Still A Sunbeam
Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together
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“Lucien,” Elain whispered, trying—and failing—to escape the hold he had on her body. “Lucien, we’re going to be late.”
Behind her, Lucien buried his face in her tangled hair, grunting a response that sounded suspiciously like “ten more minutes.”
He’d been saying that for a good hour now. They would be late, and she didn’t think the prince or his father would appreciate knowing Elain didn’t try harder to push him out of bed. And she wanted to, though in a much more real sense, Elain wanted to twist in Lucien’s arms and press her mouth to his.
And whatever happened after, well…
But they had actual responsibilities and when Elain truly thought about it, she knew she didn’t want to be just another conquest for Lucien. Someone he fooled around with when he was bored only to forget when there were more interesting people around. Elain liked him, which made laying beside him dangerous.
If he’d made a move, she would have given in and thoroughly embarrassed herself. For the rest of her life, Lucien would know how easy it was to get her beneath him and Elain didn’t think she could stand the humiliation. She was still committed to her first time meaning something—with someone who cared about her.
Even if it was never more than a time limited thing, even if they didn’t end up together for eternity which seemed a very likely possibility just given who Lucien was and what she’d seen since she’d joined his court. Elain wanted to look back on that first time and know he’d cared about her—loved her, even if it wasn’t forever.
She didn’t think Lucien did, though she did think he could. With enough time, perhaps. Lucien slung a heavy, muscular thigh over her hip, dragging her closer.
“You smell good,” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep. “When did you crawl into my bed?”
“You don’t remember?” Elain replied, waiting for him to wake. “The things you did to me last night, I…Lucien, when you asked me to marry you I thought you were crazy but then—”
“What?” he asked, raising his head just enough to blink down at her. The long, thick strands of his auburn hair tickled his cheek though it was the panicked look on his handsome face that made Elain smile. “What did we do?”
“Of course you’d ask that,” she replied with an eye roll, shoving herself out of his grasp. “You violated the pillow barrier we made.”
Lucien shrugged his broad, naked shoulders, flopping back to the mattress while Elain shimmied out of bed. The pillows they’d laid between them the night before were shoved to the very edge of the bed along with the bunched sheet clinging to the bed for dear life. It was too hot to be under so many blankets.
Hotter, still, to be trapped beneath Lucien’s heavy body. Sliding a hand behind his head, Lucien tracked her every movement with a lazy smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“You’re so smug for a man who got nothing but my hair in his mouth,” Elain snapped, irritated with him. “And you need to get dressed.”
“Ladies first,” was his infuriating reply. Elain gathered up her clothes—a gown of turquoise blue that might have been the most scandalous things she’d ever draped over her body. A tight bodice with pearl straps for sleeves cut so low and pressed so tightly that her breasts all but heaved toward the heavens. The back dipped toward her hips, leaving her spine utterly exposed. The material itself sparkled in the sun, glittering like little diamonds and was thin enough that a light breeze would send the fabric flying toward her knees.
Elain placed little pearls in her ears to match the straps, and twisted half her hair off her face with matching silver and pearl combs shaped like seashells. Arina had shown Elain how to do her make up in a way that was subtle, while enhancing all her best features which sucked up a good deal of her time.
Elain emerged to find Lucien standing in front of a mirror, frowning while staring down at the rather plain white, sleeveless shirt he’d pulled over his body. In his hands he held two vests—one gold, one the same shade of turquoise she wore. It was selfish, but Elain went to him and said, “Definitely the blue.”
Lucien looked first in the mirror before blinking rapidly. He twisted as though he needed to look at her in person. Elain swallowed, hands clammy at her sides. Do you like it? Is it too much?
For a moment, he said nothing at all. Finally, Lucien cleared his throat, blinked one final time, and said, “Yeah. Blue would be good.”
He shrugged it only, quickly slipping the buttons through their respective holes, and then turned again. He still wore his gold rings, still had the little accented metal pieces in the braids that curved along his head over his ear. The rest of his hair fell down his back in glossy, auburn waves she wanted to touch.
Of course she didn’t. Even when Lucien offered her his arm Elain merely kept her hands at her side. She was afraid if she touched him, she might not stop. It was easier to admire him from a distance—to drink in that coiled gold armband around his strong, muscled bicep and the sandals peeking from his flowing pants.
Elain could hear his heartbeat thudding in her ears while they walked. Could he hear hers? Surely he must have given how erratic it was banging against her ribcage. Lucien gave no indication of it, leading her through the sunny halls toward the entrance.
“Where is this meeting being held?” Elain asked when Lucien reached unbidden for her hand.
His grin didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, he looked almost pained as he stared out not toward the city sprawled at the bottom of the hill, but the water they’d been swimming in the day before.
“I told you. We’re going to the—to the barge.”
The pleasure barge.
“For a meeting?” she gaped. She knew they were supposed to go after and was prepared for an hour or two of mingling politely before making her excuses. But the whole day? Lucien chuckled.
“Yes, Elain. Business and pleasure intertwined. I’m going to winnow us now—do not hit me.”
“No promises,” she grumbled, though she squeezed his hand in return before they vanished into nothing. Lucien deposited her on the deck of a rather larger barge overlooking the city they’d just left. The palace glittered like a jewel in the early morning sun, casting a rainbow of light over the surrounding water and the city of Adriata.
“Lucien Spell-Cleaver,” Tarquin, Prince of Adriata and the strongest contender for the throne, strode toward them with an easy, handsome grin. He wore a similar white and turquoise vest to Lucien, though he’d skipped the shirt, leaving his toned chest gleaming beneath the hot sun. Elain tried—and failed—not to admire him, but Tarquin was handsome. Much like Lucien, he exuded power in his powerful frame and judging from the gazes more than a few females and males shot him as he came toward them, they agreed.
Tarquin brushed a loc of white hair from his shoulder. Blue eyes crinkled at the edges as he clapped Lucien on the shoulder, speaking like old friends. Elain supposed they were old friends. Tarquin wasn’t much older than Lucien, and a prince, too. Why shouldn’t they be friends?
She wasn’t listening to them speak, too caught up in the silver earring throwing iridescent light over the wood deck.
Lucien elbowed her in the ribs, drawing her back to the present. Tarquin’s straight, gleaming smile caught her off guard. “See something you like, Elain Archeron?”
Beside her, Lucien had become very still. This was a test and she knew it. Could she do this job, or was she just play-acting under Lucien’s careful supervision.
“I suppose you’ll find out, won’t you?” she replied coyly. “We’ll see how these talks go.”
“I can’t decide if you’re trying to bribe me or not,” Tarquin said with a delighted laugh. Beside her, Lucien may as well have been made of stone.
“Find out,” she offered smoothly. It was all in good fun. Elain knew very well from Feyre’s stories that Tarquin wasn’t interested in any one person and had declared so publicly. A night might be fun if she had that experience and was the sort that could indulge so casually. But Elain was beginning to think she was not the sort, and that she needed all her encounters to mean something, even if they didn’t last forever.
And privately, some part of her was hoping it would be Lucien. That was foolish and she knew it, and yet sometimes Elain thought he didn’t hate her at all. That he returned her feelings, whatever they were, and might even agree to something. She couldn’t stop thinking about his admission that he was thinking about her, couldn’t stop thinking about they’d come back up from the beach, sunburned and laughing and casually touching.
The problem was Elain didn’t know how to bridge the gap. How did she ask him for what she wanted in a way that didn’t make her sound unreasonable? Because she knew she couldn’t share him, that it would break her into a thousand pieces to know he moved through his usual females at court and she was merely one of many.
And she knew beyond just having him, that Killian was still waiting for the year to end. Lucien very likely didn’t want to entangle himself in her messy life. Not when a fight could destroy careful inter-court politics for decades. So Elain smiled at Tarquin like she might be interested, knowing full well the male before her likely smiled at her the exact same way, and returned to not paying attention to Lucien and Tarquin’s easy banter.
There were, as Elain learned, rooms on the barge. Bedrooms, if Tarquin’s laughter was to be believed, but also large meeting rooms beneath the waves, cooled with some magic Elain was grateful for. Ronan, from the night before, was there, along with Dominic who was the person they were charged with swaying. Elain knew he wasn’t directly related to the royal family like Tarquin was, but merely a trusted advisor to the family. Tarquin would oversee Adriata entirely when he turned a century old. Until then, Dominic oversaw his instruction.
“So,” Dominic said, looking at the pair of them through rich, brown eyes. His hair was at least as long as Tarquins and braided in long rows off his face. He might have been as old as her father—maybe older, even, from the soft gray peppering his temples. Still handsome, she thought. “Saffron.”
“Saffron,” Lucien agreed, reclining back in his chair. “Wholesale, without markup.”
“Awfully generous,” Rowan agreed, leaning forward on his elbows. It was a strange push-pull. Summer seemed eager while Lucien seemed nonchalant.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Elain began smoothly. She didn’t dare look at Lucien, though she swore she felt his approval humming in her chest. All three Summer court males sharpened while Lucien only seemed looser. Relaxed. “Your import taxes are high.”
“Day can go around,” Dominic said with a flick of his fingers. “Just like Night does.”
Lucien smiled, glancing at Elain. He was going to let her keep going if she wanted–he wanted her to. Elain didn’t kno what to do with his confidence, but she did know she wanted to kiss him for it.
“And I suppose Summer can find some other spice they like half as well,” Elain replied with a shrug. “It’s costly to harvest, especially in a drought.”
And just like that, things shifted. Lucien didn’t smile any more than he already was, but his gaze sharpened. Elain enjoyed being more than just a spectator. Just as Lucien promised, they inked that deal before the evening truly begun, wasting large quantities of time quibbling over the exact rates, down to the literal dime. Lucien was far better at smoothly lowering things in small percents, until he eventually got what he wanted.
She understood why Helion had sent him and why Lucien was his emissary. In the end, Lucien got everything he wanted while making it seem as if the opposite were true. Though, Elain thought the deal was more than fair.
“A drink?” Dominic asked them both, eyes on the ceiling above them. “Just be careful—someone probably spiked at least half the cups.”
“If you see anything that looks too purple,” Ronan added with a laugh while Tarquin murmured a I know what I’ll be drinking. Elain didn’t get a chance to ask what had been slipped in the cups. Lucien slung a heavy arm over her shoulder and led her out, smiling like he’d just won something.
“You were…you were perfect back there.”
His praise warmed her. “You think so?”
“Yes,” he agreed, brushing strands of hair from his hand. They curled around his lazy fingers before he dropped them, his eyes burning with some strange emotion she didn’t recognize.
“Incredible, even. Now you can’t leave when your year is up. I refuse to hand you over to you on my enemies.”
“No one is your enemy, Lucien,” she retorted.
“You’d be surprised,” he replied, pulling away as Tarquin demanded his attention. It left Elain to walk the length of the barge, lost to the dusky sky and the rapidly cooling air. Everything felt good to her now knowing Lucien thought she was capable. That he wanted to keep her.
She swiped a cup from a nearby table, bringing the fruity wine to her lips. Elain made her way to the railing, draining her cup quickly as she stared out at the sunset. Maybe this was the right time to just tell him her feelings had shifted. Drumming her fingers against the polished surface, Elain felt bolstered.
Nothing could go wrong. She should tell him. She should march right up to him and just…just kiss him. Desire slid through her, filling her with warmth. Yes, she decided as she turned. She could see him walking back the way they’d come, heading toward that meeting room. She’d kiss him, and he’d kiss her back, and confess his feelings, and— “Lucien!” He didn’t hear her over the music. Gathering her skirts in her hands, Elain could think of nothing but his hands against her skin, of his mouth against her own. Of Lucien doing everything Killian had done, but better—but more.
She caught him just at the bottom of the stairs. “Lucien,” she said again, marveling that she didn’t feel fear at all.
Only desire.
He raised his brows. “I’ll be right back,” he said, but Elain didn’t care. They were alone. She surged upwards.
And without another thought, kissed him firmly on the mouth.
Lucien:
For one moment, Elain’s mouth against his own was pure, undiluted bliss. Lucien pressed her against the wall, tangling his fingers in her hair so he could deepen the kiss. Her mouth was sweet, her tongue sweeping against his own. Elain ground herself against him, the scent of her arousal lodging itself inside his nose.
“Elain—” She didn’t let him speak, which was just as well given Lucien didn’t know what he’d been about to say. With one arm braced against the wall of the barge, Lucien reached for her face.
And Elain reached for his pants. The sickly sweetness of her mouth was familiar, but it was her frantic fingers that caused Lucien to pull back so he could look at her. This wasn’t like her—he knew she was unpracticed and inexperienced. Was she really going to let him take her on a pleasure barge off the coast of Summer Court, in a hall anyone could walk down? She didn’t want it to mean anything?
And her mouth…lips stained a deep aubergine made Lucien’s stomach flip. “Elain,” he said when she reached for him again. Her pupils were blown out, eyes big and wide, cheeks flushed…
“Elain, what did you drink?”
But he knew. “Wine,” she said breathlessly. Lucien had to look up at the ceiling to keep himself from falling apart. This was wrong. Her drink had been laced with an aphrodisiac and she likely had no idea. For one miserable second, Lucien mourned the loss of what was happening—this was exactly what he’d wanted. Elain, warm and pliant and willing, trying to take his pants off because she needed him so badly.
“Not like this,” he whispered, well aware she wouldn’t understand in the moment. When had he become the good guy?
Somewhere else?” she asked him, pressing her chest against his own.
“Yes,” he lied, knowing it was the only way to get her out of here. If anyone else found her, she was likely to throw herself at them, too, and who knew if they’d uphold her same honor. Lucien needed to lock her up somewhere and track down Tarquin to see if there was an antidote or, if not, a sedative he could give her so she could sleep this off without embarrassing herself any further.
She was going to be furious with him in the morning. Lucien would have to plead for her forgiveness over that kiss. He hadn’t known, would never have reciprocated if he’d thought she was under the influence. He’d been so fucking excited but of course…of course this was the only reason she wanted him.
She’d have kissed anyone like she’d kissed him if they’d been standing in front of her when the effects washed over her. A small sip was enough to turn a male into a creature of base instinct and little more. How much had she drunk?
“Here,” he said, pulling open a door far below deck. Inside was a bed that smelled over other males—Lucien couldn’t stop the snarl that erupted from him, though he leashed his temper enough to lead her inside.
Elain reached for the strap of her dress and Lucien turned, slamming the door roughly before he could watch her undress.
“Lucien?” she called. He turned the lock loud enough she heard, forehead pressed to the wood. Lucien! Open the door! Lucien, open the door right now or I’ll—!”
“You’ll thank me for this in the morning,” he replied, curling his hands into fists. Lucien’s whole body was hard, unaware he couldn’t just go in there and take her like instinct was driving him to. He felt insane, pulled toward her even as he walked away. The urge to guard her like a snapping animal nearly overwhelmed him, and by the time Lucien was back on deck, surrounded by Summer courtiers drinking and laughing and dancing, Lucien was ready to start a fight.
He found Tarquin leaned up against the rail, looking out at the water while several nearby females giggled loudly for the prince's attention.
“I need you,” Lucien hissed under his breath. He didn’t want anyone else to know what was going on with Elain downstairs. Tarquin glanced over.
“I’m flattered,” he began, earning an eye roll from Lucien.
“That fucking wine,” Lucien interrupted before Tarquin could decline his advances—of which there were none. “How do you mitigate the effects?”
“By fucking,” Tarquin said frankly.
Lucien snarled loud enough Tarquin took a step away from him, palms raised in defense. What the fuck was wrong with him? Tarquin seemed to be asking himself the same question.
“A sedative, then,” Lucien demanded, chest rising and falling rapidly. Tarquin wasn’t a threat no matter how Elain had smiled. Tarquin was his friend—he’d help. Lucien was merely over-tired, that’s all. Too tired, too stressed to make a rational decision, combined with the scent of Elain’s need still lingering in his nose.
A primal part of him demanded he go do something about it.
“What happened?”
“Elain,” he said, hating how desperation colored his tone. “It’s Elain.”
And there was nothing else he needed to say to Tarquin to make the prince understand. Blue eyes swam with sympathy.
“Where is she?”
“Downstairs. I’ve locked her in, but…” But someone was going to wander down eventually. Someone would hear her asking to be let out, would be her savior if they did.
“Go,” Tarquin said, filling Lucien with relief. “I’ll meet you there. I need to go ashore.”
“Quickly,” Lucien urged, turning his back even as he said it. He was back outside her door—now silent—before he’d taken all of five breaths. Pressing his back to the wood, Lucien closed his eyes and sank to the cool, swaying floor.
“Lucien?”
“I’m here,” he said, listening to the frantic pound of her heart.
“What’s happening to me?” she asked, words laced with fear. “I can’t…I…” She sounded like she wanted to cry. Lucien did, too, if only because her fear had mingled with her arousal. He couldn’t control his own body, reacting as though there was danger lurking that he needed to protect her from.
Unaware the only danger was him—that his resolve would break, that he’d open that door and take her when he knew he shouldn’t.
“I’m getting a sedative,” he told her, twisting so his cheek was pressed to the door. “You’ll drink it and fall asleep, and when you wake up we’ll both pretend this never happened.”
There was a pause, and then, “You don’t want me?”
The wine, that’s just the wine talking, she doesn’t want you, she’ll hate you—
“If you wake up in the morning and you still…” Lucien gritted his teeth. “Yes, Elain. I want you so bad I can’t think straight. But not like this. Not when you don’t–”
“I want you,” she insisted, unaware it was the wine that made her want him.
“Tell me that in the morning,” was all he could say. He’d take her back to the Sun Palace and spend the rest of the week making slow, passionate love to her.
The effort it took to ignore her soft pleading and just wait took a toll on Lucien. By the time Tarquin arrived, holding a golden goblet in his hand, Lucien was wrung out and exhausted. His body ached from the hard floor beneath him and how much he wanted to just give in.
“Good luck,” Tarquin offered, not daring to come too close. That was smart—the hackles on Lucien’s neck raised at the mere sight of him. Waiting until the prince vanished settled him, though he dreaded unlocking that door. Was it better to surprise her or to warn her? Lucien settled on surprise, thinking she might try and tempt him into bed and he was hanging by a fraying thread already.
Mercifully, Elain was still dressed, pacing back and forth like a wild animal. Narrowed, angry eyes greeted him when he slipped inside, closing the door behind him. Lucien was too paranoid that another male was going to try and get in, that he’d have to fight to the death to keep her safe. To keep her his.
“Lucien—”
“Drink this,” he said, thrusting the cup between them. “Drink it, and I’m yours.”
“Swear,” she whispered, as if Lucien hadn’t been hers from the moment he’d first seen her. Even if he’d been too young, too stupid to know, he knew it now. Whatever was happening, whatever magic had wound its way between them made it impossible for him to think otherwise. There was no going back, no giving her up.
“I swear,” he whispered, daring the smallest step toward her. “I’ve always been only yours.”
She held his gaze, fingers cupping his own as though to gauge the truth in his statement.
“Drink it,” he urged. He was going to snap if he had to spend another minute in the too small room, suffocating in the scent of her needy, unmet arousal. “Princess, please.”
She brought the cup to her lips, a question in those fawn brown eyes. “Princess?”
“Yes,” he agreed, wondering what his parents would say when he told them. “Of my home, my court—my princess, Elain. Drink.”
And she did, pacified at last, having wrung the truth from his hateful lips. She’d remember all this, and perhaps would feel more charitably toward him knowing how utterly ruined he was. How he wanted to get on his knees and prostrate himself before her.
Elain drank all of the clear liquid, eyes hooded with each new gulp. The cup tumbled from her hands as she slumped forward, caught in Lucien’s waiting arms.
“Good girl,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re going to sleep and when you wake up, there will be nothing to apologize for.”
“Why…?” she slurred out a question he couldn’t answer, not when the lids of her eyes fluttered shut, taking the scent of her arousal with it.
Thank the fucking cauldron for that, he thought with relief. No one stopped the pair of them when Lucien brought her above deck, skin warmed by the fading sunlight on the horizon. It would be a night of partying—one he still needed to be part of, if only as a show of good faith. Lucien made Elain’s apologies as people saw her curled up in his arms. Too much to drink, he said with an easy smile. That wasn’t wholly untrue, and from the amused smile on Tarquin’s face, he knew the prince of Adriata wouldn’t tell.
He winnowed back to shore, his sense returning with every easy step. Back to the room they shared, and the bed he’d woken in just that morning. Lucien left her beneath the sheets, her hair obscuring her face, and locked the door from the outside once again. She could get out if she wanted, though he doubted she would wake before he returned. More importantly, his own scent coated the sheets, the air, her skin—any male who came in would be warned away by Lucien’s invisible presence. That soothed him.
He was back on the barge, swaggering about like both his heart and his mind were in that bed with Elain.
“Dominic will be wanting to talk to you,” Tarquin’s voice cut through Lucien’s longing. “Congratulate you, since Elain is gone.”
“Was he hoping to congratulate her?” Lucien demanded, his words more ferocious than he’d meant. Tarquin only smiled, leaning against the rail shoulder to shoulder with Lucien.
“I think a lot of males were. They won’t be anymore—not with you snapping your teeth every time they look her way.”
“Good.” Though, that did little to ease the knot in Lucien’s chest. Tarquin glanced sidelong at Lucien, suppressing a smile.
“How long?”
“Excuse me?” Lucien asked, twisting to face the prince. “How long what?”
“How long ago did the bond snap for you? It seems new. And…” he bit the inside of his cheek, unaware of how Lucien had begun to spiral. “I assume she doesn’t know?”
“Bond?”
Tarquin’s nose flared. “Is it recent?”
Mating bond. Tarquin was asking Lucien when his mating bond had snapped. With Elain—a mating bond, a—- “I don’t think…there’s no bond, I—”
Tarquin threw his head back and laughed. “No, of course not. This is just perfectly rational behavior for you, then? Do you so jealously guard all the females at court?”
No. Never. Never.
“It hasn’t…there was no snap—”
“Maybe I’m wrong, then,” Tarquin said, pushing off the rail. But the unspoken words just beneath ran a river through Lucien. Probably not, though.
Heart thudding, Lucien’s eyes drifted toward the shore and the towering castle looming in the distance.
Mate.
Was Elain Archeron truly his mate?
