Part 2 of my Lucien x female OC fic. Even though this is just the start, I love already writing in hints of Lucien's sass and charm from book one. This is young carefree optimistic troublemaker Lulu. Can't wait to see what he gets up to next...
At the top of the stone stairs was a set of large wooden doors with golden swirls in the shapes of leaves carved into them. A red-haired sentry in light armor stood guard on either side. You took note of how the males here were different than in the Winter court, not just in appearance, but demeanour; they smiled—not large teethy grins, but the corners of their lips would turn upwards as you passed by them. In your court, the guards were all stone-faced, intimidating, and cold. Smiling would have been seen as a sign of weakness. Even the Illyrian warriors who would occasionally visit were the picture of stoicism. You knew better than to underestimate Autumn court males, not from experience, but from the stories you had heard. They fought well…and fucked even better.
As you tried to keep the contents of your thoughts from showing on your face, the sentries stepped forward and opened the enormous doors. The warm glow of candlelight welcomed you, along with the crackling of flames from the various fireplaces scattered throughout the great hall. Stepping across the threshold you stuck close to Rolf, the rest of the Winter court delegation in line behind you both.
A youthful charming voice beckoned, “welcome to The Forest House.”
It was him. Mr. “I almost ran you over with my horse”. The same stupid smirk still on his face. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm yourself before presenting him with your best forced smile, though it was through gritted teeth.
“Lucien, Lucien Vanserra. Youngest son of Beron. It is a pleasure, Miss Lydia.” He bowed towards you before switching his attention to your brother and the rest of your company. He must have taken the time to change out of his riding clothes, as he was now dressed in a forest green jacket with delicate gold embroidery, and his long auburn hair had been tied back with a plain brown ribbon. You took a moment to study his appearance; he was handsome, painfully so, but not in a typical way. His russet eyes held a mischievous gleam while they darted from person to person, as if scanning for any weaknesses or secrets. He was as tall as Rolf, and although dressed more elegantly, you could tell he was just as muscular, but his clothes were tailored in such a way as to not bring too much notice to his physique. This was definitely the son of a high-lord, there was no doubt about it. That fact however, did not stop you from wanting to tell him off for almost flattening you just moments ago.
“Lady Lydia, may I introduce myself,” another flame-haired male stepped forward, taking your hand and kissing it lightly. “I am Eris, eldest son of Lord Beron. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and to welcome you to our humble home.” He bowed and backed away a step. This one had shorter hair and a paler appearance, but an air of arrogance surrounded him.
“Thank you on behalf and my brother and I. For accepting our father’s request for this — this diplomatic endeavour. We look forward to strengthening relations between our courts.” You gave another forced grin and looked back to see your brother in full on hysterics with Lucien. What the hell could be so funny, you thought.
Eris placed a hand on your forearm prompting you to look back towards the elder Vanserra. “Please, this way,” he said as he gestured towards the obnoxiously large dining table. It was overflowing with food, dishes of various meats, vegetables, sauces, breads, and pitchers upon pitchers of wine. At the head of the table sat Lord Beron. He was tall and somewhat slim but still imposing as he stood up and made his way to you.
“Welcome to you and your company. Please be seated, you must be hungry after your journey.”
His voice was gruff, matching the lack of expression on his face. You concluded that the warmth and charisma his sons showed must have been inherited from their mother, for the man before you inhabited no such traits.
Before you could think, a sentry pulled out one of the elegantly crafted chairs for you and motioned with his free hand. You sat down onto the wooden seat and noted the intricate carvings and gold inlays that made up its design.
Beron spoke once more, “you must forgive my wife’s absence. She had a demanding day and has taken to bed early.”
You nodded in understanding as you adjusted the hem of your dress. Hopefully tomorrow you could meet her.
The rest of your company and what you presumed to be the lord’s other sons came and joined you at the table. Of course that grinning jerk had to sit across from you so you’d have to avoid eye contact with him all evening. Great. You cursed your father under your breath for coming up with this stupid idea he said was in the name of “diplomatic relations”. By the stares from the other Vanserra siblings, you realized why your father insisted you went on this trip — you were the prized mare at an auction, waiting to go to the highest bidder. A marriage between you and one of Lord Beron’s sons would create a powerful alliance. You knew it. They knew it. But you weren’t some nag that was easy to tame by tempting her with a juicy carrot. They’d learn that soon enough.
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