, a fact which she was sure irked Ianthe to no end.
They were silent to the stairs, the shadows casting wide swaths onto the domed ceiling above them as they climbed. Only when they reached the landing did Lucien speak.
“I appreciate you stepping in. Ianthe is…” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Hard to get rid of.”
Like an illness, Elain thought, then nearly covered her mouth. She wasn’t sure where her propriety and disposition had gone since coming here, but it was certainly nowhere near the standard it had once been. For what it was worth, the people here hadn’t seemed to care one bit.
“It’s nothing, truly. I was having trouble sleeping and decided to wander when I heard you and thought you might need an excuse.”
Lucien looked down at her and smiled, truly smiled, and the crinkles around his eyes lit that bond in her chest like a bonfire.
“I appreciate it. Did you actually need any help with the ball?”
It was Elain’s turn to grin. “Nope.”
Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes—mischief and joy and something she hadn’t seen before, like he was seeing something in her for the first time.
“You may surprise me yet, Elain Archeron.” The words were a wave of something bubbling up, the cord between them tugging and pulling until Elain was almost surprised she couldn’t see something palpable between them.
“I’m full of surprises,” she answered without thinking, unsure of where the words came from or how they’d found their way to the front of her room already. Across the hall, his door mirrored hers, just steps away. His bed was only walking distance and a hallway away from hers, she suddenly realized, and a blush splashed across her face at the thought.
He noticed, his eyes dancing across her cheekbones before flicking to her lips then settling back on her eyes, his brows furrowing so lightly she almost missed it.
“I do appreciate a surprise,” he finally answered, his voice low as she realized how close they were standing. Between them, it was almost as though she could feel the heat, crackling hot as a brand. She stood stock still, her hand reached back and settled on the doorknob, though she made no move to open it.
“Then I hope I don’t let you down, Lucien.” Her voice was just an exhale, his russet and golden eyes flicking so briefly to her lips again. She wet them without hesitation, some instinctual movement that seemed to magnify whatever feeling was in the air between them. She could feel the tension—she could hear his heart beat.
Then, he stepped back.
“Goodnight, Elain,” he whispered, courtly once again, and Elain tried to dispel the sinking feeling threatening to swallow her whole.
“Goodnight, Lucien,” she replied, turning the knob and stepping back into the dark just as she remembered she’d never gotten her tea.
Lucien
Lucien sat on his bed, head in his hands.
I could have kissed her.
He could still smell her as he clenched his hands into fists, his nails nearly cutting into his skin with the effort it took to not get back up and march across the hall, breaking down her door in the process.
I could have kissed her.
The echoing thought bounced violently around in his head until it was all he could hear. Her perfect lips all he could see.
It isn’t too late.
That voice was the dangerous one, and it was loud as the bond chafed in his chest, all but tugging him out to her.
Elain. Elain. Mate. Mate. Mate.
It was a constant pulse, a thumping heartbeat that never gave him a moment of peace. He wasn’t sure he would have taken a reprieve even if it had been offered to him.
He forced himself back into the bed, ignoring the voice.
This is for her own good. For her safety.
The lie was getting harder and harder to tell himself.
You won’t hurt her. You’d protect her. She would be yours.
But experience told him differently. She would be in danger with him, no matter that he’d die to protect her. Elain was sunshine and joy—she was depth and complexity. Elain was smart and coy and beautiful. She could make any flower grow, make any person smile.
Elain was everything, and Lucien was a blight of his own machinations.
His heart tugged him toward the door, and he fought it as he did every single night.
Still, that night he spilled into his hand thinking of Elain’s soft eyes.
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