Don't mix vodka and magic, they said. It will end badly, they said.
Elain's never been particularly superstitious, but when a ghost from her past comes crashing back into her life, she realizes that the old saying might have been true after all.
And that she might have (accidentally and definitely not on purpose) cursed her ex-boyfriend.
Northern Lights in Our Skies : 4/15
Two years after the war with Hybern, a looming conflict once again threatens Prythian's fragile peace. With the safety of the human lands at risk, Elain jumps at the opportunity to act as emissary to a distant, mysterious realm.
That she will get to expand her horizons along the way is a bonus she'll gladly take.
That she'll have to do so while masquerading as Lucien Vanserra's wife, on the other hand, is something she'll need some getting used to.
Plant a Jasmine in the Night * : oneshot
On her first ever assignment as Night Court emissary to the human lands, Elain stumbles onto something she shouldn't have seen.
What was meant to be her chance to have a taste of freedom might just end up pushing her towards the one person she's been avoiding all along.
Ex Luna Scientia : 20/20
Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.
Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.
Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.
Into the Water * : 2/2
On the morning of her eighteenth birthday Elain wakes with a taste for blood.
Her task is simple. She must take a man's heart, while it still beats in his chest.
Unfortunately for her, Lucien doesn't plan on going down without a fight.
On Waves of Blue * : oneshot
Elain is bored of her mind-numbingly dull life as Princess of Mushroom Kingdom. The only excitement she's ever known is the threat of the great fire-breathing King Koopa, intent on making her his bride.
Is it so wrong, then, that she doesn't fear his return?
Alpha Sigma Phi * : oneshot
Elain has never thought of herself as a bad girl.
But slip some devil horns on her head, and suddenly the possibilities are endless.
Elucien college AU.
I Believe the Word You’re Looking for is “Friends” * : 40/40
Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra are haunted by ghosts of their past, unable to move forward, unsure where they belong.
Together they come to an agreement. He'll teach her everything he knows about Prythian. He'll take her anywhere she wants to go.
In return, maybe she can just stop slapping him so much.
But Only if You Dare * : 2/2
It all started innocently enough. A silly game, a drunken dare.
Except now Elain can't sleep.
And it's all because of him.
Find Me Where the Wild Things Are : oneshot
Nesta can't shut up about her latest romance novel obsession.
When the identity of the author is revealed, Elain can't help but be intrigued.
Feysand
All I See is You * : 3/3
Feyre is desperate to avoid the life that's been paved out for her. She prays to anyone who will listen, but in doing so she makes a crucial mistake.
She forgets that she's not supposed to pray to the gods who answer after dark.
Inspired by The Invisible Life of Addie Larue.
Band of Exiles
The Intimacy of Being Understood * : oneshot
After Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony, Lucien returns to the manor in the human lands feeling extremely sorry for himself.
Good thing his friends are there to lift him right back up.
Prompts/Requests/Drabbles
Elucien:
Where have the bubbles gone? - smut *
We Were Crazy to Think That This Could Work- angst & fluff
I Miss You Too Much to Be Mad Anymore - fluff
Say it Louder - smut *
Your Secret's Safe with Me - fluff
Ring Out the Old, Ring In the New- fluff
The time Cassian cut Lucien's hair (or tried to) - humor
Elain and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day - fluff
Today I’m thinking about Lucien taking Elain out on their first date when, an hour before, he realises oh my god I forgot to ask her about her favourite flower. So he just goes with his instincts — he picks a bouquet that feels like her. He can’t explain it, but the sunflower petals are as radiant as her smile, their perfume so much like the rich, warm scent of her garden. It just feels right.
He’s about to give it to her and he’s so nervous, but then she opens the door — and Lucien realises he was wrong. Not even the most beautiful of sunflowers could ever compare to the sheer beauty of his mate’s smile, or to the warmth shining from her stare as she looks up at him. “Sunflowers,” she breathes, delighted. “They’re my favourite.”
That one Calvin Klein ad but make it Lucien Vanserra
I got some new rendering brushes today and I’m really enjoying trying them out! Figuring out my art style is such a journey but I kind of like where this is going so far ☀️
Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year.
When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.
Notes: For @rainbowdolphinrealm (@acotargiftexchange)! Thank you so much to @witch-and-her-witcher for beta-ing this chapter<3
Chapter 2/15 || Read on AO3 || Go to Chapter 1
Chapter 2: The Princess
Lucien Vanserra loved lying. Amongst life’s few little pleasures, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, his favourite one of all. He didn’t feel much guilt, if he was being honest—in a world hell-bent on dwindling his magic, deception seemed an adequate substitute for whatever drops of power still trickled through his veins. As a child, he was told of the might his bloodline had once carried—a might he never truly got to feel. The humans, of course, were to be credited for that shortcoming.
Truthfully, lying came to him as second nature. Growing up the way he had, Lucien supposed it was not exactly a surprise. Eris lived by the rule of lie or be lied to, and Lucien certainly was not going to let anyone make a fool of him—let alone a human.
And yet, looking at Elain Archeron now, Lucien could not bring himself to lie—not even to himself.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Eris would have executed him for the words, and he would have been right to do so. The female—woman, Lucien mentally corrected himself—represented everything the Fae despised, everything Lucien despised from the moment he was old enough to understand the world around him. Understand why it had been his brother’s arms cradling him as a babe and not his mother’s; why their ancestral home, despite standing only a day’s journey away, was nothing but a death trap for Lucien and his family should they ever decide to return. Why the great House Vanserra, the most ancient family in the Prythian of old, had been reduced to nothing but two males whose only power was—apparently—a rather impressive ability to lie their way out of anything through their long, sharp teeth.
Well, that, and their good looks, Lucien supposed. Though that particular quality, in his humble opinion, could still be called into question when it came to the second half of the once-mighty Vanserra unit.
Lucien hadn’t seen much beauty in his life, which he was smart enough to agree made him somewhat of an unreliable observer. But looking into the wide, doe-like eyes staring down at him from beneath long, dark lashes…Lucien knew. Knew he would never see anything more beautiful in the world than this. Than her.
Then Elain Archeron, daughter of the man who owned everything the Fae had once possessed, the so-called Princess of New Prythian.
His fiancée.
He wanted so badly to think her a monster, and he comforted himself with the thought that even the prettiest of faces could hide the most revolting of souls, which was probably true in Elain’s case. To the untrained eye, she was all but harmless. Those eyes, their shade a brown of a fawn’s coat, seemed gentle—if not somewhat wary, as though she might scurry off at the quietest tap of some human’s too-polished boots. But Lucien was no ordinary spectator.
No, he’d been training for this his whole life.
He saw the gleam behind Elain Archeron’s eyes, there and gone in a second as she met his gaze. She was hardly the trembling little creature she appeared to be. She certainly was no Princess, either.
She was studying him. Closely.
He looked up from the Merchant’s shining marble parquet to meet her gaze again, and flashed her the kind of smile he suspected only an asshole like Greysen Nolan could offer a girl like Elain Archeron.
“Will you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?” he drawled, letting his voice dip an octave, and extended a hand.
Beside her, the Merchant seemed positively delighted. Good. Lucien would kill him later.
To his utmost surprise, the lovely pink of Elain’s cheeks deepened—and she offered him a smile of her own.
The Mother—if Eris did not get there first himself—would damn him for this, but his breath quickened at the sight. Once again, he looked for solace in the thought that, at the very least, her human ears could not pick up the sound of his own, racing heart. The instinct was ridiculous and, Lucien had to admit, quite pathetic for a male who’d been around for his fair share of centuries. Then again, he did spend most of those centuries hiding in a forest, so he supposed such weaknesses were still within his own rights.
He clung to the thought rather desperately as Elain took his hand—ungloved, Lucien realised. Rather unlikely for humans in today’s climate—these days, they took all but ludicrous precautions to protect themselves from his kind, as if the very touch of a faerie could somehow instil some evil magic within their veins. There was a time that Lucien wished he possessed such ability, though why, he could not exactly recall right now. Elain’s hand, surprisingly calloused at the fingertips, was warm and steady in his own, as though she fully intended to be the one leading him into the waltz.
That sobered him right up, his thoughts pulled sharply out of their strange haze as if he’d just taken his first breath after being underwater. The very idea of a human controlling him even here, right in the middle of his own scheme where he was supposed to lure her into his trap, was like ice over the already dying fire inside him. Lucien plastered the signature Greysen smile back on—whatever he imagined it looked like, anyway. It was hardly reasonable to have asked the lordling to smile while having his claws buried deep into Greysen’s chest.
“Is the dress not to your liking, my lord?”
Lucien blinked—then blinked again.
“Pardon me?” he asked Elain, because the question had to have come from her. He bowed before her as the smooth melody of the violin began, and she returned the gesture with a curtsy, her brows slightly furrowed as she straightened back to her full height.
She hardly reached his shoulder.
Fuck.
“My gown,” Elain repeated, as if that explained everything. “Does it not…please you?”
Lucien found himself frowning, too, but he took her into his arms all the same, realising her hand had already found its own way onto his shoulder. “Whatever gave you that idea? My lady,” he quickly added, forgetting humans and their ridiculous etiquette.
It used to be our etiquette, too, Lucien, his brother’s voice, an eternal thorn in his side, sounded in his mind in the most infuriating memory. They took it from us—the same way they took everything else.
By betrayal and blood. Lucien understood that all too well. The humans would remind him—whenever he found himself forgetting.
“You seem…unsettled, I suppose,” Elain told him. Apparently, whatever he’d envisioned for Greysen’s asshole-smile did not align with the Princess’s expectations.
“I am perfectly content,” he assured her. “You look…exquisite,” he then added, because damn her, she did. Because his life could never be fucking easy.
How on the Mother’s cruel, terrible earth, was he supposed to kidnap her?
“Oh,” she scrambled, that pretty shade of pink blooming on her cheeks once again. He fought the urge to run his thumb across it, keeping his hand firmly on her waist instead. “Thank you. I am glad you find it to your liking.”
Lucien only stared at her.
“I…” Elain cleared her throat. “I am quite fond of roses myself.”
What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? Good for you, I guess? He certainly was not getting her a bouquet, if that was indeed what she was implying. Where he was taking her, there was only moss and the occasional allure of wet, rotting mud. Lucien spun her around, if only to buy himself more time while he searched his mind for an appropriate response that would hopefully keep her engaged long enough.
“I personally prefer tulips, I suppose, though I admit I had not seen that many in my time.” Prythian, after all, was a dangerous enough place. He’d seen the flower in one of the books that used to belong to his mother—the one Eris had gifted him on his fifteenth birthday. Lucien had spent all night carefully making his way through every yellowing page, absorbing every word, every illustration despite hardly understanding any meaning of them at all.
Elain blinked. Slowly. “Tulips?”
Lucien nodded. “Does that surprise you?”
“In a good way,” Elain admitted, a shy smile creeping onto the corner of her plush lips. “I’ve been told you prefer roses.”
Shit. That explained it.
“I’ve always wanted to see the tulips,” Elain continued. “The fields of the Montesere province. I’ve never been to the Continent,” she admitted.
That was a surprise. The Merchant’s own daughter never having left Prythian at all? Lucien would have never suspected it. He’d half expected Elain to boast of the Fae artifacts she’d been stealing from there, no doubt from the ripe age of twelve, if not less.
Interesting.
“So it’s tulips you are fond of, then,” he said matter-of-factly. His mouth twitched upwards. “Not roses?”
Elain paused—as if considering. Then, she rose on her tiptoes and leaned forward—close enough to whisper conspiratorially over his shoulder, “I was lying before.”
For that, Lucien spun her around again.
She returned to him with a smile. “Have you been to Montesere before?” she asked.
Lie, lie, lie.
It should have been easy. The very first thing he had spoken to Elain had been a lie. And yet…
And yet, Lucien couldn’t. “I have not.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “How is that possible?”
Lucien cleared his throat. “My b–my father likes to keep a close eye on me,” he quickly recovered. That much, at least, was somewhat true. Eris had raised him, as much of a pain as he had been—and still continued to be, as far as Lucien was concerned. “I have not been able to travel to my heart’s content, I’m afraid,” he added, unable to keep the grimace off his face. Lucien and his family had been practically confined to Braemar throughout his entire childhood, and it was only after centuries of trying to prove himself to Eris when his brother had finally deemed him capable enough to officially join his ranks.
He half-expected Elain to laugh. To mock him, even, the famed Visitor who, apparently had been nowhere. Instead, her shoulders sagged—less an inch, but Lucien’s Fae senses had not faded enough to miss the movement.
“I have never left New Prythian,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She seemed almost…sad. Genuine. As though she understood him, despite being everything Lucien had devoted his entire life to kill.
All those centuries blazed like an alarm in his head now, that forgotten fire inside him thrumming back to life like some primal instinct fighting its way out of his chest. He had been warned about this—of how powerful the humans could be despite having no true magic of their own. Not only had they learned how to steal the faeries’ power—the humans had mastered turning it against them.
Lucien was not going to let himself become Elain’s prey.
He wondered what spells she had used to make him feel—whatever this was. Perhaps the Merchant had done it himself, far older and undoubtedly more capable than his little Princess. Faebane, perhaps, dipped in some sort of chalice he’d found in the Middle. The Wildlands, they called it now, along with the Solar Courts that used to hold the greatest power of the whole island. He had to bite back a scoff. Humans and their new order.
Looking at her now, as though with some newfound reason the Mother must’ve granted him, Elain Archeron did, indeed, seem like a trembling animal. Her father’s prized, pretty pet he kept in the cage he’d ransacked all of Prythian and beyond to gild in faerie blood.
Lucien offered her a smile he could only hope was reassuring. “Then it’s a good thing we have a great deal of travelling to do together.”
Don’t worry, Little Fawn. I’ll get you out of here in no time.
Elain’s chin tilted upwards an inch—as if in challenge. As if she’d heard something like that before. “We do?”
Lucien hummed. “Am I not the Visitor?” he asked. A question is not entirely a lie, he assured himself, still uncertain why, exactly, lying to Elain Archeron came to him with such difficulty. “I’d be doing one hell of a poor job if I did not…visit.”
Mother above. He should have studied the humans more before coming here. The Visitor. What the fuck did that even mean?
Elain giggled.
Humans and their stupid titles.
This—all of it—was making him slip up more than he ever had before, and if Elain and her little party were any smarter, they would have realised what kind of visitor they’d invited into the Merchant’s manor.
To reassure himself more than anything else, he carefully dug his teeth into his bottom lip, letting his tongue lightly graze the essence there. He could still taste the potion—the faint tinge of honey masking the mirthroot-infused tonic he’d glazed on earlier. Good.
Elain’s eyes flickered to the movement—a flash of a second as she followed the trail of Lucien’s tongue. That fire inside him simmered once again, no doubt in answer—no doubt to dim those flecks of light in those big, brown eyes. Under the ballroom’s chandeliers, Lucien notices, they seemed almost golden.
She looked up then, so excruciatingly slow from beneath those thick, long lashes, and met his gaze.
“Are you alright, my lady?” he asked, his own throat suddenly dry.
Elain blinked—once. Then again.
By the third time, the light was gone.
“Of course,” she said, something like a rasp in her tone that made his entire body stiffen. “I—the music stopped.”
He hadn’t even realised. His report later, of course, would omit that little detail. Eris—nobody else, for that matter—did not have to know just how reckless he’d allowed himself to be today. The Merchant indeed was powerful, his house more a fortress than the manor it made itself out to be. Practically thrumming with magic, the same kind that Elain was no doubt subjecting him to—even right now, as she curtsied gracefully, a loose curl of her golden-brown hair falling over her cheek. Tangling between those lashes.
Gods. He needed to act quickly—once they were both out of here, her spells and charms would no longer wield any effect on him. His report would warn the rebellion of that—of just how many traps the Merchant had set up in his home.
“How about we resume this dance on the balcony?” he asked her, letting his voice become as smooth and honeyed as the poison on his lips.
Elain blushed—then nodded.
Lucien smiled.
All he needed now was one kiss.
He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the very front of the ballroom, where the large, glass entryway to the balcony stood open and waiting. Lucien had gone over the plan a thousand times earlier this morning—but he repeated it once more, just in case. A simple peck on the back of her palm would suffice, or so Nuan had told him, to achieve the desired effect—when consumed in an amplified dosage, mirthroot could cause more harm than good. Once the tonic sank into her skin, it would take a few hours for the magic to take effect—to put Elain to a sleep so deep she would not wake up should someone remove her from the comforts of her bed.
It would be painless, a fact Lucien was still debating whether to consider a blessing or an insufficient enough punishment for what her kind had done to his own. He supposed it hardly mattered—either way, Elain would fall asleep tonight as his fiancée, and, come sunrise, wake up as his prisoner.
One kiss—perhaps as the dance finished and they parted for the night. So that everyone could see her leave, could see them both leave the ballroom and go their separate ways before retiring for the night.
The decoy was already here—somewhere in the kitchens, perhaps, waiting for Lucien to find her and cast the glamour now that he knew Elain’s face. The Merchant’s most prized treasure, after all, had to leave with Greysen Nolan as scheduled and not without saying goodbye to her precious father. Not to mention willingly.
Lucien would find her later. For now, he had to put on his last, final act.
He flashed Elain Archeron the most brilliant of smiles before offering her a hand. “Shall we, Princess?”
***
The evening breeze caressed her furiously flushed cheeks. “Please don’t call me that,” she asked Greysen, taking his hand all the same.
His auburn brow quirked upwards. “I am told this is what they call you in this part of the island,” he said, teasing her, no doubt.
She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You know just as well as I do, my lord, that Princess is hardly my official title.”
“But you like it anyway.”
“I do not!” she huffed, and—to her surprise—Greysen laughed soundly, his head tipping back, waves of hair spilling over the navy blue of his jacket. “You are toying with me.”
“I most certainly am not,” he assured her, that smile still playing across his lips. “I simply wanted to see for myself, I suppose.”
“I am being truthful,” she told him, her grip on his arm firmer as if to emphasise her point. “I am most certainly not a Princess, and that’s that. I can’t imagine anyone enjoying being called what they are not.”
Greysen slowed at that, the natural grace of his movements swaying somewhat as though she’d taken him by surprise. They fell out of rhythm, hardly dancing anymore as he just held her in his arms, one, broad hand on her waist, the other still warm and steady in her own, and looked at her.
Elain had been so, so wrong.
As much as she respected and trusted Lord Nolan, he had never been a pleasant man to be around—it had been superficial of her to have expected his son to be the same. Greysen was…like her, in so many ways Elain had to pause, too, much more often than she would have liked. He wanted to travel. He, too, felt…trapped.
He wanted to take her along with him. She would not be caged to Rask, to the Governor’s castle in Saetre. She would set sail with Greysen instead, see the world—not in the way she’d always dreamed, but she would, at least, get out of this place. The place that, over the past few years, had become less of a home and more of a graveyard.
Besides, it was what Father wanted. What everyone wanted. Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing to share a dream with everyone else.
So Elain returned Greysen’s gaze, so hot and focused entirely on her own it felt like a fire had been lit in the depths of her very soul.
“Can I ask you something, my lord?” she whispered, the words more a breath than a question.
Greysen nodded. “Of course, my lady.”
“My father says we have met before,” she began slowly. “Many, many years ago, however…” she looked to her feet, unsure if the confession would be more embarrassing for her than Greysen. “I cannot seem to remember.”
He shifted slightly. “It, ah, it was a very long time ago, my lady—you do not need to apologise, if that is what you are implying.”
“Oh, I’m not,” she said quickly—too quickly before she even managed to stop herself, mortified. But Greysen…
Greysen only snorted—as though the response was exactly what he’d expected. As though it was exactly what he’d been hoping for.
Elain smiled. “It’s just that—everyone’s told me your eyes were blue.”
Greysen stopped moving entirely.
She had never seen—had never felt that kind of stillness. She could have sworn he froze under her touch, those hard muscles in his arm like stone beneath her fingertips.
It was only because of that that she hurried, “If I overstepped in some way—”
Greysen cleared his throat—and just like that, he seemed perfectly fine again. “Not at all, my lady.” He smiled again. “I suppose, under a certain light…” he shrugged. “Or, perhaps,” he added with a wink, “No one has ever looked closely enough.”
Oh. Oh.
“I am glad they were wrong,” Elain admitted.
Greysen angled his head. “Is that so?”
“It is,” she nodded. “Your eyes, they’re, ah…”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, Princess?”
Elain huffed. “Stop that.” Greysen chuckled. “I suppose I just…I’ve never seen such colour before. Like a burning flame—like gold, even. Under a certain light,” she parroted, hoping the joke would distract him from the blooming pink of her cheeks. It was true, though—she couldn’t help it. There was a light behind that sizzling fire—bright and golden and with a warmth that could rival the very sun as Greysen looked at her—looked at her as though he’d never seen her before.
“If I may return the compliment,” he said, leaning down and over her shoulder, so close to Elain now she could practically feel his hot breath on her neck, “Your eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen.”
Her throat bobbed—and she could have sworn she felt his gaze trail the movement. As if on instinct, Elain turned to him, to where his lips neared the sensitive skin of her neck by an inch. It knocked into her with a crushing force—how much she wanted him to touch her. Not just the brief hold on her waist, clad by layers and layers of heavy fabric, not just the fingers intertwined with her own in a dance—this. Elain wanted to find out if he would taste her as hotly as he had looked at her just now—if his teeth would graze against the shell of her ear ever so slightly, sending that delicious fire down to her core.
Her eyes fluttered shut of their own command—waiting. Offering.
But then, Greysen pulled back.
Just an inch—enough to meet her gaze once more, but right now, it felt like thousands upon thousands of miles for Elain. She needed this, needed to find out if somehow, after losing everything, the world had deemed her worthy enough to give it back.
He extended a hand—as if to press a kiss to her own before they inevitably parted for the night, his tall frame starting to tip in a bow until he levelled with her at last, those eyes still burning as they met hers.
Beautiful.
Elain seized the opportunity.
She had kissed men before—boys, really, back when every noble’s son accompanying his father for a visit at the Manor would become the love of teenage Elain’s life for a day or two. A peck on the cheek, on the lips, sometimes—a heated, if not inexperienced moment of passion in the house’s old closets in her later years, when they would both become brave enough to sneak off during their fathers’ deliberations.
Nothing, though, had ever felt like this.
He was soft—nothing like that hard muscle she had felt rippling beneath his skin. She could sink into him—into his full lips, his steadying arms as they wrapped around her and held on tight. Greysen tasted like sunlight warming an autumn breeze before it whooshed past the smoky woods, and honey—thick and syrupy and sweeter than any fruit she’d ever grown in the gardens beneath them.
It was only that surprising taste that made her halt—that sharpened her senses as she pulled back, mortified. Elain could hardly catch her breath as she looked at Greysen—her fiancé—whom she had just kissed without a care for the rest of the world.
“Lord Greysen,” she breathed, “I’m so—forgive me, I—”
“Elain,” he rasped.
“I didn’t mean to—”
She didn’t get to finish as Greysen crashed his mouth into hers.
Elain didn’t hesitate this time—she threw her arms over his neck, pulling him closer, deeper, practically begging him to taste, to take—
He was like a man starved, his lips hungry as they chased her own, his hands moving to cup her rear. Elain was sure she had stopped breathing long ago—she must’ve been dead, on the very cusp of it, to be kissed like this, as if she was air and Greysen had been underwater far too long. Teeth—sharp, surprisingly, a fact Elain simply could not pay any mind right now as she arched into his touch—grazing her bottom lip, he kissed its crescent before moving to her chin, her throat, and sucked the skin ever so slightly.
Elain could only pray no one stood guard at the terrace below.
“Greysen,” she moaned, the name practically obscene as it fell from her tongue.
Greysen stopped. Pulled back—as if she was fire, and he could no longer withstand it.
His eyes were wide as he met her own—as they dipped down to her lips, swollen and throbbing so deliciously she had half the mind to ask him to kiss her again.
“Elain,” he breathed. “Are you—”
His next words were slurred—and Elain frowned. “What—” she tried, but—
Before her, Greysen blurred. Elain blinked—then blinked again, her mind spinning as she tried to sharpen her vision into the man she’d just kissed once more.
He opened his mouth—and sounds reached her, too muffled for her to so much as try to decipher. Elain tried again, tried to speak, to ask him where, exactly, he had learned to kiss so damn good the world swayed from beneath her feet.
But all words, all senses simply…failed her.
The very last thing Elain saw was a flash of gold, leaning over her as though the very sun was putting her to sleep.
Slowly, Lucien turned his head and his gaze found hers. Everything quieted. The house’s inhabitants were gathered around Lucien, talking about what he could expect, but Elain focused only on the male in front of her. She tried to convey her apology and sorrow and want with her eyes, frozen with indecision and unable to say what she wanted.
Lucien stared back at her, and while she could so clearly see his own sadness and longing reflected in his brilliant russet eye, he gave her a small, slow bow and turned away. Elain’s stomach dropped. He was going to leave her, and Elain would be stuck in this house like a neglected piece of furniture, without the one being who had a hope of truly understanding and listening to her. She took a half step down the stairs at the same time Lucien turned to Rhys and nodded his head…
“Wait!”
...
"Take me with you."
Chapter II of my gift for @stickyelectrons for the @acotargiftexchange! Thank you for your patience (the holidays were busy!) but I'm excited to share this next chapter with you! Wishing everyone a happy new year!
Read on AO3
XXX
II.
When Lucien rose that morning, never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined how the day would turn out: interrupted by Elain Archeron when he was seconds away from being sent to the Continent, and the same woman insisting on joining him on his quest to find the lost mortal queen. Secretly, when Elain announced her intentions and Nesta questioned if she had been placed under a spell, Lucien had the same thought as the eldest Archeron. But as Elain made her case to her sisters, her eyes had filled with the eerily familiar fight and stubbornness he’d seen countless times in Feyre’s eyes. Perhaps that was just an Archeron trait, he thought.
Another apparent Archeron trait: sheer willpower. Lucien thought that this particular characteristic may have skipped over Elain, but as they came to at the base of a tremendous mountain range and Rhys vanished with a nod and a wisp of smoke, Elain simply took a look around at their surroundings then looked to Lucien with a determined look on her face. “So, which way?”
Lucien took out his map and showed Elain their approximate location. Montesere occupied the northwestern corner of the Continent, bordered by the sea on its northern and western shores, with rolling hills that grew to rocky mountains along its eastern edges. In an ideal world, they would be able to walk in a southeasterly direction to Koschei’s lake from their current location, without worrying about the Continent’s marauding thieves and criminals. In an ideal world, they wouldn’t be making this journey at all, Lucien thought, so any wishes for an easier route seemed a bit pointless.
“How far are we from the western ports?” Elain asked, studying the map dotted with notes and diagrams.
“About three days. There are some forests we can camp in each night.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
That was two days ago, and the pair hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since. Not that Lucien hadn’t tried to make conversation. He asked Elain about her hobbies–”What else do you enjoy growing in your garden?” or “Do you enjoy dancing?” even “Any other interests?”—and all he received were one word answers or an unimpressed ‘hmph’ that even Lucien, master flirt and wordsmith that he was, didn’t know how to expand upon to further their conversations. Elain never asked him anything other than confirmation that they were on track to the port, so Lucien took the hint.
Lucien thought he and Elain would finally discuss what tied them together. Clearly, Elain insisted on joining him for reasons other than being alone with him for an extended period of time, working together towards a common cause and getting to know each other.
Mates. Cauldron, even months after the bond snapped into place, Lucien was still winded by the knowledge that he had a mate. No, that perhaps didn’t surprise him; who his mate was, and wasn’t, was what he still couldn’t wrap his head around.
He had thought it before and he thought it now: Jesminda was the exact opposite of Elain. Jesminda, full of life and laughter, fearless, confident and secure in herself and what she stood for. She always had a smile for Lucien, and matched his fire with her own unique warmth.
Elain held no warmth or happiness for Lucien. Not that she needed any, he thought. She owed him nothing, even as his inner beast wanted to grab her shoulders, make her look at him, make her listen to him as he begged and pleaded his case for why he was a worthy male for her.
Guilt over Jesminda and his newfound happiness at discovering his mate still warred within him. Much of Lucien’s time and thoughts since discovering the mating bond had been devoted to reconciling his feelings towards the female he had once loved so fiercely.
He had moved on from Jesminda, or, as moved on as one could be after watching the female he thought was his mate murdered before his own eyes. He hadn’t been…unhappy, for some time, per se, but had been merely existing for the past several hundred years. Some decades were better than others, but Lucien had long ago lost the wonder and excitement that rising each day once brought him. Lucien had accepted Jesminda’s death and the inevitability that he would never know such love and happiness again.
But then Hybern happened. The Cauldron happened.
And now here, right in front of him, was the most breathtaking female he had ever seen. His heart called out to hers, even as his head cautioned him to slow down, to stop these dangerous and near traitorous thoughts. A small part of him still loved Jesminda, and most likely always would; was it wrong of him to one day move on, to want to feel the love and desire that he’d once had, but with someone else?
Did he even deserve this love? He had done so much wrong in his life, and for the Mother to still bless him with the most beautiful female he’d ever seen…
“Will you stop sighing back there? Whatever it is you’re thinking about, you’re being more dramatic than Nesta when Feyre wouldn’t give her money for a new pair of shoes.”
Lucien raised an eyebrow. They had formed an unspoken walking pattern: one ten feet in front of the other, never talking except for directions, and always looking ahead. At first it bothered him, but as Lucien began walking behind Elain, getting a generous view of her bottom and legs in the tight Illyrian leathers everyone in the Night Court insisted on wearing, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
Not now, though. “I’m being dramatic? You’re the one who started a public family fight after you had barely spoken anything for weeks because you wanted to accompany me in finding this mortal queen. I’d love to know why exactly you’re here, by the way, because it clearly wasn’t to get to know me.” Lucien paused. “Why did Nesta need money from Feyre?”
Elain turned to face him, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks. “It’s really none of your business–”
“It seems you’ve forgotten I already know quite a bit about your family business, thanks to you.”
“But before, when we were humans, Feyre, er, hunted and supplied our family with most of our money,” Elain rushed out, looking back ahead. Lucien could have sworn she started walking faster as well.
“Feyre said you all wouldn’t last a month after she came to the Spring Court, but I didn’t think she was being serious.” Lucien stuffed his hands in his pockets as best he could with his heavy pack on his back and raised a condescending eyebrow, despite the fact that Elain wasn’t looking at him. “So you willingly let Feyre hunt and starve herself to provide everything for your family?”
Elain stopped and turned to face him, her face red, legs wide and clenched fists by her side. The stance of someone getting ready for a fight. “Right, because as the son of a High Lord, you know everything about doing any sort of hard work to survive?”
Lucien sneered. If Elain knew what being the son of Beron Vanserra truly entailed, she’d wipe that leer off her pink lips. Lucien could tell her of the times he’d been struck or hit for any perceived slight towards his father, or the time he’d been plied with liquor until he passed out and his father’s cronies winnowed his unconscious body to a desolate forest on the other side of Autumn Court with nothing on him except his clothes and a note, telling him to find his way back to the Forest House in time for dinner, all because Lucien had made a few too many jokes with a visiting nobleman.
Lucien could easily have told Elain all this and more, and how each and every instance of cruelty and malice prepared Lucien for a hard life of doing anything to survive. But she wouldn’t be able to comprehend or truly understand what he’d gone through, how truly monstrous the fae were. Or perhaps worse, those big brown eyes of hers would fill with pity.
He’d received enough pitying looks to last him a lifetime. Instead, Lucien took a step towards her. “I at least know how to fish, so I guess you could say I do. More than you, at least.”
“Wonderful,” Elain spat. “If anything should happen to us, we can call upon your supposedly superb ability to catch a fish to save us.”
“You forget I’m also a skilled warrior.” Another step closer to his mate. “In fact, I’m very comfortable with all manner of swords in different lengths,” he purred, raising a single eyebrow suggestively and smirking.
Most females needed very little convincing to lay down and raise their skirts whenever Lucien used that tone of voice and moved his lips like that. The female in front of him, however, wasn’t like that, Lucien realized a second later.
Elain laughed mockingly. “Well, Feyre gave me a knife the size of my pinky–I’m assuming that’s the length you’re the most familiar with?”
Lucien frowned. “I know Feyre has an attitude, but I incorrectly assumed you were better than your younger sister in that regard.”
“I do not have an attitude!”
“Feyre also single-handedly saved all of Prythian while she was Under the Mountain, and is working tirelessly to save us all again, so I suppose the attitude is warranted,” Lucien said loudly, ignoring Elain.
“And you almost destroyed all of Prythian, and my life, when you allied with Hybern and turned me into…this, so I think my attitude is justified as well!”
Lucien bit his tongue. He’d apologized for that, and deeply regretted not being more assertive with Tamlin when things with Hybern progressed, even when Lucien’s conscious screamed at him day after day that what they were doing was wrong, that nothing, not even Feyre, was worth betraying everyone and sullying themselves by allying with Hybern. The guaranteed abuse from Tamlin would have been preferable to what transpired.
“As I said, Lady, I apologize,” Lucien gritted. “It was never my intention to cause you or anyone harm.”
Elain scoffed. “Is that the best apology you can make? I thought there would be more groveling from the male who took everything from me.”
“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?”
This time it was Elain who took a step towards him. She planted her hands on her hips. “Would you even know what to do if you went on your knees before me?”
Cauldron help him. Maybe the Mother knew exactly what she was doing when she decided the two of them should be mates. The fire dancing in her eyes called out to his own warmth, and the blood pulsing through his body called out to her. He wondered if Elain could hear how fast his heart was beating at that moment, in sheer excitement and want.
It had been some time since he’d wanted anyone this desperately.
Lucien took the final step towards Elain. He glanced down at her flushed face, his gaze lingering on her lips when her tongue peeked out to wet them. She was breathing fast, and her eyes looked slightly glazed. “I will gladly get on my knees–”
Elain gasped and her body went stiff. “The crow will strike with bloody wings,” she mumbled, staring at something over his shoulder. “Its children will turn the sky black as night.”
“Oh hell,” Lucien muttered as Elain swayed on the spot. He eyed her nervously as her hazy eyes continued staring off into the distance. This was obviously a vision, and like her previous ones, frustratingly vague and cryptic. “Elain?” he called softly after a few moments.
Nothing. It was like she had fallen asleep standing up. Lucien snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Elain?” Still no response. He gave her a few more moments and looked around. There was nothing of interest behind him that she could be staring at. He sighed, unsure what to do. Would she simply…come to, on her own? Did she need to be forcefully brought back to the present?
Clearly, standing stock still in the middle of nowhere wasn’t conducive to breaking her out of her trance, so more immediate action needed to be taken. Tentatively, Lucien reached out and wrapped his hands gently around her upper arms and gave her just the smallest shake. “Elain?”
Cauldron, what was going on inside her mind that couldn’t be broken? “I hope you remember more about your vision than I do, because I wasn’t paying attention to the first part,” he grumbled.
Enough of this–they had to keep moving, and if he had to be the one to move both of them, so be it. Lucien bent down below Elain to wrap his hands around her knees right as she gasped.
“What are you doing down there?! I wasn’t serious about you getting on your knees! Get away!”
“Ah, stop it!” Lucien threw up his arms to protect his face from Elain’s swinging hands. “You had a vision and were just standing there like a statue, I was going to carry you so we could keep moving! Stop trying to hit me!”
“I lose myself for a few seconds and you try to make a move on me! I thought you’d be more of a gentleman!” Elain stepped away from Lucien and smoothed her hands over her unruly hair and clothes, shooting him a suspicious glare.
“Who told you I was a gentleman?”
Elain blushed, and Lucien decided he very much enjoyed how the color elevated her pretty face. “I just assumed, being the son of a High Lord, that you would have manners and courtesy becoming of your station.”
Lucien barked a laugh. “Fae nobility doesn’t operate under the same ideals of goodness as humans, Elain. Me being the son of a High Lord means nothing to me, and I am by no means a gentleman, as you will soon come to find out,” he promised, grinning at her with all his teeth exposed.
Elain inhaled sharply. “And I think,” Lucien continued, stepping back into her personal space, “that you don’t really want a gentleman, do you?”
From this close up, Lucien could smell her sweet honey and jasmine scent, along with an altogether new and entirely different scent. Faint, so faint, but the burgeoning scent of her excitement danced across his tongue. He nearly groaned.
Lucien knew just enough about Elain’s former betrothed to get the measure of him: the son of a general from a safe, respectable, predictable family that probably considered organizing their vast weapons collection as the highlight of their year. Looking at Elain now, her breath quick and scent excited, Lucien knew she’d be permanently bored and miserable should she have married that mortal. No, Elain perhaps didn’t have the same fire as her sisters, but she was intense in her own ways and needed someone to challenge her all the same. She needed excitement. She needed an adventure.
It could certainly just be the mating bond riding them, making them feel this way, but he didn’t think it was just that. This close to her, he could have sworn he saw a flicker of anticipation and surprise in the way her eyes searched his face. Trust me, Lucien pleaded with his eyes. He reached out to their bond, the string connecting them, and slowly moved along it. Give me a chance…
She turned her nose up at him. “You’re wrong–I would very much appreciate a gentleman, someone kind and who doesn’t make untoward advances on me, specially right now.” Without another word, Elain turned around and began marching away, her boots stomping so hard into the ground small puffs of dirt arose with each step.
He counted to ten in his head, feeling cold and frustrated in the aftermath of her rebuttal. “You’re going the wrong way!” Lucien called after her retreating form.
Elain turned back and gave Lucien a glare filled with so much heat it could melt the icicles off the palace in the Winter Court. She stuck her middle finger up at him as she passed.
Another Archeron family trait. Lucien couldn’t help but chuckle.
As much as he would like to follow Elain from a distance–annoyance did wonderful things to her bottom–they needed to discuss what just happened. Lucien jogged to catch up to Elain and matched her pace. “So, what was your vision about?”
Elain gave him a look from the corner of her eyes but relented with a frustrated sigh. “It was…blurry, even by what I normally experience,” she admitted. “Normally, I have an idea of what the vision is about–I’ve seen Vassa transform into a bird more times than I can count by now, and saw Hybern’s ravens in the Library. But this time, it was like trying to watch a play through a thick fog.”
“Why was this vision different?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice with thick with frustration. “It also may explain why I was unresponsive for several minutes. I tried to…follow the vision, get closer to what was happening in the hopes that I could see it better.”
Lucien paused. “That seems dangerous. I know very little about Seers, but I know the mind can be a very dangerous place to be stuck whenever powerful magic is around, even for the most proficient of fae.”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I? The only real skill I bring to this small operation are my visions, and that’s only if they’re actually useful to us,” she muttered irritably.
Lucien didn’t agree–their earlier witty argument was already the highlight of his month, and they’d only been together for two days. He changed tactics. “Perhaps this vision is going to happen so far in the future that its details aren’t set in stone yet. Maybe it can still change, depending on what happens in the present, and that’s why you couldn’t see anything clearly.”
Elain sighed. “Perhaps. But why show it to me now, for me to worry over?”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
“I just can’t not worry about it now,” Elain scoffed.
“Then worry about it with me. I’m not here to fight with you, Elain,” Lucien said gently. “Regardless of how you feel about us, we need to work together, at least until we find Vassa. Can you do that?”
She bit her lip. “Of course, you’re right. We’re a team–” Lucien couldn’t help his smile, his heart soaring– “just until we find Vassa,” Elain ended.
“Right,” Lucien muttered, his heart sinking back into the pit of his stomach. “Just until we find Vassa.”
But Lucien knew, as they continued walking in silence the rest of the day, that he wanted to try to be more with Elain than just temporary teammates. He’d experienced her wit and fire first hand, knew she was flawed like him and on some level desired him, and suspected, under her biting remarks, that she was kind and generous and good. The fact that she was utterly beautiful didn’t even factor in to his initial reasons of why he wanted to spend more time by her side.
Lucien now had two very pressing missions: find the last mortal queen who had been transformed into a firebird, and learn all he could about Elain Archeron.
“Did you care for any birds growing up?” Lucien asked conversationally later, after they had found a small copse of trees to shelter under during the night. Dinner had yielded an awkward conversation about the weather, along with their dried meats, bread and fruit. They were each laying on their respective bedrolls, staring at the night sky through the branches of the trees.
Elain furrowed her brows and frowned. “What?”
“Well, this is the third time you’ve had a vision concerning birds; an odd coincidence, I wasn’t sure if you kept any birds as pets in your youth.”
“None at all.”
“Ah.” Lucien lightly drummed his fingers on the ground beneath him. “Do you like birds?”
“I’ve never thought about birds in any capacity until very recently,” Elain said blankly.
“Something we have in common. I, too, don’t care for birds, and after tonight, I never want to think about the flying pests ever again.”
To his delight, Elain gave a short laugh. “Finally, one thing we can agree on. Good night, Lucien.”
Lucien had charmed plenty of females before to know that getting them to laugh was one of the hardest obstacles to overcome in wooing. The fact that they had gone from arguing, to a tentative trust, to laughing, all in the space of one day was a very good sign, Lucien thought with a grin.
One step down, he thought happily as he drifted off to sleep, and only a million more to go.
Hohoho @thelovelymadone, I'm your secret Santa! I hope you like your gift... cause there's no regifting 😆 But the season is just beginning so I'm sure it can only get better from here! Thank you for being such wonderful person and I'm really glad to have gotten you as my giftee 💚🎄🎁❤️
Summary: Lucien Vanserra, Godkiller and disgraced prince, is more than content on his own. He doesn't need his family, or his wife, or his former friend. Hasn't needed them in years. But when villages start being attacked by a force he thought he'd destroyed years ago, he's forced back into their company to retrieve the mysterious firebird and save his kingdom from ruin.
Pairing: Elucien
Word Count: 2.1k
Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Authors Note: Remember when I said daily ish updates and then didn't update for four days. Well clearly I shouldn't be trusted with deadlines. And as always, for the amazing @labellefleur-sauvage for the @acotargiftexchange
Present
“Hello, wife.”
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Elain said, rising slowly to her feet. Her dress was cut low, showing off the swell of her breasts. In spite of himself, Lucien felt his gaze drawn there, before he tore it away to focus on Elain’s smirking face.
Oh she definitely knew where he was looking.
“So town reeve,” Lucien said, clearing his throat. He shifted slightly to hide the evidence of the blood flowing to his cock. “That’s new.”
Elain tossed a silky, golden curl over her shoulder. “You took so long I had some time to persuade Kouemos of my leadership skills.”
“With your tongue or your magic?” Lucien taunted.
Elain stalked towards him, placed one hand on his chest and shoved. “I don’t need magic to get people to love me.”
Lucien’s chest burned where she touched him, and he caught her hand up in his, holding it safely away from him. “No, only to keep them around.”
Elain looked like she wanted to spit on him. She wrenched her hand out of his grasp. “I didn’t summon you here so you could insult me.”
“What happened to the old Lord, Elain?” Lucien asked, not one to be distracted. “What was his name, Nolan?”
“Nolan’s been dead for years,” Elain said. “A unicorn rode through town and his heart gave out from shock.” She snorted. “Spent fifty years building walls to keep magic away, and it was his fear that took him out.”
“Lord Graysen then, what of him?”
Elain stiffened. “Joined his father in the ground a few months ago. Not long after I showed up.” She tilted her chin up, daring him to challenge her.
“Attagirl,” Lucien said, leaning closer until his mouth was practically pressed against her neck. He loosened his grip on his sword, letting it drop to the ground. “The knife work I showed you pay off?”
“No,” Elain growled. “I don’t need your help.”
“Except now,” Lucien smirked, sliding past her and plopping on the bed. He propped his boots up onto the white bedspread, just to watch her nostrils flair in irritation as he smeared mud on it. “Finally come across a problem you can’t solve by growing plants?”
Elain walked towards the bed and slapped him. Lucien laughed, his cheek stinging. Elain looked ready to hit him again, but before she could, Lucien wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap.
Elain’s long legs bracketed his thighs, and she surged forward to kiss him, biting down hard on his lower lip. The taste of blood hit Lucien’s tongue and he groaned, reaching down to drag Elain’s pink dress up around her hips.
At the same time, Elain grabbed his belt buckle, working it open and pulling out his now fully hard cock. Elain ran her fingers over it, and Lucien bucked his hips up into her hand.
Elain pulled away from the kiss long enough to give him a smug smile, before sinking down onto his length.
“Fuck,” Lucien groaned.
Elain ground her hips against his and Lucien gasped.
“Something wrong, your highness?” she asked, eyes wide with mock ignorance. Like she wasn’t deliberately driving him out of his rutting mind.
“You know I hate that term,” Lucien growled, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise.
Elain gave him another rough kiss, a clash of tongues and teeth. “Not when I say it.”
Lucien grunted in response.
In the five years since he’d left Auden, they’d run into each other on occasion. An occupational hazard. And every time, they ended up in each other’s beds, coupling for a few rough bouts of love making. They were both under no illusion their marriage meant they had some special claim on the other, but it did confer some benefits when they ended up in the same spot.
Or, at least, Lucien assumed they had on such claim of loyalty. He may have no interest in women outside of Elain, no matter how often opportunity presented itself, but he’d long decided he was happier not knowing if she felt the same way. And he’d resolved not to tell Elain about his own duty to his marriage vows. Better to keep some things private.
Above him, Elain’s full lips parted as she sucked in air. Her breasts swayed with each rock of her hips, and Lucien reached a hand up to grab the neckline of her dress, yanking it down. It tore easily under his touch, and Lucien half wondered if that wasn’t intentional. Some quirk of the fabric Elain had chosen to exploit.
Lucien took one erect nipple between his teeth, nipping at it lightly, and Elain practically screamed.
“Something the matter, your highness?” Lucien asked, releasing her breast with one final, hard tug.
Elain scowled and reached a hand between them to finger her clit. “Only that I have to do everything myself.”
Lucien grabbed her wrist, and pulled her arm away from where their bodies joined. “How quickly you forget, princess.”
“Forget what?” Elain asked, batting her brown eyes. In response, Lucien thrust his hips up, making sure to hit that spot deep inside her he knew had her falling apart in seconds. Sure enough, Elain’s eyes rolled back as she groaned, her core clenching around him.
“Do I need to remind you again?”
Elain hesitated and Lucien tugged up on her wrist, pulling her body taunt.
“Do I?”
“Please,” Elain whined, and Lucien slowly dragged his hips down before slamming them back up. Elain’s breath hitched, they way it always did before she fell apart completely, and Lucien winked as he found that spot a third time. Elain broke apart around him, her cunt squeezing his length, sending release barreling down his own spine.
A few quick, short strokes worked them both through their climaxes. Lucien dropped Elain’s hand, checking her wrist for any signs of bruising.
“I’m fine,” she said, pulling it away.
Lucien sighed, letting her go. He wrapped an arm gently around her waist, pleased when she didn’t immediately remove it. “Why did you call me here, Elain?”
“The Wild Hunt is back.”
Lucien sat upright so fast Elain had to brace herself against his chest to keep from falling off his lap. “Fuck.”
Elain grinned ruefully, fingering the fabric of his shirt. “Turns out we didn’t take care of it as well as we thought last time.”
“Fuck,” Lucien repeated. “Are you sure?”
“The signs are all there–people going missing, livestock slaughtered, churches burned. And it’s all happening along the borders.”
“Fuck.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it,” Elain said, rising off him and brushing down her skirt. “I thought it would be something talked about in your network.
Lucien reached down to close his pants back up. “I’ve been avoiding the border.”
“I figured,” Elain said, pulling one of countless leather clad tomes off her bookshelf. “But the attacks have been spreading out over the past couple months, going deeper and deeper into Auden.” She opened the book, letting it fall open to a specific page, and turned around to show it to him.
Lucien looked at the rough sketch of a bird engulfed in flame and quirked his brow. “The firebird? That’s a myth.”
“I thought so too,” Elain said. “Until one of Eris’ soldiers went up Mount Vasilisa and came down raving about the whole mountain top being on fire.
“So Eris thinks this firebird can stop the Hunt?” Lucien chose not to ask why Elain knew so much about what his brother’s troops were up to.
Elain pointed to a line in the book. “The firebird can break any bonds that tie. Including the ones that tie the Wild Hunt to the earth.”
“And Eris decided to send us to go get it,” Lucien supplied.
“Preferably before the meeting of the King.” The meeting once every ten years where the monarchs of the continent’s kingdoms got together and pretended they didn’t want to kill each other. This time Eris had been chosen to host, and Lucien had been planning to be far, far away from Auben by then.
“That’s in a fortnight,” Lucien protested. “It takes half that time just to get to the mountain.”
“Then it’s a good thing Eris picked the town below it to host the meeting,” Elain chirped.
“Eris just thought of everything, didn't he.” Lucien bent down to retrieve his sword from where he’d dropped it. “Next time you see my brother, tell him to ask me in person if he wants me to do his dirty work.”
Elain crossed her arms, pushing up her still exposed chest. “So you’re not coming then? You’re just going to leave?”
“What do you care?”
Elain took a step between him and the door, blocking him in. “Is Auden not my country now? Am I not its princess?”
“If you consider yourself that,” Lucien conceded. “Although how far you’d get being married to the cast out seventh son Godkiller…”
“Who’s still the brother of a King. And the son of another. And both their land is being destroyed right now.” Elain raised her chin, somehow managing to look down at him despite being nearly a head shorter.
Lucien glared at her for a long moment before sagging in defeat. “Tell Eris there’d better be a large sack of gold waiting for me when we get to the bottom of this mountain.”
Elain’s triumphant grin was practically fox-like. “I’ll make sure to tell him his brother’s sense of familial duty remains just as profit motivated as ever. Now give me your shirt, since you ruined my dress.”
Lucien tugged off the sweat soaked linen and offered it to her. She pulled it on, and opened the door.
Jurian, his ear pressed against the wood, nearly fell on the floor.
“It’s you,” Lucien said, voice utterly impassive.
“I told you to stay away,” Elain hissed.
Jurian scrambled to right himself, squaring his broad shoulders and pasting a broad grin on his face. “Good to see you again too, Lucien. It’s been, what, five years?”
Lucien nodded once in recognition. “Been keeping yourself busy?” He asked more out of politeness than any genuine interest. He couldn’t find it in him to care, not about Jurian.
“Oh I’ve been around,” Jurian said, waving his hand. “Playing in taverns, working my way through all the finest cities.”
“Bursting the eardrums of everyone in this castle with your music,” Elain muttered, and Lucien chuckled in spite of himself.
“What was that?” Jurian asked, pretending not to hear.
“Elain gave him a pretty smile, one that made Lucien’s heart pull a bit. Why did Jurian get to see them but not him. “Oh, nothing.”
“Good,” Jurian said, giving Elain an equally simpering look. “Because I’ve so been enjoying your hospitality for these past weeks, and I’d hate for anything to taint that.”
Lucien’s brow shot up. Weeks?
“Turns out me and Jurian can get along when we have certain common interests to motivate us,” Elain said sweetly, reading Lucien’s expression.
“Great,” Lucien mumbled. He eyed Jurian, looking for any indication those common interests included something of the more carnal nature. Jurian winked at him, but knowing Jurian that could mean any number of things. “And do those common interests extend to Mount Vasilisa?”
“Yes,” Jurian said, at the same time Elain said, “no.”
“For the last time, you’re not coming,” Elain snapped.
“I think you’ll find my particular talents very helpful,” Jurian said, gesturing to the lute strapped across his back.
“Sure, if we need to scare someone off,” Elain shot back. “They’ll run away with their ears bleeding.”
“Useful when we need to take care of the firebird’s guards,” Jurian said.
Elain turned to Lucien. “Tell him no.”
Lucien eyed the bard, taking in the fine tunic, and hands with a few more calluses than one would expect from a musician.
“He can come,” Lucien said.
Elain huffed and stormed past Jurian, down towards where Lucien knew the castle stalls were. Jurian made to follow her, but Lucien grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close.
“If you do anything during this to put us in danger, if you breathe a word of this, I’ll flay you alive and string your guts from the nearest church steeple.”
“What about your wife,” Jurian protested. “Not worried she’ll stab us all in the back again?”
Lucien tightened his grip. “I’ll worry about her. You worry about yourself. Got it?”
A/N: Here I am with the second part of my gift to @kingofsummer93 for the ACOTAR gift exchange <3 I haven't been able to touch my laptop in days so it took some time but I'm excited to work towards the juicy parts of this fic.
Summary: Lucien had always thought his life would be normal—or as normal as it could be growing up in a werewolf hunting family. All it took was one full moon for the truth to unravel in front of him and force him to make hard decisions. His fate was forever changed, and no amount of trying running from it could prevent it from catching up to him.
Thank you @rosanna-writer for the beta <3
Read on AO3
Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
- Bigger Than The Whole Sky, Taylor Swift
Chapter Text
6 years ago - Lucien
As he had predicted, the soft brown shade of Elain’s hair was visible through the small window in his door the next day. Lucien had been dreading the minutes passing by since school had ended. For a few seconds he had fooled himself into thinking her father would make her go straight home and he would have more time to think of a way to leave her without hurting her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Vanserra.” Elain nodded politely after cracking the door to his room open.
Her eyes scanned Lucien’s body in the bed quickly, lingering on his face until a slight frown appeared on her face. He didn’t smile at her and glanced away after a few seconds.
“Good afternoon dear.” His mother managed a smile. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”
Elain waited for her to leave the room before she rushed to Lucien’s side and dropped into the seat by his bed.
“Oh god Lucien, what happened to you?” She reached for his hand, but he removed it from the mattress before she could touch him.
The flash of hurt on her face was enough to make him clench his jaw to keep tears at bay. “You shouldn’t have come,” he gritted out.
“What are you talking about?” Elain folded her hands in her lap, wringing them together like she had done in his car before a big test just a few days ago.
Back then, he had covered her hand with his to help soothe her nervous tell, but those times were over. Lucien forced his eyes away from her fingers, so often laced between his that he used to plan his lunches so he’d only need one hand to eat.
“Why aren’t you at practice?”
“Because you’re laying in a hospital bed after what I can only guess was a severe car accident.” She said it like it was obvious, but her face was obviously controlled, too blank to be honest. Lucien had always been able to tell when she was hurt, even when she was trying to hide it. The way she forced the corners of her mouth to stay still was an obvious tell, as was the slight pinch between her brows. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he could only hope he was better at hiding his feelings than she was if he wanted his plan to work. “I’m leaving, Elain.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m moving,” he bit out, his eyes finally meeting hers with a glare. He didn’t want to answer any other questions, he couldn’t keep looking at her like this, he needed this nightmare to end. “I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
“But- Is- How did that happen?” Elain blinked a couple of times, confused. “Is it Beron? I don’t understand why he’d want to move-”
“He’s not.” Lucien cut her off. “I’m moving, just me.”
The reality of where the conversation was going dawned on Elain and her eyes filled with tears. “Why?”
“Because I can’t be here anymore. This place, this life, I don’t want it. I just want to leave.”
I’m lying, Lucien wanted to tell her. I’m lying, I’m sorry, I need you to be safe . He would never get to say them to her, and it was this truth he drew his anger from. Anger was all he had left to get through this, so he clung to it with all his might.
“And we’re not even going to talk about it?” Elain’s voice broke halfway through her sentence, her lower lip trembling.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Lucien scoffed and wished she could just hate him already.
“Just yesterday we were-”
“We were what, Elain? Stealing five minutes of time before your father locked you back into the house?” He forced himself to watch the horror on her face as the words hit and made sure he drove his point home. “That’s not a life, hasn’t been for months, and it never will be.”
“You promised me,” she whispered, her breaths unsteady as tears rolled down her reddened cheeks.
“I lied. You should leave.” Lucien nodded toward the door and stared at it, unable to watch her crumpling face for another second.
“Clearly,” Elain sniffled as she gathered her coat. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“I do. Why are you still here?” Lucien met her eyes for the last time and knew it had worked when she steeled her face into a mask of anger.
“Fuck you,” Elain choked out just before she slammed the door closed behind herself.
She wasn’t even out of his sight when she braced her hand against a wall and broke into sobs.
Present day - Elain
The flower shop was bright from the sunlight streaming through the window. Elain was humming to herself as she placed her flowers around the various stands for customers to browse. It was a quiet week day, but the morning had been busy enough and she expected more customers to come closer to the evening.
The quiet bell she had installed by the door rang, but she didn’t glance back long enough to see who had walked in.
“Good morning,” Elain greeted cheerfully. She made sure the bouquet was secure and wouldn’t fall on a customer before she turned around. “What can I help you with-” Her sentence died on her tongue as she recognized him.
His long red hair and mismatched hazel and russet eyes were something she would never forget, even with the new scar cutting through his left eyebrow, over his eyelid and down to the middle of his cheek. Neither would she forget the way he had abandoned her. Her mouth was dry, and she had to clear her through before his name fell from her lips. “Lucien.”
“Elain,” he whispered, as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“What do you need?” she asked in a tone drier than she had ever used with a customer before.
The question only made him look sadder. “Jasmines, and pink peonies, please.”
“You know, there’s a florist a couple of blocks from here that specializes in peonies, I’m sure they’ll have more shades of pink to choose from than I will.”
“They’re closed. I just… need the flowers, please.” He remained where he was, not making a move to come to her counter. Elain didn’t know him anymore, but it didn’t take much to see his eyes were red from exhaustion and probably crying.
He’s just a customer, she thought to herself and took a deep breath to sound professional again.
“Give me a moment,” Elain went to the back of her shop and retrieved three peonies. “Which shade?”
“This one, please,” he didn’t hesitate.
“How many stems? I’ll balance the jasmine from that.”
“Twelve.”
“I’ll just be a couple of minutes.”
There was plenty of working space at the counter in the shop. Elain typically arranged her bouquets there to talk to her customers, but there was nothing she wanted less than to make small talk with Lucien. The cameras showed no one else was coming in, and Lucien was simply waiting.
After all of these years, she could hardly believe it was him, and yet, every time she glanced at the screen she recognized the face that used to be so familiar to her. Before today, Elain had never believed people who couldn’t handle running into their exes. She had run-ins with men she dated during her degree, and it was always awkward but it had never been unbearable. Except Lucien was more than an ex, he had been her first love, and the only heartbreak that she thought she might never recover from.
“Dammit,” Elain cursed as she tied the stems together, her eyes stinging and filling with tears.
Lucien
Lucien didn’t know what to do with himself as he waited for Elain to come back with the flowers. On any other day of the year, he would have tried to talk to her, but his chest felt hollow this morning. Even seeing his first love wasn’t enough to get a reaction out of him, and on days like these he often believed nothing ever would.
Elain must have talked to him when she placed the peonies and jasmine in front of him, but Lucien only answered with the bare minimum as he finalized the transaction. He had done nothing with his day but come to this shop and yet he was exhausted already.
His feet carried him back to his car and he drove to his destination almost mechanically, following the unfortunately familiar road to the tall iron gate. He parked beside it, the structure looming over him as he began his walk down the graveled path.
Tombstone after tombstone lined the way, some well flowered, others beaten down by the weather and lack of care. Lucien clutched the flowers in his hands as he walked through the cemetery with blurred vision. He had come every day for weeks after the funeral, so there was no need to see as his feet carried him without thinking to the familiar gray stone. He blinked just enough to clear his eyes and read the words.
In loving memory of Jesminda Halls
His knees hit the grass with a quiet thud.
Lucien had no chance of controlling the way his entire body shook from a sob. “I’m sorry,” he whispered with his eyes closed.
Even after three years, there was no controlling the torrent of tears that fell from his eyes. None of his apologies would ever bring her back, and his flowers suddenly felt like a pathetic gesture to make himself feel better. It wasn’t working by any means, but Lucien hiccuped through the tears and brought a hand to his face to try to stifle his sobs.
The pads of his fingers pressed on the scar on his cheek, looking to bring back the pain the wound had caused, just so he could feel something. It was long healed, but for months past the incident Lucien had picked at it and made it bleed over and over again. Werewolves hardly ever scarred, the others had told him, but Lucien couldn’t handle watching himself heal when Jesminda never would. Months of reopening his wounds had caused the scars to become permanent, and he now got to see the reminder of his shame every time he saw himself in a mirror.
“I thought I’d find you here.” A hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently to steady him through his crying.
Lucien couldn’t form words in his state, although he mouthed the words I’m sorry over and over until his lips were trembling too hard and he had to bite down on them.
“You might still not believe me, but it wasn’t your fault Lucien,” Helion added as he crouched beside him, his hand resting in the middle of his back.
3 years ago - Lucien
“Please just let me come Lucien,” Jesminda pouted as she hung from his neck. “I’ll stay inside during the night, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Not yet.” He leaned down to kiss her before he continued, “Full moons are still tough; I want to make sure I’m in complete control before I can be around you.”
“You’ve been in control for months,” she argued.
Lucien gently ran his thumb over her cheek. “Mostly, but I’m not taking any chances.”
“You know who you would never hurt on a full moon?” Jesminda leaned into his touch, turning her head to kiss his palm.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“Your true mate.”
Lucien laughed and dropped his hand to her waist. “How about I make sure I don’t have any murderous tendencies before we go prove that theory right, mmh?”
“Please?” Jesminda pleaded again. “All the others are old, and they’ll be in control. That’s extra safe.”
“Not happening.”
“Pretty please?”
Lucien smiled and brought her body against his. “I’ll be back in a few days. I love you, Jes.”
“I love you too.” She sighed and kissed him one more time. “Stay safe.”
“You too.”
Lucien was gone minutes later, a duffel bag thrown into the back of Helion’s car as he drove the two of them to a remote location where they could feel the effects of the full moon without worrying about any humans being hurt. He still remembered the first time he had sat in that passenger seat, feeling like he was going to burst out of his skin even though the full moon was still three days away. The trip has lasted the whole week, his unresolved anger against his mother and Helion doing nothing to help him get his instincts under control.
Almost three years later, Lucien and Helion laughed together in the car, their relationship having grown and their trip never lasting more than three days. Helion had been saying for a couple of months that going that far had become unnecessary with the improvement of Lucien’s control, but it was their only time alone together.
It took endless calls with his mother and many interventions from Helion to help him understand what had happened before and after his birth was for the best now. For months, Lucien had mourned his old life, but nothing could make him go back to that town now. Living in Beron’s house had been hell, and finding a father figure in Helion had healed more parts of him than he knew possible.
Sometimes, his thoughts drifted to Elain and his heart filled with regret on how he had handled things with her, but he no longer longed to run away and find his way back to her. Lucien was in the present with Jesminda, with Helion and the other werewolves he had met who quickly became like family to him.
Jesminda
Somewhere just out of sight of Helion’s car, Jesminda weaved in and out of traffic to keep track of them without obviously following them. She knew Lucien wouldn’t think to check the mirrors to see if she was there, and Helion wouldn’t recognise the make of the friend’s car she had borrowed.
All she wanted was to prove to Lucien that it was safe for them to be around each other and for him to know that despite being human, she was ready to accept every part of him, even when he was losing himself to instincts as a werewolf. She kept far behind when they exited the highway and turned into a smaller country road. There weren’t a lot of possible turns from there, and Jesminda remembered enough from what Lucien had told her to be able to find the cabin they would be at.
To make sure Lucien wouldn’t spot her and argue to send her away, she parked by the side of the road for several minutes to let them get ahead. Later on, she passed the three villages Lucien had described in the past, all the way until the decrepit reddish barn that was on the verge of collapsing on the side of the road. Jesminda took the next left, her car shaking on the rocky dirt road.
It took longer than she thought to reach the cabin, but she had been driving slow to make sure she didn’t approach too loudly. The treeline mostly hid her car, but she could see a few others were parked by the cabin, including Helion’s car. Knowing exactly where they were, Jesminda backed up and turned around to wait for nightfall.
If she came close to the cabin once the moon was out, Lucien wouldn’t be able to send her away. He’d see it was safe for them to stay together at all times, and he would no longer hide from her during full moons.
The wait in her car was long, but it was fall and the days kept getting shorter. Soon enough, the sun bathed the forest in golden light. Jesminda smiled to herself, already thinking of the sunrise she’d get to watch with Lucien in the morning. Her mate . She knew he was, was so convinced of it that she was ready to put her life on the line to prove it. Lucien’s reluctance to let her was only proof of how much he loved her too, but soon he would never have to worry about hurting her again.
When the sun fell past the tree line and left space to a sky illuminated by a full moon so bright it hid the stars around it, Jesminda started her car again. Her heart beat faster with excitement, a small smile on her lips as she slowly pulled up to the cabin.
Lucien was impossible to miss. He was huge in that form, still somewhat humanoid but broader, covered in russet hair from head to toe. None of the other wolves were close to him, though she spotted a couple lingering at the edge of the forest. Lucien, her mate , was right there in the open, his elongated face turned towards her as she parked her car and carefully opened the door.
It was exhilarating to see him like that, such a danger to any human who wasn’t her. Still, she took no chances and left the door open, worried slamming it shut might startle him. She took a small step forward, and he took one too. Another, then another, until she could see the reflection of the moon in his eyes.
He didn’t growl, his ears remained perked up, like he was curious but not threatening. Jesminda took it as a good sign.
“I told you we’d be fine.” She smiled at him and held her hand out, trusting.
The wolf pounced without warning.
Blood spilled from her throat onto the ground, staining the grass red in a split second. A larger, darker wolf pummeled into Lucien seconds too late, claws scratching at his face, fangs aiming for his neck without mercy, but there was no changing what he’d done.
Part 2 of my gift to @velidewrites for @acotargiftexchange!
Summary:
Don't mix vodka and magic, they said. It will end badly, they said.
Elain's never been particularly superstitious, but when a ghost from her past comes crashing back into her life, she realizes that the old saying might have been true after all.
And that she might have (accidentally and definitely not on purpose) cursed her ex-boyfriend.
Inspired by the Ex Hex by Rachel Hawkins.
Chapter 2: A Stumble Through the Flames
Ao3 Chapter 1
A/N: Let me know if you'd like to be added to or removed from my tag list!
Present Day, Yorkshire
Lucien stared at the imposing manor in front of him, its many windows as dark as the memories this place dredged up. The dark stone walls crawled with ivy, turrets reaching for the sky proudly. Even though he couldn’t see it from where he stood he could picture the overgrown, neglected garden woven through with narrow pathways, and the sloping hills that lead to the woods beyond. There were rumors about those woods- whispers of werewolves and magpies, legends about children getting lost and never being found. It was all nonsense, of course. The only monsters around here lived in the manor house.
Ironically those supposedly cursed woods had been where Lucien had felt most at home when he was a child. He had spent countless hours in his youth memorizing the twists and turns of the dense paths until he could have found his way home blindfolded. Inside the manor there was perpetual silence, but it was anything but a comfortable one. It was a brittle silence, one that could snap at any moment and lead to something even worse. The forest, by contrast, was never still. There was something comforting about the quiet energy of the woods- the rustle of underbrush, the distant call of an animal.
There would be no traipsing through the woods today, however. Lucien exhaled a deep breath, as though the house he was facing was a prison he was willingly entering and not his childhood home.
In some ways, he supposed, it was both. Except he had the added benefit of not knowing why the hell he’d be summoned here. At least in prison he’d know what to expect.
As he walked up the wide stone steps flanked by gargoyles he could have sworn their eyes followed him. He had hated them since he was a child, unnerved by the carved eyes that seemed to judge him and find him lacking.
Failure, one said, flame curling out of its stone mouth.
Weak, said another, claw-tipped hands gripping the pillar it appraised him from.
Cursed, declared a third, its wings spread wide as if poised to take flight.
If Lucien had the luxury of wings he would have flown out of this hellhole a long time ago.
The front doors opened and closed on a phantom wind as he stepped inside, shutting him into the gloom of his past.
**
He’d managed to stay away for a full year, this time. He would have gotten away with longer, were it not for this summons- and the yearning to see his mother in the flesh. Talking to her through a scribing board was not the same, and the guilt he felt for all but abandoning her was made worse by the way her face shone with happiness every time he called.
She was the only reason he hadn’t cut all ties to this wretched family, if he was honest. If it wasn’t for her he would have cut his losses and ran as far as he could. Probably with a different last name.
These summons always followed a predictable pattern, and this one was no different. A stiff family dinner, followed by some sort of announcement that included either an assignment for one of them, or, on occasion, a punishment. For Lucien it was usually more of the latter and less of the former.
Dread coiled in his stomach. Surely he couldn’t have done anything to deserve his father’s wrath this time? He couldn’t think of anything, but then again, he and his father had very different ideas of what deserved punishment.
“So,” Kalan drawled as the dinner plates were replaced with desert, “still living in homeless shelters?”
His twin sniggered from across the table, his mirth quickly turning into a cough as Eris narrowed his gaze on the pair. “Watch it,” his elder brother warned.
“Working for youth shelters. Managing them, as you very well know. You’ll be sorry to hear that I’m able to keep a roof over my head without anyone’s help.” Unlike the rest of you, he silently added. It was a dangerous jab, but if his father heard he didn’t seem to care. Yet.
“Lucien’s been in Australia,” his mother said proudly, reaching out to grab his hand affectionately. Lucien could feel the bones in her fingers, so brittle he might be able to snap them just by squeezing. She was so thin, even more than last time he saw her.
“Australia?” Liam prodded, stupidly. “Why would you go to that hellhole?”
Lucien cleared his throat, willing himself not to rise to the bait. It was possible that Liam was too stupid to remember, and wasn’t being malicious, but it stung all the same.
“With the regulations their magical government has been drafting, a lot of young witches have been struggling, and it’s not safe for them on the streets. I have connections there, so it seemed a good place to focus since the London branches have been running smoothly.”
“What the hell kind of connections do you have in Australia?” Kalan asked, looking truly baffled.
“Kalan,” Eris warned.
But it was too late. By now all six of his brothers and, regrettably, his father, were all staring at him. His mother’s hand tightened around his.
Lucien took a deep breath through his nose. Losing his temper would do him no good, he was painfully aware of that, but damn if his good-for-nothing brothers didn’t make it difficult.
“Because of my wife,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. His hands were shaking, making the fork he was holding clank against his plate. He dropped it with a clatter. “Remember her? Or I guess you wouldn’t, considering she was never allowed to come here.”
The silence that fell was deafening. It seemed to press around him, buzzing in his ears and crawling down his throat until he thought he might suffocate.
“Darling-”
“Don’t bother, Lillian,” his father snapped, cutting her off. Lucien stiffened but refused to meet his father’s hateful gaze. “If he insists on mourning the likes of her there’s nothing we can say to change his mind.”
Lucien laughed bitterly. The likes of her. Jes had been a better person than any of them combined, but things like that hardly mattered to his family. It didn’t matter that she had been kind, and loving, with a soul as generous as it was wild. The only thing that mattered was that she wasn’t a true witch. Her great-great-grandmother had been a witch, but the magic had petered out over the generations until the only thing that was left for Jess to inherit was her ancestor’s bold, unusual coloring, and eyes that could see particularly well in the dark.
Lucien had hardly cared about her lack of magic. How could he, given his own predicament? In the end when her blood had flowed it had been just as red as anybody else’s. They were all mortal, no matter how much they liked to delude themselves with talk of bloodlines and magic purity. They all bled the same.
“You know what? If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go now.” He pushed his chair back with a screech of wood on stone. His face burned with the combination of humiliation and rage that being around his family always kindled. The hurt that he knew would be on his mother’s face only made him feel worse. “It’s been a pleasure, as always.”
“Lucien, please stay,” his mother implored, her voice like a balm to his raw nerves.
He turned to her, clutching both her too-thin hands in one of his own. “I’m sorry, I just…” He swallowed hard as his father sighed impatiently behind him.
“We’re not done here. Sit down.”
Lucien whirled to look at his father, a biting retort on the tip of his tongue, but the look of cruel amusement in his father’s cold amber eyes made him freeze. He sat back down, if only because he knew if he didn’t he wouldn’t be the only one suffering Beron’s wrath. His mother didn’t need to bear any more consequences for his bad decisions.
“Christmas Solstice is coming up,” his father announced, his gaze still fixed on Lucien. At this his brothers perked up, distracted from the momentary entertainment of Lucien’s torment. “It’s time once again for one of us to go to Maple Glen to power up the ley lines.”
Lucien reflexively locked eyes with Eris. His brother was as coolly unruffled as ever, though there was something in his gaze that sent ice trickling down Lucien’s spine. If he hadn’t known that Eris wasn’t capable of such an emotion he might have thought his brother looked afraid.
Lucien couldn’t make sense of it. Powering up the ley lines was routine business, usually handled by Eris. It was seen as an honor- and so, naturally, he had never been asked to do it. The only time he’d ever even seen the village was when he’d accompanied Eris on his bi-yearly trip a decade earlier.
Not that he particularly cared to think about that- or to return to Maple Glen, for that matter.
As the silence dragged on Lucien became acutely aware of his father’s gaze still focused on him. Realization hit him like a slap in the face, and for a moment he was so stunned he forgot to hold his tongue.
“You’re sending me to Maple Glen?” It was so surprising he couldn’t wrap his mind around the implication. One thing was clear, though- whatever his father’s motivations were, this was neither a kindness nor an honor.
The twins scoffed in unison, launching into protests and jeers.
“Surely not!”
“Don’t be daft!”
“Shut it,” Eris growled.
“Indeed,” Beron drawled, leaning back in his chair as if this was immensely amusing to him. “It’s high time you make yourself useful to this family, don’t you think?”
Lucien swallowed thickly, his palms suddenly sweating. He had his own motivations for staying away from Maple Glen, but apart from that…
“What if he can’t?” Branlar blurted, looking equal parts baffled and outraged. “He can barely light a fire! How is he supposed to power the ley lines?”
And there it was, delivered with the tact and stealth of a battering ram.
“Fuck right off, yeah?” Lucien growled.
They all knew his outrage was mostly for show. Because in fact he could barely light a fire, and it usually left him drained enough to need a nap afterwards. It was his family’s greatest shame- the fact that he, a Vanserra, could barely wield more magic than a carnival magician. That the flame he had once manipulated without so much as breaking a sweat now left him physically drained, the inferno that used to course through his veins reduced to mere embers.
It hadn’t always been this way. He’d once been just as powerful as his brothers, if not more so. Flame, spells, air and light manipulation- it had all come so easily to him. And then, ten years ago, it had dwindled, like a tap being slowly turned off until only occasional drops remained.
He’d sought help from witches all over the world, had performed all manners of spells and cleansings and curse-breaking rituals he could find. None of it has worked. Some said he was cursed, or unlucky. His father liked to say that he was simply weak.
Lucien had despaired at first, desperate to find a cure and get his magic back. It had felt like not being able to breathe, the absence of magic like a phantom pain that kept him up at night.
Until he’d met Jes. Being with her made him forget to mourn his lost magic. She was magic, a new, wonderful brand of it that he couldn’t get enough of. Her laughter was a bonfire, her touch a spell, and he was bewitched by her from the start.
And then she’d been taken away from him. Like everything good in his life always was. He should have known it couldn’t last, really.
He should have stayed away from her, kept her safe from his bad luck. Just as he’d chosen to do with Maple Glen. That way he would have been broken-hearted, but maybe she’d still be alive.
“Father,” Eris started carefully, “powering the ley lines is quite taxing, are you quite sure…” Something about his careful tone told Lucien this wasn’t the first time he’d argued with their father about it. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted.
Beron waved dismissively. “He’s a Vanserra. We’ve been doing this for centuries. Why shouldn’t he be able to?” The warning was clear. This wasn’t just a test, but an ultimatum- if he failed, he likely wouldn’t be welcomed here again.
Lucien chanced a glance at his mother. Her eyes, so like his own, were strangely calm. She reached for him again, and though her grip was still brittle, this time it came with a warmth that spread like a cloak over his skin.
He wasn’t just a Vanserra. It was her flame that he and his brothers wielded, and that power still flowed through his veins. No matter how badly he’d always fit in with his brothers, he would always be her son. And he’d be damned if he let his hateful father keep him away from her.
“Fine,” Lucien snapped. “I’ll go to Maple Glen. I went with Eris once, I watched him do it.”
“It’s hardly the same-“
“I said I’d do it, alright?” he snapped.
Even if it meant going back to the one place he swore he’d never step foot in again.
Even if it meant seeing her again.
**
Present Day- Maple Glen
Elain adjusted the beaded shawl around her shoulders as the customer seated across from her fiddled nervously.
“First time getting your fortune read?” she asked, giving her voice the breathy, self-important air she always put on when she was working.
“Yeah. I, um…don’t really know what I’m doing here, to be honest with you.”
Neither do I, Elain wanted to tell him, though she could hardly admit that. Instead she smiled at him indulgently.
“Don’t worry, dear. The tea leaves will tell us everything we need to know.”
The man wiped his palms on his jeans, drowned his cup with a wince, and pushed it towards her almost reluctantly. He looked so worried that Elain felt bad taking his money. She often felt bad, but as Vassa liked to remind her, she wasn’t completely scamming people. She did have the power of sight- it just didn’t come in the form of tea leaves and tarot cards. It wasn’t her fault her visions never manifested while she was with a customer.
“Now,” she declared, pulling the cup towards her, “was there something specific you were wondering about?”
The man’s eyes flitted around as though he was embarrassed to meet her gaze. For a second Elain thought he might bolt. That happened sometimes with the more skittish tourists. Too bad she asked for payment upfront.
“Well, yes…” He trailed off, took a breath to steel himself, and launched in. “It’s my wife. She’s…I think she’s hiding something from me.”
Oh. That hit a little close to home.
There was a shuffle of footsteps from outside the curtained area that blocked off Madam Fawn’s Fortune Salon from the rest of the shop, indicating that Vassa had decided to snoop. Damn her and her witchy hearing.
Elain squinted through the thick glasses that gave her eyes an unnatural, bug-like appearance, peering into the tea dregs. “Ok,” she said slowly, careful to keep her voice neutral. “And what makes you think that?”
“Well, she’s always jumpy and defensive, like she thinks I’m about to accuse her of something. She knows all my passwords but she gets mad if I even check the time on her phone…”
Elain’s gut twisted. This was all too familiar for comfort. She squirmed despite herself, and the man’s eyes went wide as he tracked the motion.
“That’s bad, right?” He gulped. “I knew it was bad before even coming here.”
This was the problem with this fortune telling business. It was almost too easy. The customers always ended up doing most of the work for her. Even when she tried to lay out a bright future for them, they always found a way to declare some sort of tragedy before it had even happened.
“Well, not necessarily. What does your wife do for work? I’m seeing a source of outside stress that may have been affecting you both…” she trailed off and peered deeper into the cup, frowning in concentration for good measure.
“Oh. She’s a doctor. Pediatrics.”
Bingo.
“Ahh, yes. Well, this time of year is especially stressful with all the influenza going around, isn’t it? I’m sensing this vacation you’re on was just the thing she needed…”
Ten minutes later the man was thanking her profusely, having been assured that there was no divorce in his future and that his wife was simply stressed at work. Elain kept her polite smile firmly in place until the bells above the shop door jingled with his exit, and then she sagged.
“Poor sod,” she said sadly, locking the door and turning the closed sign.
“Well, she’s definitely cheating on him,” Vassa agreed. The cash register clanged cheerful as she pushed it closed.
“Or she’s a secret witch,” Elain grumbled. She unwrapped the beaded shawl from around her shoulders, transforming back from Madam Fawn- Fortune Teller to Elain Archeron- Broke Witch. Broke, single, approaching thirty, and technically slightly homeless witch, to be exact.
Vassa shot her a dark look. “I thought we weren’t talking about that anymore.”
“We’re not!” Elain grabbed a broom and briskly set about sweeping the stray herbs and detritus from the day, avoiding Vassa’s knowing gaze. “I wonder which one he would react better to, though…”
“Elain!”
Elain threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine.”
Vassa hovered halfway towards the front door, slipping a wool hat over her golden-red curls. “Are you, though?”
“Am I what?” Elain snapped her fingers and her piles of dirt disappeared into thin air. One of the many perks of living in a magic shop was the marked improvement on her spellwork.
“Fine?”
Elain sighed, finally meeting her friend’s eyes. “Yes. I’m fine.” How many times would she have to repeat it before she believed it? “I was just rattled by what that guy said.”
“Are you sure? Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Jurian won’t mind!”
Elain grabbed her broom again, shooing Vassa towards the door. “Go, you mother hen! I’m fine!”
Vassa’s bright laughter rang out over the tinkling of the door, and then with a final click Elain was alone, enveloped in silence. Another evening alone, with nothing but her thoughts and a shop full of (mostly) fake magical artifacts to keep her company. The cat skeleton curled up next to the cash register hissed at her, as if affronted she had forgotten him.
“Oh shut up, you pile of bones.”
The cat stretched languidly and then turned away from her, letting out a displeased meowl for good measure.
Of course even an enchanted cat skeleton would reject her. Males of any species always did.
With a sigh she trudged up the stairs towards the tiny apartment above the shop and the empty evening it contained. Even after almost a year of living here she still called it the apartment and not her apartment. It technically belonged to one of the Maple Glen Coven’s elders, who let Elain live there in exchange for her services as a fortune teller for the shop. It had seemed like too good a deal to pass up when Amren had first offered it to her, especially with Vassa occasionally volunteering at the shop. Suddenly they were nineteen again, two young witches with their whole lives ahead of them.
Except that they weren’t, and after almost a year here, Elain felt stuck.
She wasn’t supposed to be living in a tiny, slightly musty apartment above a tourist shop on Main Street. Merlin, she wasn’t supposed to be living in Maple Glen at all.
Deep down she knew there was no shame in coming back home with her tail between her legs, but that’s what it felt like. Shameful, and embarrassing, like she had failed not just herself but other people’s perceptions of her as well.
She was supposed to be living in one of the manor houses on the outskirts of Salem, married to the son of a wealthy local family. Not here, with only a magically enhanced cat skeleton for company.
As soon as Elain’s feet hit the second floor landing, a noise from downstairs made her freeze. A whoosh, followed by the slight tingling sensation that always surrounded magic. She felt it raising the hair on the back of her neck, that awareness of a new source of power reaching out for her own.
Like calls to like.
She crept back down the stairs slowly, her mind racing ahead of her with possibilities. They’d never had a break in, but there was a first time for everything. That rush of power she’d felt, though- that couldn't have come from a townie trying to steal a few decks of tarot cards.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw that the main shop floor was illuminated by a faint green glow, and a warmth was spreading through the darkened room. Elain relaxed as she saw the emerald flames crackling merrily in the hearth behind the cash register. Vassa had probably left something behind once again and decided to Apparate instead of walking back.
Elain crossed her arms and smirked, waiting for her friend to step through the flames, when a sharp inhale behind her made her heart stutter in her chest. She whirled, grabbing her discarded broom and brandishing it like a baton.
“Who’s there?” She tried to sound menacing, but the tremor in her voice was less than convincing. “Vassa? Is that you?”
“Elain?”
She didn't have time to register that the intruder (the male intruder) knew her name before the flames from the hearth fluttered out, smothering them in sudden darkness. From the faint glow of the street lights outside Elain could make out a shape moving in front of her, and she raised her broom higher.
“Where am I? Shit, I can’t see…”
Her heart gave another stutter, except this time it was from the shock of recognition and not fear. There was something familiar about that voice, a deep rumbling timber that she’d never forget as long as she lived. It was the same voice that still occasionally showed up in her dreams, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear. The voice that had made her swoon and laugh in equal measure. The voice that had taught her love, and then heartbreak.
But no, it couldn’t be. Surely she was mistaken. Surely…
Suddenly she very fervently wished that she was being robbed by a townie.
There was a loud crash as the figure stumbled into a display case, sending a shelf full of light-up crystals tumbling to the ground. They lit up as they hit the floor, bathing the room in a technicolor array of jewel-toned light.
Elain blinked in shock as the man’s features came into view, his tall frame frozen as still as she was. Golden-brown skin flashing red, then purple, then blue in the glow of the gaudy crystals. Hair the color of embers that she still remembered the texture of. And those eyes that blazed at once hot and soft, eyes that she had always thought could see right through her to the core of her soul.
Slowly, Lucien turned his head and his gaze found hers. Everything quieted. The house’s inhabitants were gathered around Lucien, talking about what he could expect, but Elain focused only on the male in front of her. She tried to convey her apology and sorrow and want with her eyes, frozen with indecision and unable to say what she wanted.
Lucien stared back at her, and while she could so clearly see his own sadness and longing reflected in his brilliant russet eye, he gave her a small, slow bow and turned away. Elain’s stomach dropped. He was going to leave her, and Elain would be stuck in this house like a neglected piece of furniture, without the one being who had a hope of truly understanding and listening to her. She took a half step down the stairs at the same time Lucien turned to Rhys and nodded his head…
“Wait!”
...
"Take me with you."
OR: A divergent ACOTAR fic, in which Elain goes with Lucien to find Vassa during ACOWAR.
For the amazingly talented @stickyelectrons for the 2023 Secret Santa Gift Exchange! When asked about some of their favorite Elucien moments, stickyelectrons pointed out the scene where Elain and Lucien have their little barely moment before he leaves for the Continent from ACOWAR as one they particularly enjoyed for the tension and longing. I had a great time getting to know you and really hope you enjoy this first chapter!
Thank you for everyone involved at @acotargiftexchange for making this such a fun event!
Read on AO3
XXX
I.
Everything was blank.
The woman blinked her eyes for what might have been the first or thousandth time. Everything was hazy.
Where was she?
She furrowed her eyebrows. The woman looked down at her hands. They were hers, but not. Similar, but not the same.
She stared out the window. Shades of colors she’d never seen before until recently greeted her weary eyes.
She became aware of her body. She was standing. Had she been standing long? It was unnerving, not being aware of herself, her actions.
Weariness overcame her, but she fought the feeling. She couldn’t close her eyes for more than a second. The woman dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, pinched the transparently thin skin on her wrist. Anything to stay awake.
So she stared.
And stared.
And stared.
Odd shapes and sights flitted before her unfocused eyes. Beings walked on two feet, like her, but with large, odd protrusions from their backs. Others had pointed ears. They all moved so gracefully, with an unnatural stillness and beauty to them. Is that what she looked like now?
The woman’s heart beat erratically against her chest. Don’t think that, don’t think that, don’t think that. Another pinch to her skin rid her of these terrifying thoughts. She still felt a flash of pain from the motion. Surely the others around her didn’t eel such insignificant sensations. Her heartbeat remained, calmer, slower.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled, some primeval warning. Impossibly, the woman moved even less, turning herself into the statue she felt she had become. Sounds floated by her ears: a soft step, the barest creak of a floorboard, the hinges of the door behind her as they moved with the motion of the door. Silence for a moment, then the sounds again, in reverse: hinges, floorboard, step.
She let go of the breath she was purposely holding. Her sigh was soft but the voices from below drowned it out.
“…wrong with her?”
“…not sure… ever been Made… no other females besides Feyre to compare her to…”
Right. Not a woman, a female. Not a human, a fae. A flash of irritation glanced through her, but was quickly gone.
Elain Archeron’s shoulders slipped and she let her eyes relax into an unseeing gaze, her mind blank, until the next time her eyes closed and she was overcome with visions she did not understand.
X
She spent her days sitting at the window, gazing outside and letting the warmth of the sun soak beneath her skin and into her bones. She was hollow, so it never took long. Everything that used to bring her joy–gardening, new bonnets and ribbons, him–no longer brighten her mood. Thinking of her past life brought nothing to her, except feelings of despair and longing so devastating that she can’t compel her body to move, or her lungs to draw another breath.
So she stopped thinking about before, and she tried in vain to keep her eyes open.
She had a routine: each morning, Nesta–the only constant in either life–crept into her bedroom bearing a tray loaded with food and tea. The first few mornings Nesta had tried to bring Elain to the kitchen to eat her meals, perhaps coax her out of her shocked shell, but Elain barely had the strength to leave her bed, so food was brought to her instead. Her older sister picked out her outfit for the day while Elain stared at her, or stared at her breakfast, then graciously left Elain to eat and get ready. “For your privacy,” Nesta said. They both knew it made no difference, that Elain would perhaps take a bite or two of her food, and artlessly shrug into one of the many dresses that felt looser and looser each day, all for the sake of keeping up appearances, for clinging to the last bits of normalcy they both acutely remembered but knew they will never have again.
Nesta hustled back into Elain’s room after breakfast to fix her hair–Nesta always asked how Elain how she wants her hair done, bless her, like she thought Elain had a preference–before escorting Elain to the same room somewhere in this house they were imprisoned in for her to sit. She took her place at the chair looking outside, letting the sun bask over her alien body, her eyes open but unseeing, willing the heat from above to fill her with life like it used to.
So she sat.
And sat.
And sat.
But today was different.
She knew when she woke up this morning that something would be different. She didn’t have a dream or vision–she would certainly know if she did–but something called out to her all the same. It was like a bug swarming around her head, an incessant buzzing that wouldn’t go away, soft as it was. It wasn’t until Nesta had escorted her to the sitting room that she realized what it was: a soft, rhythmic beating, not unlike a heart.
Something would happen, that much was clear. So, Elain did what she did every day: she sat, and waited, and waited.
It didn’t take long (or perhaps it did; how was she to know?) before the first change to her routine occurred: she had a visitor. Feyre, good, strong, Feyre was here, and talking to her. Elain remembered the first time when she had seen Feyre like this, after she became like them, and thought her foreign looking, but devastatingly beautiful; soft, yet still more deadly than the bow and arrow she carried and upon which all their lives depended on. Seeing her now, in this light, with different eyes, Elain distantly realized she was even more ethereal, too alluring with her shining hair and hypnotic eyes, her confidence and tenderness. Is this how everyone saw her, or did it take Elain becoming something she hated to realize how magnificent her younger sister truly was?
“I’m back,” Feyre said awkwardly, as if her presence wasn’t obvious.
“I want to go home,” Elain whispered, staring ahead of her outside the window. If anyone can help her, it’s Feyre.
“I know.”
A wild thought that made her chest burn. “He’ll be looking for me.”
“I know.”
“We were supposed to be married next week.”
It wasn’t just her body and life that had been ripped from her, but her future as well. Perhaps that was the worst of it, that everything she’d wanted and worked towards had been stolen from her for no other reason than a few monster’s cruel joke or sick revenge. She had felt very little other than complete apathy lately, but a feeling not unlike anger planted itself firmly behind her lungs and settled there.
Feyre was still speaking, and a man–male–she vaguely recognized took his place next to her sister. Not in a brotherly way, her mind supplied, but in a way that screamed familiarity, intimacy, like them presenting a unified front was expected and rehearsed, based on the easy way he slipped a gentle hand around Feyre’s waist. The male looked at her with kindness and pity, and spoke softly to her, but like everyone else here, it unnerved her. Elain wanted it to stop. No one was listening to her. “I want to go home.”
The beating became louder. Louder. Louder. She didn’t just feel it around her; it was within her. It stayed like that until everyone left, and Elain was alone again, with just her chair, window and the dull ache of dead dreams and wants to keep her company.
X
Fire everywhere.
A pained, inhuman screeching filled Elain’s sensitive ears. She tried to open her eyes and move her hands to cover her ears but she physically couldn’t, and so she was forced to witness the vision of a woman being consumed by flames.
Elain wondered if her own transformation was like this. No, she thought as she watched in open-mouthed horror as the woman–a queen, Elain realized, as the regal crown atop her head fell off and her fine dress turned to ash on her skin–before her was wreathed in flames. As traumatic as Elain’s baptism was, it was nothing like the immolation before her.
She smelled the woman’s skin burning, a sick, acrid smell that made Elain gag. Any hair the queen had has burned to a crisp. Elain stared at a naked, burning, bleeding, and raging queen, her yells of mingled fury and pain forcing Elain to witness the poor woman’s downfall. She breathed a small sigh of relief when the queen eventually crumpled to the ground and was still.
But it wasn’t over. Where there was once skin and now just charred muscles, ligaments and bones, small bundles erupted from the queen’s smoking and bubbling flesh, growing long and thin, and covered her entire body. Her head shrunk, bones popped and contorted, and a long, narrow protrusion erupted from her mouth. She no longer had hands or legs, but a tail unfurled from her lower back.
And suddenly Elain stared at a large, quaking bird. The queen was still on fire, but where before she was actively burning, now her body simmered and smoldered. The bird squawked softly, and small embers escaped from her beak. She tried to stand, flap her new wings to lift herself off the ground but was unsuccessful.
“The first moments after the transformation are always the most difficult.”
Elain hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone, too obsessed with the horror of a woman burning and being turned into a giant fire bird. She turned her head as much as she was able. A being–she thought it was a man–stared greedily at the queen before him, one corner of its mouth tilted up in a jagged smile. “How beautiful you turned out to be. You’ll be my most prized bird at the lake. Firebird by night, a throneless queen by day.”
Goosebumps erupted over Elain’s skin. The bird queen squawked again, angry this time, and feebly lifted her head, her small black eyes narrowed in hate. The woman’s strength made Elain pause; even after being turned into an abomination, she still had the will to fight.
The being behind her tsked. “None of that, now. You will become accustomed to your new form.” It turned to Elain, and the being grinned, all sharp teeth. “Even you.”
X
Elain woke early the next morning, and for the first time since she’d been in this house, she rose and dressed herself. She didn’t care what she wore or how she looked. Her feet took her to her usual room but she paused before she glided past. Not here, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered to her. Not today.
So she moved on. She wasn’t sure what else this house contained but soon she was in a library. It had a large window overlooking the town and sea. Woodenly, she sat and waited.
Eventually, Nesta found her, as usual. She offered a quiet good morning and kept a steely eye on her, but otherwise left Elain to herself.
Then, Feyre. Her younger sister, like her older sister, clearly didn’t know how to handle Elain or what to say to her, and so asked awkward, stuttering questions. Their heartbeats always quickened when they were around her, now.
The sound of their heartbeats still wasn’t as unsettling as the sounds from her vision. “I can hear the sea,” Elain offered. “Even at night. Even in my dreams. The ashing sea–and the screams of a bird made of fire.”
Feyre rambled on, talking about a garden that Elain might like to spend time in, but Feyre wasn’t listening. “Will the bird of fire come to sit in the trees and watch me?”
Feyre and Nesta left, their heartbeats uneven. The anger she’d felt before resurfaced. Despite her sister’s concern for her, they werent listening to her. The firebird, their own transformations–they were so clearly linked together. Human women transformed into something other against their wills, at someone else’s behest. Why could no one understand her?
A new heartbeat, loud, steady, strong. The door behind her creaked open, and a voice that tempered her frustration spoke. “You–you left your room.”
The voice, male, was barely familiar, but it wrapped around Elain’s body like a warm hug. Her chest tightened with an unknown sense of awareness. She’d never felt anything like it before, and it unnerved her. Elain didn’t answer, and the visitor took it as an invitation. “Is there anything I can get you?”
The male asked if he can help himself to tea (why not, Elain thought dryly, it was wasted on herself), then was quiet as he tried to keep a steady hand to pour his drink. He was nervous but he stayed and even dared to sit in Nesta’s chair. The male asked if Elain would like a biscuit.
Perhaps it was the way the male spoke to her: casual, unbothered, even though he was clearly tense around her, based on the way his heart beat faster than a horse at a full gallop. His nerves were…oddly endearing, though she wanted nothing more than to hate the being next to her.
Elain turned her head and met the gaze of her mate.
She was loath to admit it–the anger behind her lungs flared at seeing him again, the first time since that night–but he was handsome. If he were human, the scars on the side of his face and his odd golden mechanical eye would have been grotesque. With his lean face, with his brown skin and brilliant red hair, he was a picture of what she’d always imagined a fae would be: otherworldly, beautiful, and cruel.
He said his name was Lucien, seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, which meant nothing to her. What did matter to her is what this male had done to her. “You were in Hybern.”
“Yes.”
“You betrayed us.”
Guilt flashed through his one remaining eye and it filled Elain with righteousness. She didn’t let up, though. “I was to be married in a few days.”
His face flushed. She could still read guilt in his eyes, but more than that, rage simmered in the lines of his face, in the way he held himself. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She blinked. She’d meant to taunt him, and had expected a cool aloofness, or a lack of guilt at his previous actions. His response to his deeds in Hybern, and the even more robust reaction to Elain’s broken engagement, seemed almost…human-like. Were all fae like this? Less mercurial, cruel and arrogant as she’d been taught and what she’d experienced, but capable of feeling pain and regret and passion?
It was a dizzying thought. Elain looked away, and extended an olive branch. “I can hear your heart.”
At the moment, she could do much more than hear his heart: she felt it beating inside her chest, keeping pace in perfect synchronicity with her own. His emotions rippled throughout her body, and a warmth she hadn’t felt for so long began in her chest and led back to the weary male sitting across from her.
If anyone was to understand her, it would be him.
“When I sleep, I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?”
His face dropped, and Elain knew the words that will leave his lips before he spoke them. “No, lady. I cannot.”
The warmth in her chest fled, and she was as cold as she’s ever been. “No one ever does. No one ever looked–not really.”
Lucien left soon after. She moved into a new residence with Nesta later that day, with a garden out back. A different male, Azriel, sat with her outside sometimes, under the guise of keeping her company but she knew it’s only someone providing yet another pair of eyes to watch Elain.
She did not see Lucien for some time, but she still faintly heard his heart.
X
Time passed, and bit by bit, Elain felt better. She spent more time outside in the garden, sometimes alone, sometimes with a minder. She ate most of her meals downstairs in the kitchen or at the dining room table with whoever was staying in the house. It wasn’t back to normal, but it was something.
Eventually, a healer came to inspect her, and discovered what Elain already knew: that there was nothing wrong with her. She even had an awkward tea meeting with Lucien (and her nosy sisters and Feyre’s equally nosy friends). At one point, there was a tug from within her, unlike anything she’d ever felt. A tug, Lucien explained guiltily, on their mating bond. He apologized for unsettling her, but although the feeling was strange, she did not hate it.
These were all new experiences for her. The only constant in her life were her visions.
There were more now: ravens, and young hands turning old unnaturally fast, and a black box. Usually, they were one-off visions.
But she made frequent reappearances. Elain heard the former queen turned into a firebird crying out in anger and pain and frustration, and saw the woman transform from bird to human to bird again and again and again. She didn’t know the woman, but Elain felt a kinship with her: each somewhat dead, in their own way, and both different and changed.
It finally came to a head when Azriel–the quiet one, the intense one, the one who she could perhaps envision liking if he had some of the sunshine and light she so desperately craved–put a name to her affliction: Seer. From there, information flowed readily, and everyone finally listened: the sixth mortal queen–Vassa–cursed, and kept at a lake by some sorcerer with other women turned into birds. Vassa might have an army, everyone around her seemed to think, that should they break whatever curse that lay over her, she’d be inclined to lend her support to war against Hybern. They squabbled amongst themselves as to who should go. Elain felt a heavy gaze on her, and a heartbeat echoed in her head.
“I’ll go.”
Elain didn’t know Lucien well enough to form an opinion of him; in fact, everything she knew about the male could be considered ill-informed at best, and traitorous at worst. He seemed respectable and loyal, and he helped Feyre escape from the Spring Court, but he was still a large reason why Elain suffered so much now.
So why did her heart stutter ever so slightly when the male whom the Cauldron decided was her mate announce he would leave them–leave her–to find the firebird queen Elain has been dreaming about?
Lucien was resigned, his lean face even flashing with excitement when it was pointed out that his journey would be very dangerous. Lucien stated he wanted to leave tomorrow, and Rhys barked orders and commands to his crew as they all dispersed, one by one.
Then it was just the two of them. Unlike every other time they’d been together, now they were truly alone.
Lucien broke their silence “I’ve never been to the continent. Even if I wanted to go, my father…” Lucien chuckled wryly. “Well, perhaps it’s not under ideal circumstances, but it’s still an adventure. Have you ever been?”
Elain didn’t answer, and stared down at the embroidery on a pillow on the couch she was sitting on. She saw Lucien deflate out of the corner of her eye. “I ask too much,” he said blankly, rising to stand. “Take care, lady.”
“No!” Elain looked towards Lucien quickly. His eyebrows raised, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Er, no, I’ve never been. Though I hear they have such wonderful tulip fields. My father was going to take me, before…”
Silence again. “If I’m able,” Lucien said slowly, “I’ll try to bring back some flowers. Do you have a favorite color?”
Despite herself, the corners of Elain’s mouth tipped upward into the barest glance of a smile. “Yellow.”
Lucien mirrored her and gingerly sat on the other end of the couch. “Yellow it is.” A pause. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Take me with you. The thought came out of nowhere, and Elain startled herself. The idea was absolutely ludicrous. Along with it undoubtedly being dangerous, Nesta and Feyre would rather chain her to this couch than let Elain out of the house or be alone with Lucien for more than five minutes. If Elain suggested both, she’s sure her sisters would summon a host of healers to see if she had hit her head.
But Lucien was getting to experience something she’d always wanted, and he described it as an adventure. How often, after their family had lost its fortune, had Elain daydreamed of being swept away by a handsome prince or lord and journeying across foreign lands to their new home? Lucien was the son of a High Lord, so practically the same thing, good looking, especially when he smiled, and his task ahead was certainly a journey…
But this was the male who was responsible for ruining her life, in more ways than one. She was supposed to be married just a short time ago, Elain thought incredulously, and now she was debating asking Feyre’s traitorous friend to steal her away on what could very well be a one way trip.
“I wish to be alone,” she answered frostily, staring straight ahead of her.
“I’m sorry–”
“Don’t worry about getting me flowers, or anything for that matter. I don’t want anything from you.”
Lucien’s heartbeat, which had been beating furiously the entire time they were talking, stopped. He stood quickly, uttered a quiet, “Lady,” then departed without looking back.
Elain remained on the couch, blinking to keep the tears away and only needed to wipe her damp cheeks once.
X
Sleep hadn’t come easy to her since the night her life was destroyed, but Elain barely slept after refusing Lucien. She sat up in bed the next morning, biting her lip.
Lucien had apologized for his previous actions, been kind and gentle to her, and was at least making attempts to get to know her, even if it was for purely selfish reasons. Andnow he was leaving to go to the Continent, somewhere she’d always wanted to go, to find the firebird she’d been seeing behind her eyelids for months. It wasn’t fair. Elain clenched the bedsheets. While Lucien was off helping to save the world, Elain would be stuck in this damn house, feeling like an outsider looking in, unsure of who she was and what she was doing. They were her visions; surely Elain should accompany Lucien in traversing the Continent for this special queen.
Why couldn’t she go with?
Yes, Elain thought, her sluggish thoughts coming quick now. She should obviously go with Lucien to the exotic Continent, ripe with far-flung sights and sounds and wonders, to save this mortal queen. Anything to get out of this oppressive house and go somewhere new.
She wanted to contribute, of course, but the allure of travel, of leaving this mansion and the pitying gazes and attitudes of everyone in it, was too great to ignore. It wasn’t a want: it was a need, the need to find herself in this new body and world she now inhabited. How could she hope to live if she couldn’t find something worth living for?
She needed to find her sisters, Elain thought, quickly throwing on a robe, before he left. Quietly walking down the hall as fast as she dared, she turned the corner to land at the top of the stairs.
Elain gave a small sigh of relief. Lucien was still here, his long, amber hair in a braid that showed off his sharp jaw, cheekbones and scared flesh. Numerous weapons littered his body, from a sword across his back to daggers to a bow and arrow that surely Feyre would love to get her hands on. He looked ready and determined.
Slowly, Lucien turned his head and his gaze found hers. Everything quieted. The house’s inhabitants were gathered around Lucien, talking about what he could expect, but Elain focused only on the male in front of her. She tried to convey her apology and sorrow and want with her eyes, frozen with indecision and unable to say what she wanted.
Lucien stared back at her, and while she could so clearly see his own sadness and longing reflected in his brilliant russet eye, he gave her a small, slow bow and turned away. Elain’s stomach dropped. He was going to leave her, and Elain would be stuck in this house like a neglected piece of furniture, without the one being who had a hope of truly understanding and listening to her. She took a half step down the stairs at the same time Lucien turned to Rhys and nodded his head…
“Wait!”
Everyone turned to stare at Elain, standing in just her thin robe at the top of the stairs. The baby hairs around her face stuck to her sweaty skin but sje straightened her back all the same. Elain stared at Lucien, who looked back at her, his eye wide.
“Elain?” Nesta asked worriedly, taking the stairs two at a time to stand at her side. “Elain, dear, what’s wrong? Should you be out of bed? You’re warm–”
“Take me with you.” Elain ignored everyone’s faces, their eyes comically large and mouths gaping, and shook Nesta’s hands from her arms. Taking a deep breath, Elain addressed only Lucien. “I want to go with you.”
“Absolutely not,” Nesta snarled, pushing Elain behind her and throwing herself in front of her. “You’re staying a Continent’s worth of distance away from him!”
“And who are you to stop me?” Elain replied, stepping back in front of her older sister and taking a step down the stairs. “I’m not a prisoner here–”
“It’s not what you want–”
“Don’t tell me what I want!” Elain rarely argued with Nesta, even when they were human, but this release of the anger and frustration that had been building inside her felt good.
“And it’s dangerous!” Elain couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen such anger in Nesta’s gray eyes. For a split second Elain swore a lick of flame gathered in her stormy pupils. “You’ve never had to handle a weapon or fight, you’ve barely exchanged more than a dozen words with anyone, and now you want to join him on an unbelievably dangerous mission to find this bird queen imprisoned by a death lord?” Nesta gripped her head in her hands. “Explain to me how any of that makes sense? What has gotten into you?”
Elain didn’t know how to explain the pull she felt towards Lucien, or why she needed to join him on this mission. “Lucien will keep me safe,” Elain answered instead.
“Of course I will.” Lucien’s voice was strong, his eye no longer clouded with shock, at the same time Nesta muttered, “I bet he will.” The two glared at each other, and if Elain weren’t so desperate, she would find the staring match between her older sister and mate funny.
Nesta turned back to Elain, and the anger in her eyes had now filled with confusion and fear. “Elain,” she whispered imploringly, “please. You’re not strong enough–”
“I can be!”
“One day, yes, you may be.” Nesta took her hand, her skin clammy. “But you’re not strong enough now, in any sense of the word. You’re still recovering. Please, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to me.”
Elain’s heart, already broken so many times recently, cracked again. She cradled Nesta’s hands in her own. “I think getting out of this house will help me.” She smiled wryly. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Continent. This way I don’t have to drag you along with me.”
Nesta shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t believe he didn’t cast a curse on you or something.” Nesta turned to Feyre at the bottom of the steps, who was looking between Elain and Lucien with a curious look on her face. “Feyre, tell Elain this is preposterous.”
“How do you think you could help Lucien?” Feyre asked instead.
“My visions,” Elain answered quickly, turning away from a shocked Nesta to talk to her younger sister. “If I have any further visions of the firebird queen or this death lord, that may help us alter our plan, or may save us if there’s any trouble.”
“Nesta is right. You don’t know how to hold a dagger or sword, or shoot a bow and arrow.”
“I can learn,” Elain said confidently, even while Feyre raised a single eyebrow. “Er, perhaps just the basics,” Elain amended. “And it would be more convincing if a pair of fae is traveling together, rather than just one. Distant family members on vacation, or something.”
Silence. Elain swallowed, looking around. Nearly everyone–Cassian, Azriel, Morrigan–shared shocked and perplexed expressions, torn between wanting to be anywhere else in the world but unable to look away from the dramatic wreck that was the Archeron sisters’ fight. Rhys had the same contemplative look on his face as Feyre.
And Lucien…while no longer surprised, his face and body were tense. His russet eye darted between Feyre and herself.
Feyre nodded her head. “You’ll be a liability to Lucien while you’re together,” she said, not unkindly. “He’ll have to protect not just himself, but you as well. You may be slightly more inconspicuous traveling together, but it will be difficult: you won’t be sleeping in beds, you’ll rarely have a warm meal, and there will be none of the usual comforts you’re used to. Your visions will certainly be useful, though.” She turned to Lucien. “Lucien, would you agree to having Elain go with you?”
Lucien could say no, Elain thought. If he were smart and in his right mind, he would have already said that by now. He could reason that it was too dangerous to bring her along (true); that she would only slow him down (true); that they’ve only exchanged a few sentences between themselves in which they tolerated each other, and this type of situation was not the time to get to know each other (especially true).
But as Lucien lifted his head to look at Elain, she focused on his heartbeat. It was violently beating before, hammering against his chest, but it had slowed down and evened out. Steady and calm. Elain knew his answer before he opened his mouth. “Yes, “ Lucien said loudly and clearly. “Yes, she can come.”
Elain didn’t pay attention to Nesta screaming at Feyre, or Feyre’s responding argument. The corners of Lucien’s mouth barely turned up, and he bowed his head towards Elain.
“Come.” Feyre laid a gentle but firm hand on Elain’s elbow and guided her back to her room. “Rhys will work out a new plan with Lucien. He was planning on roughing it through the wilderness when it was just him, but if you’re with him…” Feyre shot her a glance. “Well, that may need to be adjusted.”
Feyre practically shoved Elain inside her bedroom and locked the door behind her. “I don’t believe Lucien did anything to you, but you’re not under a spell, right?”
Elain scoffed. “No. I’m not even sure what magic Lucien has, but I know he’d never do that to me.”
“He wouldn’t, but I wanted to make sure.” Feyre let out a deep breath and leaned against the door. “Why do you really want to go?”
Elain worried her bottom lip. “I wasn’t lying when I said getting out of this house would do me good.”
“You’re more than welcome to venture around Velaris whenever you want.”
“But not without a chaperone,” Elain shot back. “I need to be free, without you or Nesta or anyone breathing down my back. I know you’re worried about me,” Elain said when she saw Feyre about to speak, “but I need this.”
Feyre stared at her, her gaze unwavering for so long Elain squirmed from the scrutiny. “You know, Lucien had the same reaction as Nesta did just now when he learned that I voluntarily stayed in the Night Court with Rhys.” Feyre smiled fondly. “He couldn’t believe it. Thought Rhys had brainwashed me or was forcing me to stay with him.” The smile slid from her face. “What we said to each other that day… Rhys thinks it extremely ironic that Lucien is now on the receiving end of such a similar situation.”
“Why did you stay?”
Feyre grinned. “The same reason, I think, that you feel the need to join Lucien on this journey: you need to leave to find yourself, and where you belong. Being with someone you have a connection with, whether you choose to act on that or not…it’s highly tempting, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know if I want him like that. After Grayson…”
“You never needed Grayson or anyone else to ever be complete.”
Elain nodded. “If I have any opportunity to get away from this house, away from everyone…”
“You need to take it.” Feyre cocked her head and grinned. “Luckily, Lucien isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, is he?”
Elain spluttered but Feyre spared her from answering. “Come on,” she laughed. “I’ll help you pack.”
They managed to find a few pairs of Illyrian leathers that fit her, as well as various tops and cloaks in muted shades. Feyre tossed a pair of soft, brown knee high boots to Elain when she was changed. “You can’t take any more than that.” Feyre gave Elain an appraising look from head to toe when she was changed, then nodded in approval. She handed Elain her pack. “Hold that, carry it. How does it feel?”
Elain had watched Feyre pack more clothes, small garments and gear than she thought she could handle, but the bag was surprisingly light in her arms. “I thought it’d be heavier.”
“Fae strength took a while to adjust to, more than being able to hear and see everything. I broke quite a few plates and cups after I was changed. Come on, let’s get everything else.”
Next they went to the weapons room. Elain gasped. The room was filled with more weapons than she’d ever glimpsed in the Nolan estate: swords of all different sizes, spears, knives and daggers and serrated blades, maces, spiked balls on chain, bows, crossbows, even something that looked like a trident. Feyre eyed her up, then went to a rack holding spears of different lengths. “A spear would probably be the easiest weapon for you to handle. This one isn’t too long or heavy. Just point and poke.”
“I know how spears work,” Elain replied with a roll of her eyes.
“Never hurts to remind you. And whatever you do, don’t stab Lucien. I know how he can be, so try to resist aiming your spear at him when he gets sarcastic.”
Feyre also handed Elain some of the smallest knives she had ever seen–”These are no bigger than the pairing knives we had back in our home!” “Good, then you shouldn’t have any problems with them!”–then they made their way back to the foyer of the house. Elain grimaced with every step she took; the leathers were more uncomfortable than everyone made them appear.
Lucien and Rhys weren’t there yet. Elain set down heavily on the bottom stair. She was really doing this, she realized. She was stepping out of her comfort zone, leaving whatever solace she had mustered in this foreign house in this strange land, to venture to an equally unknown and dangerous land for a mission with real consequences, not just for her and her family, but the entire world. There would be no one besides her but a male she hardly knew, who was part of the reason why her life had been upended, who she would have to rely on for her safety. Maybe Nesta was right. Who was Elain kidding; she had no training to do this. She was being childish by insisting she accompany Lucien for no other reason than the need to find herself–
Lucien walked into the foyer with Rhys. Looking around, Lucien shot Elain a quick smirk when he saw her. Every worry left her. Lucien seemed relaxed and at ease, more so than he did this morning. If he wasn’t worried about their mission ahead, why should she be?
Rhys and Feyre were talking quietly to themselves in the corner. Lucien sat down on the stair a few feet away from her.
“I hope I don’t end up on the receiving end of that spear, lady” Lucien said conversationally.
“Feyre told me to resist stabbing you, even when you get a bit of an attitude.”
Lucien scoffed and put a dramatic hand to his chest. “I prefer to think of my words as being witty and charming.”
“She didn’t describe you in such flattering terms.”
“Feyre has a wicked streak in her as well. Are all the Archeron sisters known for their sass and willingness to run head first into perilous situations?”
“Perhaps if you don’t give me any reason to use this spear on you, you’ll find out.”
Lucien laughed, and Elain was speechless. Feyre wasn’t wrong–Lucien was certainly not hard on the eyes. An understatement, really. His long red hair was braided perfectly down his back and contrasted brilliantly with his rich, deeply tanned skin. His smile was bright and open, and stretched the light laugh lines around his plush mouth. The jacket he wore was tailored perfectly and snug on his arms. Lucien had large, broad hands that were resting between muscled thighs. Errantly, Elain wondered how his hands would feel like on her.
She grimaced. This was the male who was partly responsible for ruining her life with Grayson, and she was fawning over his dumb hands when he had done little more than offer a few flirty words with her. She would not be influenced by whatever bond existed between them and willed her traitorous heart to settle. Shewas accompanying him to the Contient for her own reasons, which had nothing to do with the male sitting next to her.
Feyre and Rhys walked over to them. “Alright, it sounds like Rhys and Lucien determined a new route. Rather than take you both to the edge of the human continent, like they had originally planned, we’re going to send you both straight east to Montesere. Since he’s taking two instead of one, Rhys won’t be able to winnow you as far. If he tried to send you any further south, you’d be far too close to Koschei’s lake.” Feyre shrugged apologetically. “We can’t risk the three of you so close to her territory unguarded. You’ll be much further north than we initially planned, so you might need to take a ship south along the coast, then head east into the Continent towards the lake.”
“You will have to make good time on foot if you choose not to take a ship,” Rhys supplied. “I’ve given Lucien extra provisions and money, but the rest is up to you.” He held out his arms to them. “Are you ready?”
This was it, the last chance for Elain to back out. Could she leave her sisters for untold dangers? Could she stand to be alone with the being she simultaneously loathed and craved?
Elain nodded. “Ready.” She gave Feyre a quick hug, then laid her hand on Rhys’s arm. Her sister grabbed Lucien in what Elain thought was a fierce hug, but based on the way she gripped Lucien’s shoulders and whispered something harshly in his ear and the tightening of his face, something else was at play.
Lucien detached himself with a forced smile and terse nod. “Noted, Feyre.” He turned to Rhys and gave him an equally tense look.
“Montesere is no ally, so I’ll only be able to winnow you two to the edge of the territory, and you’ll have to find yourselves to a port. I also won’t have enough energy to winnow you both to the Continent and glamour your appearances, so you’ll need to be careful not to attract attention. Do you have everything?”
Lucien nodded and laid a hand on Rhys’s other arm. With a quiet woosh, everything went dark.
Eris hummed. "I'm not exactly in the business of sharing my secrets with pretty shadowsingers."
The corner of Azriel's lip quirked upwards. "Pretty, huh?"
— From an upcoming chapter of Don't Look Back
A surprise little treat for @rainbowdolphinrealm to go along the Acotar Gift Exchange fic! This was my first time writing Azris so I was a bit nervous, and doodling them definitely helped!
Hello @laxibbeb it's me! Your Secret Santa, revealed! Oh, you gave me so much inspiration with your answers and I want to thank you for the time you took to write them for me.
This is the first time that I participate to the @acotargiftexchange and I felt the pressure a bit. But it's amazing when people create spaces where we can express ourselves, right?
I have to say that from your first answer I got this silly little idea stuck in my mind that didn't leave my brain at all. So I decided to combine some things together.
Elucien through the Courts? Say no more, I'm gonna make a whole journey for them. But how?
You need to know that your lovely little Secret Santa can't cross two words together but has a small talent into visualizing concepts.
So I said "Listen, what people usually do during trips?". They send postcards to their loved ones!
And so here we are, with a carousel of postcards! Each one is unique for every Court and has some small messages inside! At the end, a small story came to me and I just realized it when I finished!
I really really hope you will appreciate your gift, I created a little tracklist too as you can see. <3
Please click on the pictures for a better quality and details because I know that Tumblr LOVES to make jokes. I really suggest the desktop mode!
TO THE SPRING COURT
TO THE SUMMER COURT
TO THE WINTER COURT
TO THE DAWN COURT
TO THE AUTUMN COURT
TO THE DAY COURT
Small surprise at the end with the Night Court involved ;)
