Summary: Being taken away in the night by a Fae High Lord is not something you could’ve expected for your short, mortal life - and falling in love with his red-headed emissary was the most dangerous part. He’d sworn you were to be together for the rest of your lives, so how do you cope when the Mother grants him a mate? His mate - your sister.
Warnings: Language
A/N: HERE IT ISSSSSS i am so so excited to get this going
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The evening was bitterly cold, as was the water you were splashing your face with. The cut on your lip stung furiously; the man you had fought tonight could not have been anything less than a giant. Still, you’d held your own - and made a pretty penny, too.
You could see the violet begin to bloom around your eye, but there was no helping it. All the money you made went straight to your sisters, and if they ever found out you’d selfishly spent coin on any kind of ointment, Gods, you’d be dead by morning.
As you inspected every scratch and bruise and scar littering your face, you wondered if this was truly meant to be your fate. Before the complete loss of your father’s wealth, you would’ve considered yourself a pretty girl. You certainly weren’t now, not like this. It’s not as if you were struggling to find suitors, but there wasn’t a time in your life that you’d been treated nicely by one. Been treated pretty.
They liked the rough and tumble. They liked that you were outspoken and messy. Isn’t it funny how men completely change in the dark? They’d never be seen with the likes of you about town - you didn’t dream of it anyway. Not for the likes of the vermin around here.
The cabin door creaked open and slammed shut in the other room.
“We can eat half the meat this week,” Feyre’s muffled voice bled through the widening crack in the bathroom door, “We can dry the other half.”
On the table in front of you lay what you could only call a beast. The deer was giant, and so was the wolf pelt covering it. You tilted your head; that wolf pelt was a bit too big for your liking.
“I’ll take the hides to the market tomorrow,” Your youngest sister’s eyes lit up at the sound of your voice, “This is amazing, Feyre. We’d starve without you.”
You heard Nesta tsk behind you. She and Elain quickly began bartering over who would receive the money. You walked a few steps to the destitute kitchenette you had to work with - too blunt knives scattered along the countertops. You didn’t waste your breath joining in the argument over Nesta’s wood-chopping abilities. She was a lost cause - just as guilty as your father in your suffering. Elain was, too, and you detested treating her as the child she acted, but certainly wasn’t.
A long glance was shared with Feyre before she disappeared into the bedroom. A sigh escaped you as you began slicing.
Dinner had been… well, as pleasant as it could’ve been.
“Nesta, you cannot marry Tomas Mandray.”
“And, why not?”
Feyre came to your defence at Nesta’s sneer, “You can’t chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter’s son?”
Cutlery scraped and clattered as you rose to start the dishes; the argument did not die down behind you.
“At least I don’t have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal.”
“Nesta.” You couldn’t stand it when she got like this. She was so quick to cast judgement - so quick to look anywhere but her own hurt and self-righteousness. “Feyre is right. Tomas’ family can barely afford food as it is, and we can’t afford a dowry. This is off the table.”
“We’re in love.” She declared.
Mother, help me. Your eyes might have never rolled this hard in your life.
“Love won’t feed a hungry belly.”
Feyre’s remark had done it. Nesta had exploded, calling her a wild beast to knock her down a few pegs. That wasn’t new from her - for either of you. She was fond of reminding you both how forgotten you would be when your time came.
You glanced at your father. “I don’t suppose you have anything to say.” A little harsh, maybe. You chose not to care.
“You know what she’s like, nugget,” A nickname from many years ago. It had soured over time. “What can I say? If it’s love-”
“It can’t be love,” Feyre exclaimed, “Not with his wretched family. I’ve seen the way he acts around the village. There’s one thing he wants from her, and it’s not her hand in marriage.”
“I don’t know if there’s anyone who could tame Nesta well enough for her to be wed, anyway.” You knew you were stropping as well now - you didn’t want to think about how similar you could be to your eldest sister sometimes. At least you exhibit a little bit of restraint, you reminded yourself.
It would all seem inconsequential soon enough; only one more day passed before the beast showed up at your door.
Your father was terror-stricken.
Stuck in his chair, awoken by the noise of wood splintering, he had no choice but to watch as Nesta and Elain shrieked in the corner of the room.
You held Feyre by her arm, positioned just slightly behind you. You could feel the hilt of her hunting knife pressing against your back. Where the fuck was your dagger?
The beast roared at you. “Murderers!”
He was fae. Oh, dear fucking Gods.
Nesta sobbed, “W-we didn’t kill anyone!”
You took a second to glance away from the golden-haired monstrosity to your eldest sister. She was holding her silver bracelet high above her head, toward the door. You doubted it could do anything at this point.
“Get out,” Feyre’s voice from behind you. “Get out, and begone.”
Your leg began to shake in your boot. Come on, you thought, now is not the time for fear. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.
The cottage shook as the beast bellowed and you reached for your sister instinctively. Plates shattered and wood clattered as the beast set his paw on the dining table, snarling. You watched as his claws embedded in the groaning wood.
“Who killed him?!”
“Killed who?” Your voice finally rose above the noise.
His eyes flickered to you now, previously honed in on Feyre behind you. They weren’t animal eyes; they were green and flickering with something you couldn’t put your finger on.
“The wolf,” His voice was low, “A large wolf with a grey coat.”
Fuck.
You considered running. You considered begging. You considered throwing Feyre over your shoulder and through the nearest window just to give her a chance. You glanced at her behind you.
“If it was mistakenly killed,” Feyre’s voice barely trembled, “what payment could we offer in exchange?”
Feyre’s bravery was something you’d always admired about her. You liked to think it of yourself - brave, steely, unwavering. But Feyre? She seemed so fortified, so invulnerable, it was hard to remember she was so much younger than you.
You supposed that’s why your sisters took advantage of her so. Perhaps, this was what your mother had seen in her all those years ago when she made Feyre promise to look after you all. In reality, you knew it was just nonsense from a dying woman.
Thus, you refused to let her go it alone.
The beast laughed bitterly, “The payment you must offer is the one demanded by the Treaty between our realms.”
“What the fuck?”
“For a wolf?” Feyre had taken a gentler approach, it seemed.
“Who killed the wolf?”
“I did.” Your own voice surprised you.
The beast whirled on you, “Surely, you lie to save one of them.”
“It was me,” Feyre touched your arm, “I killed it. We sold its hide today, at the market. If I had known it was a faerie, I wouldn’t have touched it.”
“Liar,” He snarled, “You knew. You would have been more tempted to slaughter it had you known it was one of my kind.”
“Can you blame her?” You stepped in front of your sister, anger bubbling over. “Considering all your kind have done to us, and still like to do might I add, it was deserved.”
All he did was growl.
“What is the payment the Treaty requires?”
The wolf looked back at your sister now, “A life for a life. Any unprovoked attacks on faerie-kind by humans are to be paid only by a human life in exchange.”
Your blood ran cold. This couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it. Your heart pounded in your chest, mind looking for something - anything - that could save your sister from this fate. You glanced around the room quickly, searching for the answer. You came up short.
“Do it outside,” Your head whipped around to Feyre, “Not… here.”
The faerie huffed a vicious laugh. “Willing to accept your fate so easily? For having the nerve to request where I slaughter you, I’ll let you in on a secret, human; Prythian must claim your life in some way, for the life you took from it. So as a representative of the immortal realm, I can either gut you like swine, or you can cross the wall and live out the remainder of your days in Prythian.”
“Do it, Feyre” Your father whispered, “Go.”
Your eyes watered, lip trembling as you looked at him, “Stay out of this.”
“Live where? Every inch of Prythian is lethal to me.” Feyre asked incredulously.
“I have lands,” The faerie said quietly, now. You tilted your head, curious. “I will grant you permission to live there.”
“You can’t take her.”
The beast blinked at you, and you suddenly realised your mistake. “Can’t? You tell me what I can and cannot do? She murdered my friend. Murdered him, skinned his corpse, sold it at the market - and yet, you have the nerve to question my generosity?”
“I sold the hide. Am I guilty too?”
“Foolish human,” He snarled, drawing closer to you. “You think I won’t kill you where you stand?”
“I think your mercy is shallow,” You attempted to stand taller, “And I think this is a game to you. What was your friend doing this side of the Wall, hm? You’re so quick to offer my sister salvation - why?”
For a split second, he seemed taken aback. He was back to unbridled rage so quickly you were sure to have imagined it. You looked at Feyre now, hoping she’d see through you. She always did.
“Take me as well,” You steeled yourself against the faerie’s wrath, “Or, I stab her in the heart.”
You could feel Nesta’s stare from across the room. Elain shrieked loudly.
The beast looked between you both, contemplatively. “You bluff.”
You quickly grabbed Feyre by the elbow, pulling her in front of you and the knife out of her hand. You wrapped your arm around her chest, pulling her back, and placed the sharp edge against her sternum. You could feel her heart racing. It matched your own.
“Would you like to find out?”
You were on a horse.
Conversation had been clipped and short from the beast, and Feyre had soon fallen asleep, back against your chest. You found it odd how the mare trailed behind him, calm and serene, when just one wrong swipe could maim her.
The sun was high by the time your sister jolted awake and you shared a long look as large, golden gates swung open ahead of you.
It was magnificent.
Feyre squeezed your knee as the horse casually trotted upon the hills of green. The massive estate lay before you - willow and ivy and roses covered trellises and balconies, and the woods spread as far as you could see.
The impeccable marble was beautiful, but alarmingly domineering. The smell of metal tinged the flower frosted air; it was the magic. Of course, an eternal season would have to be kept in place by magic. The smell of early spring was tainted with the harsh reminder that this was punishment. This was not luck.
Dread crawled down your spine as you considered what may await you behind the mammoth front doors.
You could almost see Feyre’s thoughts whirring through her head as you both dismounted the horse - she had realised running was futile. Her shaky legs began the ascent up the grand staircase towards the door and every instinct within you screamed.
She was getting closer and closer to the door and you couldn’t breathe. There was nothing you could do. No escape plan you could hatch to save your little sister from this. Gods, you felt sick.
One look back from Feyre had you climbing the stairs immediately.
You resisted the urge to gnaw at your nails as you both crossed the threshold. You held your head high, keeping your gaze cold. You would not let your guard down in this place. And you certainly wouldn’t look nervous.
A long table lay in front of you as you followed the faerie into a nearby room. It was larger than any piece of furniture you’d ever seen, overflowing with steaming food - meats, vegetables, and cheeses clouded your vision and it was as if you felt your stomach shrink from your starvation.
You practically jumped out of your skin when the beast transformed into a man and simply slumped down into a chair.
You held a hand to your chest as you leaned against the wall, “What the fuck.”
The man rubbed his temples. “You should both eat.”
You looked at him properly now. He was blonde, and young as far as you could tell, and a peculiar golden mask shimmered on his face. He was large, to say the least. Tall and fair, and even as he slumped, he filled every part of the chair. The pointy ears were very weird. You wondered how long it would take to get used to this side of the Wall, if you even lived long enough to see any more of it.
“You should eat something.”
“Who are you?” Feyre’s words were clipped, stolen breath fighting its way back into her body.
“Sit,” He gestured lazily, “Eat.”
You looked at Feyre and shook your head.
“It’s not safe for humans.” She settled on.
The man huffed a laugh, “The food is fine for you to eat, human. Leave if you want. I’m not your jailer. The gates are open; you can live anywhere in Prythian.”
“That’s hilarious,” You drawled, “We all know we’d be dead the second we stepped outside of this estate.”
He looked you - you couldn’t place with what. You and your sister made no move to sit.
“Fine.” He said, and began serving himself.
Someone strode into the room from another door, right past you both as he headed for the table. He hadn’t seen either of you - you took this chance to gaze at him from your place against the wall. The first thing you noticed was how impeccably dressed he was. He had long, red hair cascading down his back, which was covered in a very fine tunic of muted silver. You could see from the side that he also sported a mask across his eyes. Was that meant to be fashion here?
“Well?” The man sketched a bow to the seated male and crossed his arms. The deep timbre of his voice filled the room nicely, you noted.
“Well, what?”
You wondered how anyone put up with this guy. Or, were all faeries this rude?
“Is Andras dead, then?”
A nod from your captor, “I’m sorry.”
You decided this was a moment you were very uncomfortable witnessing. Feyre seemed to be fiddling with her clothes just as you were.
“How?” The stranger demanded, his knuckles white as he gripped his muscled arms.
“An ash arrow,” The red-haired man hissed, “The Treaty’s summons led me to the mortal. I gave her safe haven. She came with a… companion.”
“A girl? A mortal girl actually killed Andras?” The man shook his head in confusion, “And, I’m sorry, a companion?”
The blonde man huffed a bitter laugh and nodded his head towards you and your sister. “The Treaty’s magic led me right to her - their - doorstep.”
The stranger whirled with grace to look at you both. You stood straighter under his molten gaze. You could see his mask now - it was bronze and fashioned in a fox-like appearance, and despite still being rather odd, you noticed how beautiful it was. It was delicate and intricate and you realised that this stranger took far more care into his appearance than anyone you’d seen before.
He had a scar too, slashing down his face from his brow to his jaw as it peeked out from under the mask. It seemed to slice directly through one eye - a missing eye that had been replaced with a golden substitute. His other eye russet and widening.
His lip curled, revealing perfectly white teeth, “You’re joking. One of these scrawny humans took down Andras?”
“She admitted to it,” The blonde one pointed to Feyre first, and then his finger fell to you, “And she lied to protect her.”
“Lied?” The red-haired man chuckled and looked at you, “She lied in the face of absolutely certain death?”
“I have learned mortals are… foolish.”
You snarled at the man, “You’re the one who broke into my home, screaming that she’d broken some rule you were destined to punish her for. Forgive me if I didn’t place my sister directly into your hands.”
The man in the fox mask sized you up now, it seemed. He sank onto the edge of the table, fingers gripping the wood and light catching in his fire-red hair.
“Well,” He said, “Now we’re stuck with them, thanks to your useless mercy, and you’ve ruined-”
Feyre stepped forward. She didn’t say anything, but she set that steely look onto the man.
“Did you enjoy killing my friend, human?” He leaned forward, “Did you hesitate, or was the hatred in your heart riding you too hard to consider sparing him? It must have been so satisfying for a small mortal thing like you to take him down.”
“Lucien,” The blonde one chastised quietly, “Behave.”
Lucien. Now he’d said it, it seemed like a name you’d known forever.
He went rigid, but hopped off the table nonetheless, and bowed to you both.
“My apologies, ladies,” A joke, it seemed. He looked to Feyre. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."
He whirled to you now and drawled, “And, you burn as intensely as a flame. If I had known mortals could look as beautiful as this, I would have visited your lands long ago.”
“Is that meant to be working on me?” You raised a brow.
He gave you a feline grin, “You tell me.”
He seemed to be waiting for either of you to respond.
“Her name is Feyre,” Your blonde captor beat you to it, gesturing to your sister before you. “And this is Y/N.”
You’d never told him your name. You hoped he’d learned it at the cottage instead of having some thought-reading power. Gods, you hoped he didn’t have a thought-reading power.
“Alis will show you to your rooms,” He said then, “You could use a bath and some fresh clothes.”
A brown haired woman appeared suddenly, also donned in a mask. You followed her as she tugged your sister on her elbow, and you gave one last glance into the dining room behind you as Lucien began to speak.
“That’s the hand the Cauldron thought to deal us? She brought Andras down? We never should have sent him out there—none of them should have been out there. It was a fool’s mission.” He growled, yet no bite lay in his tone, “Maybe we should just take a stand—maybe it’s time to say enough. Dump the girl somewhere, kill her, I don’t care—she’s nothing but a burden here. She’d sooner put a knife in your back than talk to you—or any of us.”
“No,” the other bit out. “Not until we know for certain that there is no other way will we make a move. And as for the girl, she stays. Unharmed. End of discussion. Her life in that hovel was Hell enough. Besides, I don’t need that sister of hers causing me an unnecessary headache.”
“Then you’ve got your work cut out for you, old son,” Lucien said. “I’m sure her life will be a fine replacement for Andras’s - maybe she can even train with the others on the border.”
This seemed to irritate the blonde one greatly.
The conversation thinned out as you and your sister delved deeper into the manor.
Alis had scrubbed you thoroughly. Her conversation was pleasant, yet she seemed particularly disturbed that you and your sister refused to leave the room as the other was bathed.
Embarrassment had no place in survival.
She had detested your argument over dresses - you couldn’t afford them back home anyway, and they were ridiculously impractical. Maybe, there was a part of you that longed to feel gentle, cascading fabric against your skin as you twirled and gleamed through a room. That version of you had been asleep for a long time now. Today was not the day she would wake.
Finally, you both had dressed in tunics and trousers, and Alis had given you both words of warning before she escorted you back to the dining room.
“If you’re wise, you’ll keep your mouth shut and your ears open. It’ll do you more good here than a loose tongue.” You did not approve. “Some folk are bound to be upset about Andras, but I say he was a good sentinel who knew what he was facing when he crossed that wall. So keep your head down, and none of them will bother you. Though, Lucien - he could do with someone snapping at him, if you’ve the courage for it.”
Summary: For one hundred years, Y/N carried the weight of a bond Lucien never felt. Then, one day, it was gone—severed, rewritten, given to another. She thought she could endure it. Thought she could live unseen, unnoticed. Until the day Lucien walked into her shop… and fate forced them face to face.
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Warnings: angst, heartbreak, miscommunication, elain is quite the character in this one😟 also, not proofread but will be soon
The bond had been a quiet thing.
Not gentle, not kind, but quiet—woven into her like the steady hum of the ocean, like the distant whisper of a song she was never meant to hear in full. It had been there for as long as she could remember, a presence just beneath her skin, a pulse separate from her own heartbeat.
She had felt it for a hundred years. Lived with the knowledge that somewhere out there, Lucien Vanserra existed, and he was hers.
Except he wasn’t.
Because one day, the bond was gone.
It wasn’t like cutting a thread. It wasn’t like a slow, fraying unraveling.
It was a severing.
Sharp. Sudden. Irreversible.
One moment, it was there, humming in her chest like it always had, and the next, it collapsed in on itself. The connection that had been a constant presence in her life, the tether that had stretched across time and space, binding her to a male she had never even met—vanished.
And it hurt.
Gods, it hurt.
She had collapsed to the floor of her shop, fingers clutching at her ribs, nails digging into her skin as if she could physically hold in the ache of something that was never tangible to begin with. Her breath had come in sharp, shallow gasps, her vision swimming as she tried to comprehend the loss of something she had never even gotten to have.
It was like being gutted from the inside out. Like some cruel hand had reached into her soul and ripped away a part of her she’d never even touched.
She had thought—he knows.
Lucien must have found out about the bond.
And he cut it off.
She had sat there for hours. Just sat there, staring at the floor, willing herself to breathe through the crushing weight of something she could never prove, never explain.
Because it was his choice.
He must have felt it, realized it, and rejected it.
Maybe he had seen her in a vision. Maybe the Mother herself had whispered it in his ear. Maybe he had sensed the invisible tether and recoiled in disgust.
Maybe—maybe he had simply decided she was not what he wanted.
The thought lodged itself into her ribs like a rusted dagger.
But Y/N had not cried that night.
She had cleaned the broken glass from where she’d knocked over a display, locked up her shop, and gone home to an empty bed.
The next morning, she had continued on.
A hundred years of knowing.
Three years of silence.
Y/N had not spoken a word of it to anyone, had never once whispered her secret into the smoke-filled air of her shop, had never let it become real outside of herself.
It was over.
Lucien Vanserra had made his choice.
And she had made hers: to let him go.
Her life had not changed much in the three years since the bond had disappeared.
She still ran her shop, still worked until her fingers ached, still sold perfumes and oils and delicate trinkets to the people of Velaris without them ever knowing that once, her entire world had unraveled between her ribs.
She told herself that she was fine.
That she had never needed him.
That the pain had dulled, the ache had numbed, that she had sewn herself back together without him.
And maybe she had believed it.
Until—
The door to her shop swung open.
The world had cracked open beneath him.
One moment, he had been standing in that damned throne room in Hybern, his heart hammering in his chest, watching in horror as Elain Archeron was dragged toward the Cauldron. The next—
Mate.
The word slammed into him, rattling through his bones like a death knell.
It was instant. It was overwhelming.
Lucien had felt his soul lurch, had felt something snap into place deep in his chest, an unyielding chain that wrapped around his ribs and locked there. He swayed on his feet, unable to do anything but watch—watch as Elain, wide-eyed and fragile, disappeared beneath that inky black water.
A distant, roaring sound filled his ears. No. No. No.
His instincts had screamed at him to move, to shove past the guards, to do something—but he stood frozen. Because even as his body begged him to lunge forward, another force—a deeper, ancient force—held him back.
The Cauldron. The bond.
It pulsed through him like a second heartbeat.
And gods above, it hurt.
He had known pain before. Had lived through agony that most would crumble under. He had felt flesh burn and bones snap, had known the deep, rotting ache of grief and loss.
But this—
This was something else.
This was a tether being forged in real time, a connection being branded onto his very soul.
Elain surfaced.
Lucien barely breathed.
The world had shrunk down to the space between them, to the droplets clinging to her lashes as she gasped for air, to the tremor in her small hands as she tried to steady herself.
His mate.
His mate.
The pull was instantaneous.
A sharp, visceral need that made his fingers twitch at his sides, that sent fire licking down his spine. He had heard of it—of the way the mating bond could ignite in an instant, how it could take hold of a male so suddenly, so violently, that it rewrote the very fabric of his being.
But knowing it in theory was nothing like feeling it.
Lucien had spent centuries believing he had already been shattered into all the pieces he could possibly break into. That he had already endured the worst of it, that he had already lost everything.
And then the Cauldron had given him this. Her.
It had given him something new to ache for.
He tried to breathe. To think.
The rational part of him, the part that still had some grasp on reality, knew this was not the time. Not the place.
But none of that mattered.
Not when Elain was staring straight ahead, unfocused, dazed. Not when she looked like a baby deer standing on shaking legs, not when that first sharp pang of emotion raked through him—
Protect.
It whispered through his bones, through his blood.
He had to get to her.
Had to take her away from this cursed place, had to make sure she was safe. That was all that had mattered.
Lucien had taken half a step forward—
And then the Cauldron roared again.
His breath punched from his lungs as Nesta was dragged forward, as she thrashed and fought and screamed.
Lucien had felt his own body seize at the sound of it, but his attention remained locked on Elain.
He could barely focus on anything else. The King of Hybern had spoken, someone else had shouted, Cassian was bleeding out on the floor, but Elain.
She was trembling.
He wanted to go to her. Wanted to pick her up and carry her far, far away from all of this.
But he couldn’t move.
His muscles were stone, his mind had fogged with a haze he had no hope of piercing through.
Because this bond, this thing now tying him to Elain, was stronger than anything he had ever known.
And it would never go away.
Not now. Not ever.
The thought had nearly brought him to his knees.
Lucien had learned something in these past few years.
A bond could exist. It could pull and ache and whisper in the quiet of the night.
But it meant nothing if it was not accepted.
For three years, he had come and gone from Velaris, carried there on nothing but a fragile, flickering hope. A hope that dulled a little more with every visit, every unanswered offering, every polite but distant gaze.
He had tried.
Tried to be patient. Tried to be gentle. Tried to show her, in every small way he could, that he would never demand anything from her. That he would never ask her to give more than she was willing.
He had brought her gifts—small things, thoughtful things. A book of poetry, its words as soft and delicate as the way she watched the garden in the early morning light. A delicate necklace of woven gold and pearl, handcrafted by a skilled artisan in the Dawn Court, because he thought she might like something beautiful, something made with care.
He had spent hours searching for the perfect flowers before learning, with no small amount of embarrassment, that she preferred to grow them herself. That she took joy in nurturing life rather than simply receiving it.
So he adjusted. Adapted.
He spent time in the greenhouse, learning the names of each bloom, the way their roots intertwined in the soil, the seasons in which they thrived. He let his fingers brush over petals and stems and thought—this. This is what I must do.
Not pluck something whole from the ground and place it in her hands, expecting her to take it with a smile.
But tend to it.
Let it grow. Let it reach for the sunlight at its own pace.
Let her bloom in whatever direction she wished, without trying to steer her toward him.
And yet—
Nothing.
Each time he left Velaris, he did so with nothing but a quiet, polite smile from her and a new weight pressing against his ribs.
She did not reject him.
But she did not accept him, either.
And gods, it was worse.
Lucien could handle rage. He could handle being turned away, shouted at, hated.
But the silence.
The hesitation.
The careful, measured distance she always kept between them.
It killed him.
Because he had seen, once, what an accepted bond looked like.
He had watched as Rhysand and Feyre moved through the world with an ease, a certainty, that left no room for question.
He had seen the way Azriel looked at Mor, the quiet longing buried beneath years of silence, the way he endured and endured because there was nothing else to do.
Lucien had sworn he would not be like that.
That he would never allow himself to become a shadow lingering at the edges of her world.
And yet—
Yet he still came back. Like a fool.
Like a male who still believed in something that had never truly belonged to him.
“Not to pry,” Jurian said one evening, propping his feet up on the edge of the low table between them, “but have you ever considered not torturing yourself?”
Lucien, who had been nursing his drink, sighed. “What are you on about now?”
Lucien gave him a flat look. “Remind me again why I agreed to spend time with you?”
Jurian grinned, unapologetic. “Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth.”
Lucien rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “What do you want, Jurian?”
“Nothing.” He took a sip of his drink. “Well. Actually, I was going to mention a shop in Velaris that might be of interest to you. Since, you know, you’re so desperately trying to impress a certain Lady of Flowers.”
Lucien arched a brow. “A shop?”
Jurian nodded. “Y/N’s shop. She sells perfumes, oils, little trinkets. Apparently, every female who sets foot in there leaves raving about how perfect it is. If you’re going to keep throwing gifts at Elain in hopes she’ll finally look at you like you’re not some lost puppy, you might as well get something she’d actually want.”
Lucien exhaled sharply. “Your faith in me is astounding.”
Jurian smirked. “Just looking out for you, Vanserra.”
Lucien shook his head, but something about the name—Y/N—stuck in his mind.
Maybe it was because he had spent years grasping at anything, any small hope, that might help bridge the gap between him and Elain. Maybe it was because he was tired. Tired of trying and failing.
Or maybe it was just that he had nothing else left to lose.
So the next time he found himself in Velaris, before making his way to the Archeron estate, he wandered through the city, searching for that shop.
It was easy enough to find.
Tucked between two larger buildings, Y/N’s shop was small but elegant. The glass windows glowed with warm, golden light, and the scent of something rich and enticing drifted through the cracks of the door. The sign above was simple, written in delicate, swirling letters.
There was something… welcoming about it.
Lucien stood outside for a long moment, staring at the entrance.
Then, with a slow, steadying breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The bell above the shop door chimed softly, its familiar, delicate ring signaling the arrival of a new customer. Y/N barely glanced up from the shelf she was organizing, her fingers deftly adjusting the small glass vials of perfume that lined the wooden display. The scent of jasmine and bergamot filled the air, mingling with the rich undertones of amber and cedar.
She had long since learned to temper her expectations—to stop hoping for something, for someone, who would never come.
But then, a voice, warm and smooth, cut through the quiet hum of the shop.
“Excuse me. Is...is this Y/N's shop?"
Her heart stopped.
That voice—his voice.
She turned, slowly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile moment hanging between them. And there he was. Lucien Vanserra.
Standing just inside her shop, his tall frame poised with a careful, easy grace, though there was something slightly hesitant in the way he held himself, as if he wasn’t quite sure he belonged here. The golden glow of the lanterns bathed him in soft light, catching the rich red of his hair, the burnished gleam of his eye—his singular russet eye. The other, the golden mechanical one, whirred almost imperceptibly as he scanned the space around him.
Y/N felt the breath she had been holding slip from her lips.
He knows her name?
It had been years since she had seen him up close. Years of watching from afar, of wondering, of aching in silence.
And now, he was here.
She swallowed against the sharp, bitter weight of that realization and forced her voice into something steady, something detached.
“Yes, can I help you?”
Lucien’s gaze landed on her, polite but indifferent, his expression unreadable.
“Yes,” he said, offering a small, formal smile. “I was told this shop might have something I need. A gift, actually. A meaningful one.”
Y/N’s breath hitched—just for a moment, just long enough for hope to bloom wild and reckless in her chest.
A gift.
A meaningful gift.
Had he—could he possibly—?
“For my beloved,” he added casually.
Beloved.
And just like that, hope shriveled and died inside her, shrank into something tight and painful that pressed against her ribs like a knife.
Of course.
Of course.
Because he hadn’t come here for her. He had come here for another.
She didn’t let the hurt show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, feigning a mild, professional interest.
“I see,” she murmured, turning back toward the counter, forcing her limbs to move, forcing herself to breathe past the tightness in her throat. “What kind of female is she?”
Lucien hesitated for only a moment before responding.
“She’s gentle,” he said, his voice softer now, thoughtful. “Quiet, but… not weak. She sees things in a way others don’t. Notices the details others overlook.”
Y/N forced herself to nod, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.
“She enjoys nature,” he continued. “Gardens, especially. She likes to grow things, to tend to them. She has a kindness about her that’s—” He exhaled, a small, distant smile curving his lips. “It’s rare.”
Y/N felt something crack deep inside her.
Every word was another stone added to the weight already crushing her chest.
And yet she couldn’t stop looking at him—the way his features softened, the way his expression grew distant, lost in some memory of the girl, as if she were some delicate, untouchable dream.
Y/N swallowed the bitterness creeping up her throat and forced a smile—polished and pretty, an elegant mask.
“Well,” she said, her voice even, smooth. “It sounds like she would appreciate something soft. Something delicate and thoughtful.”
She moved past him, toward the shelves lined with handcrafted items, her fingers brushing over the carved wooden boxes that housed carefully blended oils and perfumes.
“These,” she said, selecting one of the small, glass bottles. “A floral blend—rose, lilac, and a touch of honeysuckle. Light, natural, and not overpowering.”
Lucien reached for it, his long fingers grazing hers as he took the bottle. Y/N ignored the way the touch burned.
He uncorked the bottle, inhaling lightly.
“It’s nice,” he admitted, nodding in approval. “Subtle.”
She forced a small, knowing smile. “She doesn’t like strong scents, does she?”
Lucien blinked, glancing up at her. “No. She doesn’t.”
Y/N turned away before he could see the way her throat constricted. Instead, she gestured toward another shelf.
“There’s also this,” she said, lifting a small, intricately crafted gold locket. “A piece of jewelry—simple, elegant. You can place a pressed flower inside, something personal.”
Lucien ran his fingers over the delicate engraving. “She’d like that,” he murmured.
Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat. Of course she would.
She kept moving, kept showing him options—anything to fill the silence, to drown out the aching hollowness expanding in her chest.
And all the while, she drank in the sight of him—the curve of his lips as he considered each item, the quiet, pensive way he studied every detail. She had never been this close to him before.
She never wanted it to end.
But eventually, he made his choice. The locket.
And then, far too soon, he was standing at the counter, waiting.
Y/N wrapped the gift carefully, precisely, her fingers trembling only slightly as she tied the ribbon. She set it before him, forcing herself to meet his gaze as she murmured, “I hope she likes it.”
Lucien’s polite smile returned, easy and effortless. “Thank you.”
He slid a few coins across the counter, and she took them without a word.
And then—just like that—he turned to leave.
Y/N stood frozen, watching as he reached the door, as his fingers brushed the handle.
He hesitated. Just for a second.
Then he glanced back at her, offering one last, polite, meaningless smile.
“Have a good evening,” he said.
And then he was gone.
The door shut behind him, the bell chiming its soft, hollow note.
Y/N exhaled shakily, staring at the empty space where he had stood.
The silence in the shop felt suffocating, heavy with something she didn’t have the strength to name.
Her fingers curled against the counter, her breath uneven.
She had spent years imagining what it would be like to finally stand before him.
Never once had she imagined it would feel like this.
It happened two days later.
Y/N was walking home from the market, arms full of bags and bundled goods, weaving through the crowd of busy pedestrians that filled the bustling city street. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the cobblestones, and the energy in the air was high, as if the entire town was preparing for something important. The noise of merchants shouting out their prices, children running past, and carts clattering by made it nearly impossible to focus on anything for too long.
She moved quickly, eager to get home and put her mind at ease after the long day. But just as she rounded a corner, her foot caught on a loose stone, and she stumbled, her bags slipping from her hands.
“Cauldron!” she hissed, barely catching herself before tumbling into the ground.
Her goods scattered everywhere—potatoes rolled away, fabric bundles slid into the street, and small jars tipped over, clinking noisily. She froze for a moment, stunned by her clumsiness, hands scrambling to gather the mess. She was so focused on the spilled items that she didn’t notice the figure approaching.
Then, a voice cut through the chaos.
“Ma'm, are you okay?”
Y/N jumped, looking up quickly, ready to apologize for her mishap and scramble for her things—but she stopped short.
It was him.
Lucien.
He was standing just a few feet away, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and recognition. The shock on his face quickly turned into a grin, that wide, infectious smile that always seemed to make her heart skip a beat. She had no idea how he had gotten so close so quickly—there was too much going on in the street, too much chaos for her to have seen him coming.
“Y/N, hey!” he exclaimed, stepping forward as he crouched down beside her without hesitation. “I didn’t see you there, but I’m glad I did. Here, let me help.”
Before she could even process his presence, he was already gathering her spilled goods with a swift motion, his hands moving with the ease of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Y/N’s face heated up. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—” She trailed off, the words feeling weak and useless.
“No need to apologize,” Lucien laughed lightly, his voice full of warmth, and he flashed that smile at her again. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry about it.”
She couldn’t help the small, relieved exhale that left her lips as he placed the last of the items back into her arms. His touch was light but firm, like he knew exactly how much to hold and where to place everything. It wasn’t just practical; it was almost… considerate.
But then, as he helped her stand up, the reality of the situation hit her. She took a step back, quickly readjusting the bags in her arms.
“I—thank you,” she stammered, clearly caught off guard. She glanced at him, a little unsure of how to handle this unexpected turn of events. The warmth of his presence lingered, making her feel like maybe this was more than just a simple accident. “I can take it from here. Really.”
Lucien shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Not a chance. I’m walking you home. It’s not a far walk, right? I’ll help you carry everything.”
Y/N hesitated, the idea of someone accompanying her home—not to mention Lucien, who made her feel like her emotions were caught in a whirlwind—wasn’t something she had planned for. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him she was fine, that she didn’t need his help. But the words didn’t come.
His smile, persistent and almost childishly happy, was too bright, too eager for her to deny.
“I insist,” he added, without giving her a chance to respond. He didn’t wait for her permission either, already starting to walk beside her, his pace matching hers effortlessly.
As they walked, his excitement didn’t fade. He babbled on, his voice light and full of joy, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been thinking about the last time I was in your shop. Honestly, it was exactly what I was looking for, Y/N. You’re a true artist. A genius, even. I don’t know how you do it. The way you just know what someone needs? It’s incredible. I’ll be coming back for sure, more than once. My beloved, she...she loved the gift!”
He trailed off for a second, as though realizing how much he was talking, but when he caught her eye, that familiar grin returned. “I guess I just really appreciate what you did. She has finally enjoyed a gift of mine. Truly."
Y/N didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t used to hearing this kind of praise—especially not from someone who looked at her like she was something extraordinary, like she was special. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it. It was just… so much. Too much.
Her mind was a whirl of confusion, a mess of thoughts she couldn’t quite sort out. On one hand, his words were kind, genuine even, but on the other, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was just being polite. If it was all just a formality, a friendly exchange, one he didn’t mean to be anything more than surface level.
But the way he kept talking, the way he was so genuine about it, made her heart beat a little faster. She felt herself start to soften, to lower the walls she had built around herself.
“I really do mean it,” Lucien continued, oblivious to the internal turmoil she was experiencing. “It’s rare to find someone who actually cares about their work like you do. It’s so rare, and it’s refreshing. My beloved thinks so too, she said how skilled and considerate you are to make such intimate, meaningful gifts."
Y/N swallowed hard, unsure of how to deal with the pain in her heart.
Lucien’s words lingered in the air as they continued their walk through the bustling street, the crowd swirling around them, but somehow, in that moment, Y/N couldn’t focus on anything but him. His voice, light and full of praise, filled her ears, but it was his tone—so earnest, so full of admiration—that made it difficult to breathe properly. Her heart raced faster than she cared to admit, and her palms felt clammy, despite the cool evening air.
She adjusted the bags in her arms, suddenly feeling as if they were too heavy. Not physically, but emotionally. It was as if the weight of the situation had shifted in a way she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t used to being the center of someone’s genuine attention. And certainly not from someone like Lucien, who had this way of making everything feel... different.
“I’ll be coming back soon enough,” he said, his voice almost playful, as if the idea was already a certainty. “I want to see what else you’ve got for her. You’ve got a real talent, Y/N. The kind of talent that can make something as simple as a piece of jewelry feel like the most treasured possession in the world. She loved it, I’m telling you. And if I’m honest, I think she’ll want more of what you can do.”
Y/N’s breath caught at his words. There it was again—the mention of his “beloved.” She tried not to flinch, but it was hard. It felt like a cold, sharp dagger in her chest, no matter how gently he said it. Every mention of his relationship with someone else was like a reminder that she was just someone passing by in his life, someone who was only there for his business, for his orders, nothing more.
Yet, despite the ache that echoed in her chest, she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. His words—those damn words—had this way of making her feel... seen. They made her feel as though, maybe, for just a moment, she wasn’t just a shopkeeper in the middle of a crowded city. She was someone worth talking to, someone worth valuing.
Her fingers clenched around the handles of her bags, the fabric bunching in her grasp as her pulse raced. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond to him without sounding like a fool. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, either. She didn’t even know why his words were affecting her so much. It was just Lucien—just another customer, right? Another male who would leave once his business was done, and she would go back to her quiet life, her work.
“You’ll be back?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, though she hoped he didn’t notice. Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she spoke. “To see more? For more gifts?”
Lucien’s grin widened, that easy, carefree grin that made everything else fade away for a brief second. “Of course,” he replied, almost as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, how could I not? There’s no one else who could do what you do. No one who could make something so... meaningful, so perfect. She’s never received anything like it.”
His words, the praise that seemed to pour out of him without a second thought, made her stomach twist in a mixture of delight and unease. It was hard to tell which emotion was winning.
As they neared the turn that would lead her to her home, the words began to settle on her in a way that almost felt like a weight. The streets around them seemed to grow quieter, the bustle of the city fading into the background as she focused on the way his voice still lingered in her mind.
“I’ll come back soon enough,” Lucien continued, as if he hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere between them. “Maybe next time, we can talk more. I’d like to see what other ideas you have, Y/N. You’ve got a talent for making things that speak to people. Not everyone has that.”
It took everything in Y/N to keep walking, to keep herself composed. But his words—they kept echoing, over and over again, in her mind. He didn’t know it, but the way he said them... the way he made her feel as though what she did mattered, as if she mattered, was something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I’d like that,” she managed, though her voice was barely above a whisper.
Lucien turned to her, his smile softening, though the brightness never fully left his face. He was a man who wore his emotions openly, without hesitation, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire him for that. It felt almost... freeing, the way he was so sure of himself, so certain of the path he walked. She wished, in that moment, she could feel as confident as he did.
As they reached her door, Lucien paused, standing a little too close, a little too warm. The air between them felt charged, alive with unsaid words and unsaid feelings.
“Well, here we are,” he said, glancing down at her bags once more.
Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from herself. All she knew was that in that moment, standing on her doorstep with Lucien’s warmth radiating off of him, she didn’t want this feeling to go away.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible as she finally looked up at him.
“Anytime,” Lucien replied, giving her one last smile before turning to leave, the evening sun casting a golden glow over the two of them as he disappeared into the street.
Y/N stood there for a long moment, watching him go, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. She hadn’t realized until he was gone just how much she had wanted him to stay.
Lucien sat across from Elain, the soft glow of the firelight illuminating her features. It had been a quiet day, but one that seemed to stretch on endlessly as the quiet intimacy between them grew more tangible. Elain sat delicately, her fingers brushing the smooth gold chain of the locket he'd given her. She had worn it all day, something he noted with quiet satisfaction.
She lifted the locket, turning it over in her hands, the elegant, subtle design catching the light. It was simple—gold, a slight curve, a soft engraving of leaves on the surface. But its true value, he thought, was in the tiny compartment inside, perfect for a pressed flower, a piece of her soul captured in something as delicate and beautiful as her. His fingers itched with the memory of creating it. It had been carefully crafted, just as his feelings for her had been.
"It’s... it’s perfect," Elain said, her voice soft, but her eyes shining as she looked at him. The locket hung from her neck, resting delicately against her collarbone. "I haven't taken it off since you gave it to me. I know I’ve thanked you a thousand times already, but… thank you. It’s beautiful."
Lucien’s heart skipped a beat. She had thanked him a thousand times, and each time, his smile had grown a little wider. He leaned back in his chair, watching her, the soft light making her appear even more ethereal than she already was.
"Seems you really like it," Lucien said, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think it would win you over so easily.”
Elain laughed softly, her lips curving into a smile that made his heart flutter. "Oh, yes. I haven’t taken it off since the moment you gave it to me." She paused, her fingers lightly brushing the gold, the motion tender. "I wear it every day. I can’t stop thinking about it."
"Good," Lucien said, his voice low, his eyes fixed on her. "It means a lot to me that you like it. I wanted it to be something meaningful, something personal for you."
Elain’s expression softened, her eyes flickering with warmth. "You really do put thought into everything you do, don’t you?" She glanced at him through the strands of her hair, almost shy. "It’s one of the things I like most about you."
Lucien’s chest tightened at her words. "You’re too kind," he murmured, though inwardly, he swelled with pride. To see her finally appreciating his efforts, to see her wear something he’d sought out with such care—it felt like a victory. His happiness wasn’t in the locket itself, but in knowing that she was accepting him, piece by piece.
But then, something flickered in his mind—a shadow, an intrusion of a memory that threatened to pull him away from the moment. It was a flash of Y/N, her face, her eyes. He had spent the entire afternoon helping her, picking up the pieces of her scattered goods. He remembered the small smile she’d given him, but there had been something in her eyes that made his stomach twist.
She had seemed so guarded. Like she was fighting against something, even as she thanked him. Something about the way she had looked at him—it wasn’t warmth or trust. It was as if she was trying to keep herself safe, distant.
He pushed the thought aside, but it lingered, like a distant whisper. Had he done something to wrong her? Had he said or done something that made her shut him out?
But no, that didn’t make sense. He hadn’t done anything to her, not really. It was just a fleeting moment.
"Lucien?" Elain’s voice brought him back, the soft sound of his name grounding him.
He blinked and looked up, meeting her eyes. Her gaze was steady, warm, a slight tilt to her lips. "I’m sorry, I was just thinking," he said, a bit embarrassed at how easily he had become lost in his own mind.
Elain tilted her head, the smile on her lips still lingering. "What were you thinking about?"
Lucien hesitated, then shook his head with a small laugh. "Nothing important," he said, brushing it off. "Just... my work. You know, trying to figure out what to do next."
Her eyes softened in understanding. "I can imagine you’ve been busy lately. You always seem to have a thousand things to do."
He chuckled. "It’s true. But I don’t mind. It keeps me distracted."
Elain leaned back in her chair, her hands folded delicately in her lap. "Distracted from what?" she asked gently, her voice soft, but curious.
Lucien paused, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he answered. "From the thoughts that linger. Things that I can’t always control." His voice was quieter now, more reflective.
She returned his smile, and for a moment, the weight of his thoughts disappeared. There was just the quiet warmth between them, the kind of comfortable silence that only came with being around someone who truly understood.
And yet, in the back of his mind, that small flicker of a thought—the image of Y/N, her guarded smile, and the soft sting of her distance—remained. Why? They had never met until two days earlier anyway, why was she so guarded?
But for now, he would push it aside. He was here with Elain, and he would not let the shadows of other thoughts mar this small, precious moment.
"I’m glad you like the locket," he said softly, his voice full of sincerity. "I want you to have something special, something just for you."
Elain gave him a small smile, "Thank you, Lucien. For being interested enough to learn more about me. I appreciate it."
And for the first time, he truly believed it.
The shop smelled of old paper and cinnamon, the comforting scent wrapping around Y/N like a familiar embrace. The soft hum of the fireplace in the corner crackled in contrast to the steady rain tapping against the windowpanes. It was peaceful—until her grandmother decided to ruin it.
"I told you, I can handle it on my own," Y/N huffed, arms crossed as she watched the older woman sort through a pile of newly arrived books. "You just got over a fever. You should be resting, not coming back here a day after getting out of bed."
Her grandmother, Arlena, snorted, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Oh, please. I had a fever, not one foot in the grave." She adjusted her reading glasses and peered at Y/N over the rim. "Besides, if I leave you alone any longer, you'll turn this place into a monastery with all your brooding. We’d have to start selling candles and prayer books."
Y/N groaned. "Grandma—"
"I bet you've been sighing dramatically all day," Arlena continued, clearly not done tormenting her. "Scaring customers off with that tragic heroine look."
Y/N narrowed her eyes. "You are insufferable."
"And you are overly dramatic."
Before Y/N could argue, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. She immediately straightened, smoothing out her expression into something polite and professional. But the second she turned toward the entrance, that careful mask nearly cracked.
Lucien.
Of course.
The comfortable warmth of the shop suddenly felt suffocating as the heaviness settled in her chest. Still, she plastered on the most well-practiced smile she had, the one meant for customers who didn't need to see the turmoil twisting inside her.
Lucien approached with easy confidence, his russet-red hair glinting under the golden light, his sharp features relaxed yet unreadable. He dipped his head slightly in greeting, his golden eye gleaming with its usual sharpness.
"Good evening," he greeted, voice smooth as ever.
"Good evening," Y/N returned, her voice polite but distant. "Looking for anything in particular?"
Lucien’s lips twitched slightly. "Got anything else that might make a good gift?"
Y/N nodded toward the back of the shop. "You can take a look at our collection of specialty items. I’ll be with you in a moment."
Lucien inclined his head in thanks before heading in that direction, the warmth of his presence lingering even as he moved away.
The second he was out of earshot, Arlena let out a low whistle, arms crossed as she watched him disappear behind the shelves. "You know what? Maybe it’s time for you to rest, dearest. I can handle customers like him very well."
Y/N hissed in embarrassment, nudging her grandmother with her elbow. "Grandma!"
Arlena smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "What? He’s got the whole ‘handsome yet brooding’ thing going for him. I could charm a discount out of him in five minutes."
Y/N sighed, shaking her head as she reluctantly made her way toward Lucien, who was already examining some of the handcrafted gifts on display.
She folded her hands behind her back, keeping her posture composed. "Anything catch your eye?"
Lucien glanced at her, then back at the delicate selection of items. His fingers brushed over a carved wooden box, then a small silver quill set. "You’ve got an interesting collection here," he murmured. "Everything feels… personal."
"That’s the goal," Y/N said simply.
Lucien hummed in thought before picking up a set of delicately embroidered bookmarks. "These are nice. Who makes them?"
"Local artisans," Y/N replied. "We try to source from people around town. Everything here has a story behind it."
Lucien nodded thoughtfully before moving to another table where an ornate, hand-painted music box sat. He ran his fingers along the smooth surface, his expression unreadable. "And this?"
Y/N kept her hands clasped in front of her, her professionalism unwavering. "It plays a lullaby originally composed for the Spring Court’s faelings," she explained. "The design is inspired by an old legend about firebirds."
Lucien smiled wryly. "Sounds nostalgic."
"It’s meant to be," she replied, tilting her head slightly. "Memories tend to sell well."
Lucien studied her for a moment before finally exhaling and picking up the music box. "I’ll take this one."
"Good choice," Y/N said, though inwardly, she just wanted this whole interaction to be over.
She reached for the music box to take it from him, but Lucien’s fingers tightened around it, holding it in place.
Y/N’s brow lifted in confusion. "Yes?"
He hesitated, his golden eye scanning her face, as if searching for something. Then, quietly, he asked, "Have we met before?"
Y/N blinked, caught off guard.
Lucien exhaled, looking almost… frustrated. "I mean, did I—did I ever do something bad to you?" His voice was careful, uncertain. "I keep getting this feeling, like—like maybe I did something, and I don’t remember."
For a brief moment, Y/N’s mind stilled.
Did he know? Did he sense it?
The years of hurt, of disappointment, of feeling invisible in a way she never quite had the words to describe. Did he really not see it?
But then, Y/N’s lips curved into her most practiced, fake smile. The one she wore when she wanted to shut everything down.
"No," she said smoothly, voice dripping with false lightness. She ripped the music box from his grip, her fingers tightening around it. "Why would I ever be hurt by you? I mean, you and I are strangers, right? So what could you have possibly done to hurt me?"
Lucien stared at her for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. But then he let out a small, hesitant laugh, shaking his head. "Right," he muttered. "Nothing, I suppose. My mind fooled me once more."
Y/N merely turned on her heel, leading him toward the counter for checkout.
As she started wrapping the music box, her grandmother leaned forward on the counter, watching Lucien with an amused glint in her eyes. "You know, for someone who’s only been here twice, you sure have my granddaughter looking like she’s about to combust."
Y/N nearly dropped the music box. "Grandma!"
Lucien let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. "I’ll take that as a compliment."
Arlena grinned. "Oh, you should. I haven’t seen her this flustered in years."
Y/N glared at her grandmother, her jaw tightening. "I am not flustered."
Arlena winked at Lucien. "She’s flustered."
Lucien chuckled as Y/N shoved the wrapped gift into his hands, eager to get him out of here. "Enjoy your music box."
Lucien inclined his head, still amused. "I will. Thank you, Y/N."
And then, with one last knowing glance from Arlena, he left.
The moment the door shut, Y/N turned and tossed the nearest soft object—a small pillow from the chair—directly at her grandmother.
"Grandma! What the hell was that?!"
Arlena cackled, dodging the pillow with ease. "That, dearest, was me making your life a little more interesting."
Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. "I cannot believe you."
"Believe it, sweetheart." Arlena patted her on the shoulder before disappearing into the back room.
And Y/N… was left alone.
With her thoughts.
The city streets were quieter now, the late evening washing everything in a muted glow. The lamps lining the cobbled roads flickered in the gentle breeze, their golden light stretching long shadows across the stone. Y/N pulled her cloak tighter around herself, her breath steady as she walked.
She hadn’t left the shop intending to wander, but after the long day—after him—she needed out. Needed space from the shop’s small walls, from the lingering weight of Lucien’s presence and the way his gaze had felt too… probing. Too curious.
Y/N exhaled sharply. It was nothing. It should have been nothing.
Then she turned the corner and saw him.
Lucien stood beneath the glow of a nearby lantern, his copper hair catching the light like embers. But he wasn’t alone.
Elain Archeron.
Y/N stopped walking.
Everyone knew of the Archeron sisters. The human girls who had been Made, their fates forever changed.
Feyre, the youngest, had become High Lady—a force to be reckoned with, a warrior forged through hardship. Y/N had no personal connection to her, but there was a level of respect, even admiration, for what she had endured.
Nesta, the eldest, had been the city’s whispered scandal. Sharp-tongued and untamed, a woman who did not bend, who did not break, no matter how much the world might have tried. Y/N understood that sort of resilience.
But Elain…
Y/N had never given her much thought.
She had seen her in passing before—always soft-spoken, always delicate. A gentle soul, some would say. But Y/N never knew what to make of her. She wasn’t like her sisters.
And yet, she was the one standing with Lucien now.
The realization struck like a physical thing.
Lucien’s beloved.
Y/N didn’t know what she had expected, but it hadn’t been her.
Something tightened in her chest, something sharp and unwelcome.
Elain’s fingers absently brushed over the locket around her neck—intricately crafted gold, simple yet elegant. A piece of jewelry that Lucien must have given her.
A gift. The one she helped him pick out.
Y/N swallowed, forcing her expression into something blank, something indifferent, though she doubted either of them had noticed her yet.
Elain spoke softly, her voice barely carrying over the distance, but Lucien—he listened, watching her with that unwavering attentiveness of his. His face was unreadable, his posture relaxed. No tension. No hesitation.
Why should there be?
This was his beloved.
Y/N should not care.
And yet, she lingered.
It wasn’t jealousy—not in the way one might assume. It wasn’t some petty envy or longing for what Elain had.
It was the ache of something unspoken. The reminder of what she had always known.
She was nothing to him.
And that truth shouldn’t sting, but it did.
As if sensing something, Lucien’s gaze suddenly flicked up.
Y/N’s breath caught.
Their eyes met.
His expression didn’t shift. The faintest flicker of surprise, there and gone too quickly to be sure it had even been there at all. He held her gaze, studying her, as if trying to place something—trying to understand something.
But Y/N refused to be the one to look away first.
So she let her lips curve into something polite. Something detached. Then she turned and walked past them, her steps measured, her spine straight.
Lucien didn’t call out.
Didn’t stop her.
But even as she disappeared down the street, she could feel his gaze lingering.
And for some reason, even after she was gone, he found himself glancing around.
As if searching for something.
As if searching for her.
Y/N had grown used to Lucien’s presence in her shop. Too used to it.
It was his third visit in what felt like an insultingly short span of time, and she found herself more irritated than ever as she carefully wrapped another one of his purchases. She had expected—no, hoped—that he wouldn’t return after the second.
And yet, here he was.
"Seems like Lady Elain has truly liked the gifts if you’re already on your third visit," she muttered, voice deliberately flat as she secured the wrapping with a ribbon.
Lucien, lounging against the counter as if he had all the time in the world, let out a low chuckle. "Well, I do aim to please."
She didn’t respond, instead focusing on adjusting the twine around the package.
But Lucien wasn’t done.
"You have no idea how much your meaningful trinkets have gotten her to finally open up to me."
Y/N’s hands stilled for the briefest moment before she forced herself to keep working. She didn’t roll her eyes, didn’t scoff aloud—but inwardly? Cauldron save me from this nonsense.
Meaningful trinkets.
As if her work was merely some tool in his desperate attempts to win over his mate.
She didn’t care. She didn’t.
But something about the way he said it, about the way he sounded so damn pleased with himself, made her fingers tighten around the edge of the package.
She slid it across the counter toward him, waiting for him to take it. But before Lucien could, a voice chimed in from the back of the shop.
"Dear, when will you be taking the package to Day Court again?"
Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose. Not now, Grandma.
She flicked her eyes toward the elderly female standing in the doorway, her hands idly dusting off an old book. Then, deliberately, she glanced at Lucien—who was not paying attention, seemingly distracted by something on the shelf behind her.
At least, that’s what she thought.
But the moment she turned back to bagging another order, his voice cut through the air.
"You have a package to deliver to Day Court?"
Y/N stilled, then sighed. "Yes. And?"
Lucien crossed his arms. "Do you know your way around there?"
She didn’t answer at first, simply shook her head slowly as she resumed packing the next order. "No," she admitted. "It’s the first time a customer from there has placed an order."
"And not just any customer," Arlena added cheerfully, much to Y/N’s growing irritation. "It’s Lord Calion, one of High Lord Helion’s closest confidants."
Y/N shot her grandmother a sharp, warning look, but it was too late.
Lucien had already perked up, his amber eye gleaming with recognition. "Oh? Him? I know him very well. Personally,too. He’s close with Helion."
Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, surprised despite herself. "Helion, as in High Lord Helion?"
Lucien nodded, a small smile curling on his lips.
She wanted to say something—wanted to press further—but she caught herself, biting her tongue. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her business.
Instead, she focused on tying up the next package, gathering Lucien’s order as quickly as possible. When she finally held it out to him, expecting him to take it and leave, he didn’t move.
Instead, he asked, "How will you go there?"
Y/N clenched her jaw. "That doesn’t concern you. Have a good day."
She shoved the package toward him, but he still didn’t budge.
His golden eye gleamed as he murmured, "It seems like you can’t winnow, either. Can you?"
Y/N was seconds away from snapping at him, but her grandmother—traitorous as ever—let out a dramatic sigh and announced, "Nope! She can’t."
Y/N shot her a glare, but the old female only grinned before adding, "A shame, really. Guess the gift of winnowing just skips certain generations. Disappointing, isn't it?"
Y/N hissed, "Keep talking, Grandmother, and I’ll start selling your beloved tea set piece by piece."
Lucien only laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "You know, I could help you."
Y/N raised a brow. "What?"
Lucien shrugged, casual as ever. "Well, I did just say I know Calion personally. And I’m close with Helion, too." He gestured vaguely. "Not to mention, I can winnow you there and back. Easy."
She stared at him, completely indifferent. "No thanks."
He blinked. "But—"
"Don't you have a beloved, sir?" she cut in smoothly, tilting her head.
Lucien’s lips parted slightly, his entire body stilling at the remark.
Y/N didn’t give him the chance to respond before continuing, "And besides, you aren’t the only one who can winnow. Plenty of my friends can do so, too. I do not need your help."
Lucien’s jaw flexed, but he forced himself to remain polite, nodding slightly as if to say, Suit yourself.
Y/N didn’t wait for him to come up with a reply. She simply shoved the package into his hands and turned away, effectively dismissing him.
Lucien lingered for half a second before exhaling and stepping toward the door.
Just as he was about to leave, he glanced at her grandmother, who had been watching the whole exchange with a knowing look.
Arlena gave a dramatic sigh and muttered, "Don’t look at me, boy. She’s been like this for the past couple of days."
Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Then, without another word, he slipped out of the shop and into the bustling street beyond.
Y/N barely spared him a glance.
But even after he was long gone, her mind still lingered on the offer she had so easily refused.
Elain had invited him for tea. It had been a quiet afternoon in the gardens of the River House, the sun casting golden hues across the table as the scent of fresh blooms lingered in the air. She had been talking—softly, sweetly, as she always did—about something he should have been paying more attention to. He tried, truly. But his mind was elsewhere.
"—I have to say, you’ve really found my favorite place," Elain mused, twirling the delicate porcelain teacup in her hands. Lucien blinked, snapping back to the present.
Elain gave him a knowing look, then gestured to the gift box resting on the table between them—the latest thing he had brought her. “That little shop you go to,” she continued. “Everything you’ve chosen for me from there has been perfect. I don’t know how you always manage to pick exactly what I love.”
Lucien exhaled a soft laugh, rubbing at his jaw. “Well, I can’t take all the credit,” he admitted. “The shopkeeper knows what she’s doing.”
Elain smiled, but her gaze remained sharp as she studied him. “You seem distracted,” she noted, setting her teacup down.
He hesitated, swirling the tea in his own cup. It wasn’t like him to dwell on things like this. And yet—
“I feel like I’ve done something to her,” he finally admitted, surprising even himself with the words.
Elain frowned, confused. “To whom?”
Lucien sighed. “Y/N.”
Recognition flickered in her expression, but her confusion only deepened. “The shopkeeper?”
He nodded, leaning back against the cushioned chair. “She always acts like I’ve personally offended her in some way. Like I’ve done something unforgivable.”
“Have you?”
“No. Not that I know of,” he said, shaking his head. “At least, not until three days ago when I walked into her shop for the first time and was met with her guards all up around me.”
Elain pursed her lips, thoughtful. “You’re sure you’ve never met her before?”
“Never,” Lucien said with certainty. “Not until then.”
Silence stretched between them as Elain considered this, her brows furrowing slightly. “And you’re sure it’s not just her personality?”
He thought about it. It wasn’t as if Y/N was cruel—she wasn’t outright rude to him. But there was something beneath the surface, something sharp and wary in the way she spoke to him, in the way she barely held his gaze for longer than a second.
“It’s more than that,” he murmured. “It’s like she already had her mind made up about me before I ever said a word.”
Elain hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Feelings like that don’t come from nowhere.”
Lucien glanced at her, arching a brow. “You think she has a reason to hate me?”
“I think,” she said carefully, “that something about you unsettles her. Whether it’s something you did or just something you remind her of—I don’t know.”
Lucien scoffed, shaking his head. “Great. So my mere presence is an offense.”
Elain rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. But… maybe you should talk to her.”
Lucien huffed a laugh, the very idea of that absurd. “And say what, exactly? ‘Hello, I noticed you look at me like I ruined your life, and I’d really like to know why?’”
Elain laughed, but the sound quickly softened into something more thoughtful. “Maybe she won’t talk to you,” she admitted. “But she might talk to me.”
Lucien stiffened slightly, eyeing her warily. “You want to go there? To talk to her?”
Elain nodded. “She might open up if it’s just the two of us. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to another female about things like this.”
He considered it, tension tightening in his chest. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it felt… ridiculous to pursue an answer over something so small. But also because some part of him wasn’t certain he wanted to know why she had such an obvious grudge against him.
Still, Elain had a point. Feelings like that didn’t come from nowhere. And Y/N’s feelings toward him—whatever they were—had been evident from the start.
Elain reached across the table, touching his hand lightly. “If it bothers you this much,” she said gently, “maybe it’s worth figuring out.”
Lucien exhaled through his nose, considering the weight of that.
Maybe it was.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of chaos.
Between scrambling to find someone to make the delivery to the Day Court on time, handling the usual influx of customers, and him—Lucien—showing up in her shop repeatedly, Y/N felt like her mind was barely clinging to sanity.
Thankfully, she had managed to avoid having to travel to the Day Court herself. One of her employees, a young fae male who owed her a favor, had reluctantly agreed to handle it. A small victory. She hadn’t wanted to leave Velaris, especially not now, when she felt like she had to keep an eye out for a certain red-haired male.
Because for years, she had only ever seen him from a distance. A flicker of movement in a crowd, a presence at gatherings she wasn’t part of, a name she heard in passing but never dared to say aloud. And now? Now he was here, in her space, disrupting the quiet life she had built.
It was unsettling. It was infuriating.
And worse—it was Lucien Vanserra.
Of all the males in the world, he had to be the one tangled up in her life. And not just in any way—but because of her.
Elain.
Y/N’s hands stilled where she was rearranging a small display of trinkets, her jaw clenching. Of all the females he could have been with, it was her. The golden, delicate beauty that fit into his world as if she had been sculpted for it. It wasn’t that Y/N hated her, not really. But something about Elain—about seeing her with him—made her stomach churn unpleasantly.
And maybe, just maybe, that irritation seeped into her interactions with Lucien, whether she meant it to or not.
She sighed, shaking off the thoughts, and resumed sorting the trinkets onto their shelves. The shop was quiet now, save for the occasional rustling of fabric and the soft creaking of wood as she moved.
Until the door opened.
Y/N barely glanced up at first, assuming it was another customer, until her grandmother’s voice called out from the front counter.
“Y/N.”
She turned. “Yes?”
Arlene, perched behind the counter, didn’t bother looking up from the ledger she had been flipping through. But the teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable.
“You’ve got company,” her grandmother said, dry and amused. “And not the one from the past few days.”
Y/N frowned at that, stepping around a shelf to get a better look—
And then she froze.
Because standing in the shop, bright-eyed and elegant, was Elain Archeron.
Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Elain, who she had only ever seen from afar. Elain, who was here, standing in her shop, looking like she belonged in a painting of soft pastels and golden light.
Elain smiled, soft and warm as she took a step forward.
“Hello,” she greeted, her voice as sweet as spring.
Y/N’s mind went blank.
Her body locked in place, her thoughts tangling into an incoherent mess.
And she could do nothing—nothing at all—as Elain Archeron closed the space between them.
She was frozen. Completely, utterly frozen.
Elain Archeron was hugging her.
It wasn’t a tight hug, just a light embrace, the kind that barely lasted a second. But it was warm, soft, filled with a kind of unfiltered sweetness that Y/N didn’t know what to do with.
And when Elain pulled back, she was beaming.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet the most creative seller out here!” she said, her voice airy and bright. “You have no idea how much I’ve been loving your creations. Lu has been giving me the most wonderful gifts, and when he told me about your shop, I just had to come see it for myself.”
Lu.
Y/N heard the nickname, felt it like a slow, twisting knife to the ribs.
She had always known they were close. It was obvious in the way he looked at Elain, in the way he spoke about her. But hearing it so casually, so effortlessly affectionate—it made something deep inside her curl inward, as if retreating from a battle she had already lost.
Still, Y/N forced herself to breathe, to gather the splintering pieces of herself and piece them back together before they shattered completely.
Distant but polite. She could do that.
“I’m glad you like them,” Y/N said, keeping her voice even, measured. “Lucien is a generous customer.”
Elain smiled even brighter. “Oh, he really is! He always picks out the most beautiful pieces. You’re very talented.”
Y/N barely managed a nod, her thoughts whirling too fast to grasp onto anything solid.
She needed to breathe. She needed to keep herself together.
So, she tilted her head, forcing a small, unreadable smile onto her lips as she asked, “Well, what brings you to our humble shop? Usually, it’s just Lucien who comes by to buy you surprises, but it seems different now.”
Elain laughed softly, as if Y/N had just uncovered some grand secret. “Oh, you know, he talked a lot about you, and I just had to come check this place out myself.”
Y/N’s smile tightened. Oh, how nice.
She wasn’t sure what made her more uncomfortable—the fact that Lucien had been talking about her, or the fact that Elain, Elain, had gone out of her way to meet her.
Before she could figure out how to respond, Elain turned to her grandmother. “Arlena, is the shop usually busy during these hours?”
Her grandmother barely glanced up from the ledger she was flipping through. “Not particularly. Why?”
Elain’s smile grew as she turned back to Y/N. “Well, I’d love to go out to Velaris Brewhouse—you know the one, right? Just down the road? There are some things I feel like I could talk about with you.”
Y/N’s stomach dropped.
She barely managed to let out a nervous laugh, her mind racing. What?! What was this girl thinking?! They had just met!
But before she could even attempt to find an excuse, her grandmother—her traitorous grandmother—snorted and waved a hand.
“Oh, please,” Arlena said, far too amused. “Do take her. It’s about time my granddaughter made some friends. I can manage for the next few hours.”
Y/N shot her grandmother a look—a full-bodied death glare that promised a long, long discussion later.
Elain turned back to her, expectant and hopeful. “Great! Would you like to?”
There was no way out.
Y/N barely kept her jaw from clenching as she forced a smile. “Let me grab my cloak. I’ll be right back.”
She turned and strode into the back room before she could betray how fast her heart was racing.
What. The. Hell.
What was happening?
She had merely ever heard of Elain as the Archeron sisters made quite the noise in the immortal lands, and now, suddenly, she was about to go out and have coffee with her like they were friends?
She grabbed her cloak, hands slightly unsteady, her thoughts a whirlwind of panic and frustration.
This was not how she had imagined interacting with Elain Archeron for the first time. And Lucien—Lu—why had he talked about her enough for Elain to seek her out?
Her chest tightened at the thought.
She needed to be careful. Needed to keep her walls up, needed to not let Elain see how deeply this affected her.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed back out.
Because whether she liked it or not, she had no other choice.
She emerged from the back room with her cloak draped over her shoulders, her mind still reeling.
Elain was standing by the door, hands clasped together in front of her, looking as effortlessly radiant as ever. Her soft brown curls framed her delicate face, her hazel eyes filled with warmth and sincerity.
It made Y/N’s stomach twist.
Her grandmother, traitor that she was, gave her an innocent little wave as Y/N hesitated by the counter.
“Go on, dear,” Arlena said, a wicked glint in her eye. “Enjoy yourself.”
Y/N wanted to strangle her. Instead, she forced a tight smile and turned back to Elain. “Shall we?”
Elain beamed, pushing open the door. “Yes!”
The bell above the door jingled as they stepped outside.
Y/N walked beside Elain in silence, her mind still scrambling to make sense of what the hell was happening.
It was a short walk to Velaris Brewhouse, the cozy little café that sat nestled between a bookstore and a florist. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries greeted them as soon as they stepped inside, and Y/N inhaled deeply, as if the familiar aroma might ground her somehow.
Elain led them to a small table by the window, where golden sunlight streamed in, casting everything in a soft glow.
“So,” Elain said as they sat down, her voice light, easy. “Do you come here often?”
Y/N blinked. Really? Small talk?
“I do,” she admitted, settling into her chair. “It’s close to the shop, and the coffee is good.”
Elain didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. She was glancing over the menu, humming softly to herself.
The server came over, and Y/N ordered her usual black coffee, while Elain asked for some floral tea blend that Y/N had never heard of.
The silence stretched for a moment.
Then, Elain set the menu down and leaned forward slightly, her expression shifting.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s just… Lucien has been talking about you quite a bit.”
Y/N’s grip on the edge of the table tightened.
What?
Elain smiled, completely oblivious to the way Y/N’s chest was slowly caving in. “I was curious,” she continued. “He seemed… troubled.”
Y/N forced a breath, forced her lips to curl into something that resembled a smile. “Troubled?”
Elain nodded. “He said he felt like he had done something to offend you, and he couldn’t figure out what. He seemed genuinely bothered by it.”
Y/N’s throat went dry.
She wasn’t sure which part of that sentence made her feel worse—the fact that Lucien had noticed her hostility, or the fact that he cared enough to dwell on it.
Elain watched her closely. “I guess I just wanted to see for myself what kind of a fae you are.”
Y/N swallowed. “And?”
Elain grinned. “I like you.”
Y/N blinked.
The words shouldn’t have affected her, shouldn’t have made her stomach drop like that. But they did.
She opened her mouth, unsure of what she was even about to say, when the server returned with their drinks.
Y/N wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, letting the warmth seep into her skin, trying to steady herself.
Elain took a sip of her tea, then leaned back slightly. “So… why do you dislike him?”
Y/N nearly choked on her coffee.
She coughed, clearing her throat, before slowly setting her mug down. “Excuse me?”
Elain just smiled, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of their conversation.
“I mean,” she continued, stirring her tea, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so—” she paused, searching for the right word, “—guarded around Lucien before. You look at him like he’s personally wronged you in another life.”
Y/N was stunned into silence.
Because the worst part was—Elain was right.
She did look at Lucien that way. She did hold something against him, even if he had no idea why.
But she wasn’t about to tell Elain that.
So, Y/N exhaled slowly and took another sip of her coffee before giving the only response she could think of.
“I don’t dislike him.”
Elain arched a perfectly shaped brow. “You sure about that?”
Y/N clenched her jaw, gripping her mug a little tighter.
She had no idea how she was going to survive this conversation.
The conversation should have been light. Should have been nothing more than polite pleasantries over coffee. But something about the way Elain looked at her—gentle, curious, but just a bit too knowing—made Y/N uneasy.
Elain hadn’t come here just to meet her.
She had come here to study her.
And it wasn’t long before Y/N felt like she was under a microscope.
“So,” Elain said after a sip of her tea, her voice still honeyed but carrying an undertone of something sharper. “How long have you lived in Velaris?”
Y/N took a careful sip of her coffee, as if it might buy her time. “A while.”
Elain hummed. “And your shop? It’s lovely, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Y/N forced a polite smile. “It was my grandmother’s before mine.”
Elain’s fingers traced the rim of her teacup. “It must be nice, having something passed down like that. A piece of your family’s history.”
Y/N gave a short nod. She wasn’t sure where Elain was going with this, but she had a feeling it wasn’t anywhere good.
Elain watched her for a moment before continuing, “I suppose you already know quite a bit about me, then.”
Y/N tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’ve lived here for a while, and if Lucien has been coming to your shop…” Elain trailed off, tilting her head. “I imagine you’ve heard about us.”
There it was.
Y/N kept her expression neutral. “A little.”
Elain smiled, but there was something unreadable in her eyes. “I take it you know the way me and Nesta were turned into Fae, then?”
Y/N’s grip on her coffee mug tightened.
The Cauldron. The war.
She nodded. “Cruel way, truly.”
Elain sighed, looking down at her tea as if it might hold answers. “Yes. Cruel.”
For the first time since they sat down, Y/N caught a flicker of something raw beneath Elain’s carefully composed exterior.
But then Elain exhaled, shaking off the moment like a bird ruffling its feathers. She looked up again, her usual softness returning. “And you? Have you always been Fae?”
Y/N’s breath caught, just for a second.
A simple question. An easy one to answer.
But her mind lurched back—back to that moment, back to that feeling of something snapping inside her, something she had never wanted, something she had lost.
Lost.
Y/N forced a casual shrug. “More or less.”
Elain’s brows lifted slightly, as if catching on to the vagueness of the response.
But she let it slide, instead stirring her tea slowly. “I suppose it must be different for those born this way.”
Y/N swallowed. “In some ways.”
A quiet moment passed between them.
Then, Elain sighed. “I suppose bonds work differently for you too, then.”
Y/N’s body went rigid.
She almost didn’t react, almost kept her face impassive, but—gods, the word bond still made her flinch, still made her stomach twist.
And Elain noticed.
Y/N saw the way her hazel eyes sharpened just slightly, though she kept her expression smooth.
Y/N cleared her throat, trying to cover up whatever had flickered across her face. “Bonds?” She let out a short, forced laugh. “Not much different, I suppose.”
Too much. That was too much.
But Elain just smiled, as if she hadn’t noticed.
Y/N let out a silent breath of relief.
She thought she was in the clear.
What she didn’t notice, however, was the quick flicker of calculation that crossed Elain’s face. The subtle narrowing of her eyes. The slight shift in her posture.
Elain had caught something.
But she didn’t press. Not yet.
Instead, she leaned forward again, resting her chin on her hand. “So, you don’t dislike Lucien?”
Y/N nearly choked on her coffee again.
The sudden shift in topic threw her off balance.
She hesitated, quickly schooling her expression. “I… don’t know him.”
Elain gave her a small, knowing smile. “But you feel something about him.”
Y/N’s heart pounded.
She forced herself to scoff lightly, shaking her head. “I think he’s just…” She exhaled, waving a hand vaguely. “A bit much.”
Elain’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something in her gaze now—something that made Y/N feel exposed.
She knew Elain wasn’t aggressive like Nesta or blunt like Feyre. She wasn’t one to interrogate with sharp edges and harsh words. Atleast that's what she heard.
No.
Elain was different.
Elain’s way of questioning was gentle, subtle—so deceptively kind that people wouldn’t even realize they were being unraveled until it was too late.
And Y/N felt it.
She felt like a thread slowly being pulled apart.
So she drained the last of her coffee and pushed back from the table, eager to end this conversation before she let anything else slip.
“Well,” she said with a tight smile, “this has been… nice.”
Elain studied her for a beat longer, then gave a small nod. “It has.”
Y/N stood, and Elain followed. They stepped out of the café, the air cooler now as the sun dipped lower.
As they started back towards the shop, Elain tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “I hope we can do this again.”
Y/N nearly tripped.
Absolutely not.
She forced another polite, distant smile. “We’ll see.”
Elain just hummed, seemingly unbothered by the noncommittal answer.
They reached the shop far too quickly, and Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she was so eager to be home.
Elain turned to her one last time, that same bright, sweet smile on her lips. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
Y/N nodded stiffly. “Goodnight.”
Then, without another word, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.
She exhaled heavily, resting her forehead against the wood.
That had been a mistake.
She had let something slip.
But… Elain hadn’t seemed to catch it, right?
Right?
Y/N shook off the unease and turned away.
She prayed to any god that Elain would never come back.
The shop smelled of cedar and vanilla, the scent of newly stocked candles mixing with the warmth of the evening. Y/N went over and sat on a stool behind the counter, picking at the edge of a ribbon that had come loose from one of the display boxes.
Her grandmother, Arlena, stood by the shelves, carefully rearranging a stack of leather-bound journals. The only sound between them was the rustle of pages, the faint creak of wood settling.
Until Arlena spoke.
“So.” Her voice was casual, but Y/N could hear the knowing lilt in it. “How was your little outing with the Archeron girl?”
Y/N stiffened.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Arlena would bring it up. The elder was sharper than most gave her credit for.
Still, Y/N didn’t look up. “It was…fine.”
Arlena snorted. “Oh, I’m sure.”
Y/N let out a slow exhale, setting the ribbon down. “It was weird.”
Arlena turned, brows lifting in interest. “Weird how?”
Y/N hesitated. But what was the harm in telling her grandmother?
“She was too friendly,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Like, unnaturally friendly.”
“Some people are just like that, dear.”
Y/N shook her head. “No. Not in that way. It felt… like she was studying me.”
Arlena hummed, crossing her arms. “Maybe she was just curious.”
Y/N let out a short laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe she was looking for something.”
Her grandmother tilted her head. “Like what?”
Y/N hesitated again. She couldn’t tell Arlena about the bond—about what had once tied her to Lucien. That was a secret she had vowed to keep buried.
So she shrugged instead. “I don’t know. It just didn’t feel right.”
Arlena considered her for a long moment before sighing and shaking her head. “I told you before, child. Stay away from complicated people.”
Y/N scoffed. “If only it were that easy.”
Arlena smirked. “It is that easy. You just have to actually do it.”
Y/N didn’t respond.
Because wasn’t that what she had been trying to do? To keep her distance, to forget, to pretend none of it had ever happened?
And yet—
For the next few days, Lucien didn’t come to the shop.
Y/N told herself she was grateful.
At last, she wouldn’t have to see him. Wouldn’t have to deal with his lingering presence, wouldn’t have to feel that ache deep in her ribs every time he walked through the door.
And most of all, she wouldn’t have to see Elain either.
He had probably gifted her enough things by now. Probably had no reason to come back anytime soon.
Which was good.
It was what she wanted.
And yet—
The shop felt a little quieter.
A little emptier.
She shook the thought away.
It didn’t matter.
Lucien Vanserra was not her concern.
And whatever game Elain was playing—whatever that strange, polite interrogation had been—Y/N would not let herself get caught up in it.
Because none of it mattered anymore.
It couldn’t.
It had been a week since Elain’s visit to the shop.
At first, it seemed like nothing had changed. The usual hum of life in the shop, the steady stream of customers, the soothing rhythm of placing trinkets on shelves and organizing the displays. But then, whispers began. At first, they were subtle—just a few low murmurs as people passed by the front of the shop. Y/N thought little of it, chalking it up to the usual gossip that floated through the streets. After all, she was used to being somewhat of a mystery in the neighborhood, being a quiet female with an uncommon shop.
But as the days passed, the whispers grew louder.
Customers who had been regulars for months suddenly stopped coming. She could see their eyes darting away when they saw her, like they had something to hide. The air in the shop felt heavier, like a weight she couldn't escape. Her grandmother Arlena noticed it too, her sharp eyes narrowing as she made her way to the counter.
“What’s going on, child?” Arlena asked one morning as she placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, her voice laced with concern. “Why are there so many fae talking behind your back?"
Y/N stiffened, her stomach flipping. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the rumors had been growing more bizarre and outrageous by the day. “Did you hear about Y/N?” one woman had whispered to another as she passed by the window the other day. “Apparently she was once a lover of Lord Theon... but she drove him mad, and now she's in hiding here, desperate to get him back.”
The rumors were becoming more scandalous by the minute—talk of betrayal, manipulation, even that Y/N had used forbidden magic to keep this...this Lord Theon bound to her in some twisted way. How had this happened?
Y/N’s hands trembled as she set down the delicate porcelain cup she had been polishing. “I don’t know, Grandma,” she muttered, her voice thick with disbelief. “I don’t know what they’re saying. Why would they—why would anyone say these things about me?”
Arlena’s eyes darkened. “I know you, girl. You don’t tell me everything, but I can tell when something’s off. You better set this straight before it ruins your name. You’ve worked hard for this shop, and I won’t have it fall because of some... rumor.”
Y/N’s mind spun. The thought of Lucien, of everything that had happened between them, seemed so distant now. And yet, here she was, caught in a web of lies she hadn’t spun. But who had? Who was behind these rumors? The connections between them were fuzzy, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t something that was just happening by chance.
The next day, things only got worse. A couple of familiar faces walked into the shop, only to turn on their heels and leave when they saw Y/N behind the counter. Their whispered words traveled to her ears: “Oh, no. Not her. I heard enough already.”
A cold sweat prickled Y/N’s skin as she watched them go. She could feel the walls of her shop closing in on her.
And then, she saw it: the headline on the local gossip board.
Lord Theon’s Ex-Fiancee? Witchcraft? A Hybern Loyalist? Secrets and Scandals Surround the Mysterious Shopkeeper.
Her heart dropped to her stomach. This was no coincidence. Someone had been spreading lies—dangerous lies. But why? Why was she being targeted like this?
Her hands gripped the counter as her mind raced. Who could this all be linked to?
As the whispers continued to grow and the people continued to shun her, Y/N’s thoughts churned like a storm inside her mind.
And as the days passed, she found herself slipping deeper into uncertainty and fear, unsure of who to trust, unsure of what to do.
The past few days had been a blur. Whispers, gossip, rumors—nothing but a whirlwind of chaotic stories that seemed to swirl around Y/N like smoke, obscuring her true nature. Every time Lucien walked through the streets, he overheard hushed conversations, people casting furtive glances in his direction as if he should somehow know more about it. And yet, he hadn’t.
He didn’t understand why this was happening. Why would anyone target her? The Y/N he knew—quiet, reserved, and focused on her shop—was nothing like what the rumors painted her to be. Even if he didn't know her for too long. Yet, despite all the outrageous claims, one thing had become clear: she was not being left alone.
It troubled him more than he cared to admit. His thoughts constantly circled back to her—her coldness, her guarded nature. Had it all been an act? Had her aloofness been the result of some past betrayal, or was it because of something that had been building all along? Something that, even now, he couldn’t quite grasp.
The question gnawed at him: was Y/N hiding a darker side? Or was she simply someone who had been dragged into a web of lies, caught in the aftermath of forces beyond her control?
Lucien stood up from the window, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought of the one place that might offer him answers: her shop. He wasn’t planning to buy anything, of course. He had no need for her goods, but something in him wanted to visit. To offer some support, maybe even to clear the air. It wasn’t like he was the one who’d been wronged here—if anything, it was her who had been dragged into this mess, and it unsettled him to think of her going through it alone.
But there was hesitation. He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be walking into. After all, if the rumors were true... If she really had betrayed someone, as they said...
Lucien’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Elain’s soft voice, like honey dripping into his ears. He was sitting out in the garden of the townhouse, a comfortable yet uneasy silence filling the space between them. Elain had been talking about something—likely her latest social endeavors, but Lucien wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere, wandering back to the shop, to Y/N, to the heavy weight of the gossip that had been spreading.
“Lucien?” Elain’s voice reached him again, this time with a soft, sweet question that made him blink, as if she had been speaking for a while.
He looked over at her, caught off guard by the sudden shift in her tone. "Sorry, what?"
Her expression was bright, almost innocent, and Lucien was a fool. Elain had perfected that look—the one that made her seem all sweetness and light when, in truth, her thoughts were never as pure as they appeared.
“I asked you what was bothering you.” Elain smiled at him, a soft, concerned curve of her lips. “You’ve been quiet. Is something wrong?”
Lucien sighed, a hand running through his tousled hair as he glanced back down at the empty garden, the silence almost too much to bear. “It’s Y/N,” he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his thoughts. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but... things have been difficult for her lately. People are saying things.”
Elain’s gaze flickered, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Lucien to catch it. Her eyes widened slightly, and she tilted her head, feigning innocence. “What do you mean, ‘things’?”
Lucien’s frown deepened, his frustration growing. “Rumors, Elain. Terrible rumors. About her... and her past. It’s getting out of hand. I was thinking of going to her shop, just to... check on her. Offer some kind of support.”
He looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing on his chest. There was something inside him, something deep and unsettled, that wanted to be there for Y/N. She had helped him in the past—she had given him something precious when he needed it, and that was something that wouldn’t be forgotten.
But as his thoughts spiraled, his voice trailed off, unsure whether visiting her was the right thing to do. Was it a good idea? Or was he only walking into a trap that others had set for her?
Lucien didn’t notice Elain’s subtle shift, the slight narrowing of her eyes as she processed his words. Instead, he was too caught up in his own guilt and confusion to realize how the conversation was unfolding.
“Oh, Lucien,” Elain’s voice broke through his thoughts again, but this time, it was coated in something different—sweet, almost condescending. She leaned forward slightly, her smile still soft but her words cutting through the air with precision. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, you know? We have... a reputation, after all.”
Lucien frowned, sensing the shift in her tone but not fully understanding it yet. “What do you mean?”
Her expression grew more serious, her gaze locking onto his with that same intensity he knew so well. “Lucien, you’re a respected figure. People look up to you. If you go to that shop, everyone will know. You’ll be seen as just another person who’s been fooled by a woman who clearly isn’t what she seems. I mean, the rumors—the truth—they’re everywhere.”
Lucien blinked, momentarily taken aback. “But... there’s no proof. It’s just gossip. You can’t honestly believe—”
Elain cut him off gently, her voice coaxing and smooth. “Of course I believe you, Lucien. You know I do.” She placed a hand on his arm, her touch soft but firm. “But think about the bigger picture. People are already questioning her. Her loyalty. Her intentions. You wouldn’t want to risk your image by associating with someone who’s been labeled... a fraud, would you?”
Lucien’s mouth went dry. “But I thought she—”
“I know,” Elain interrupted, her voice turning softer, sympathetic, but with just the slightest hint of mockery hiding behind her words. “Not everyone is how we perceive them. People can be deceptive, no matter how kind they seem. And, honestly, what’s the point in defending someone who’s only going to drag you down with her?”
Lucien’s gut churned, but there was a part of him—a part that he could barely recognize—that hesitated. Elain’s words were soothing, in a way. They made sense, at least on the surface. He was starting to feel the pull of her reasoning, the doubt beginning to take root in his mind.
She gave him a small, almost pleading look. “Lucien, please. We have an image to maintain. Think of us. Think of ourfuture, the way people view us.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but Elain’s voice was soft, sweet, persuasive. “We’re above all of this, above the gossip. You’re better than that. You deserve to be surrounded by people who lift you up, not drag you into their messes.”
Lucien ran a hand over his face, feeling the weight of her words sink in. His heart, once determined to visit Y/N and see her through whatever storm she was facing, now wavered. The idea of being seen with her, of standing by her when so many others were turning away, felt less certain now.
Elain smiled sweetly, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Lucien’s mind was still a storm of confusion, but as he glanced at Elain, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation—this manipulation—had been planned all along. Still, with her voice ringing in his ears, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had no choice but to let go of his initial plan.
He sighed heavily. “Fine. I won’t go.”
Elain’s smile deepened, though it never quite reached her eyes. “Good. I’m glad you’re seeing reason.”
The past few days had been a blur of silence. The usually steady hum of her shop had dissolved into a haunting emptiness. The customers who once bustled in and out, filling the air with chatter and curiosity, had disappeared. The shelves she’d meticulously organized now stood untouched, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel as though the walls themselves were closing in on her.
She sat behind the counter, mind spiraling into a labyrinth of confusion, disbelief, and anxiety. The whispers outside her door were becoming unbearable, lingering like an oppressive fog in the back of her mind. Hybern loyalist? A witch? Ex-fiancée of Lord Theon?
Who was Lord Theon?
Y/N couldn’t make sense of any of it. She had never even heard that name before. And as for the rumors—well, they were all nonsense. But no matter how hard she tried to push them away, they stuck to her like tar. And now, with her customers turning their backs, the weight of it all felt suffocating.
Alone in the quiet of the shop, with only her racing thoughts for company, Y/N sank deeper into her spiraling confusion. She hadn’t even thought of Lucien in days, not truly. The rumors were too consuming, too overwhelming. Yet, even as her mind churned through every possible scenario, she couldn't help but wonder: Was this why he never came back?
She thought about the time they'd spent together—the closeness, the surprising comfort. The connection that had drawn them to one another, despite the distance and the years. Did he know? Had he heard the rumors? Or worse, had he believed them?
Her chest tightened at the thought. She’d always known their bond was complicated, full of unspoken words and tangled emotions. But she never expected this.
Just as Y/N was lost in the mess of her thoughts, the door to the shop burst open, the force of it shaking the walls. The door slammed shut just as violently, making her jump. She looked up, her heart hammering in her chest, and saw Elain standing in the doorway.
But this time, there was no warm, bubbly smile on Elain’s face. No soft, welcoming energy. Elain’s eyes were cold, calculating—a far cry from the sweet, innocent demeanor Y/N had once seen in her.
Y/N stood up instinctively, confusion flooding her. What was she doing here?
“Hello, Y/N,” Elain said, her voice deceptively sweet, but there was a sharp edge to it that made Y/N’s blood run cold.
“Can I help you with something?” Y/N asked, her voice betraying none of the unease swirling inside her.
Elain’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Yes, you can. You can pack your things and leave. Now. Before things get worse for you.”
Y/N froze. Her pulse raced, her mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice shaking with disbelief.
Elain’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play coy with me, Y/N. I know the truth.”
Y/N’s stomach dropped. The truth? She felt a chill run down her spine. “What do you mean?”
Elain stepped forward, her heels clicking with a rhythm that seemed far too confident. “After our little conversation in the café, I had my suspicions. The way you reacted to that talk about bonds... it wasn’t hard to figure out that you have quite a past, and one that involves a mate.”
Y/N’s breath hitched. She hadn’t told anyone. She hadn’t even spoken of Lucien in years, not in the way she should have. How could Elain know?
Elain continued, her tone mocking. “I took a little time to investigate. Turns out, you and Lucien have more than just a bond. You’ve had it for years—a hundred years, in fact. But poor Lucien doesn’t even know, does he? Funny how that works, isn’t it? But don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows the truth soon enough.”
Y/N’s mouth went dry. “How?” she breathed, her mind racing, trying to piece it all together. How did she know?
Elain’s smile widened, almost sinister. “It wasn’t hard to figure out, really. My gift isn’t just for the future, Y/N. I can see the past, too. And what I saw was... illuminating.”
The words hit Y/N like a physical blow. Elain had used her powers to pry into her life, to find out what she’d hidden so carefully. She wanted to scream, to demand why Elain thought she had the right to invade her privacy like that. But Y/N was frozen in place, her body rooted to the spot as Elain’s words continued to echo in her ears.
“And now,” Elain’s voice dropped, cold and dangerous, “I’m going to make sure everyone knows. The rumors are just the beginning. You’re going to leave this shop, Y/N. And if you don’t, well...”
Elain’s gaze darkened. “In a few days, I’m afraid I’ll have to make sure you’re locked up in a cell. That’s what happens to traitors, isn’t it? People like you.” She laughed softly. “Hybern loyalist, witch... betrayal... Oh, I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the rest of the scum.”
Y/N’s mind was reeling. She couldn’t process the storm of emotions crashing into her all at once. “Why?” she finally managed to croak. “Why are you doing this?”
Elain’s eyes hardened. “Because I can’t have Lucien’s attention wandering. He’s mine, and I’m not about to let someone like you get in the way.”
Y/N was stunned, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “You... can’t... You wouldn’t...”
Elain’s smile was smug, full of superiority. “I already have. You’re nothing to him, Y/N. Nothing more than a memory he doesn’t even know he has. I’m the one who deserves his love, his attention. I’m the one who’s worthy.”
Y/N’s chest tightened with anger and shock. This was the woman who had once seemed so sweet, so kind. But now, she stood before Y/N, a cold, calculating enemy.
“But... Lucien doesn’t know? Does he know about all this? Is that why he hasn’t come to see me?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with fear and confusion.
Elain’s eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. “Oh, he knows, alright. I told him everything. And do you want to know what he said? He was disgusted. So disgusted that he couldn’t even bring himself to look at your little shop again.”
The words hit Y/N like a slap to the face. Disgusted. The word reverberated in her head, over and over again, until it felt like it was drowning her.
She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re lying,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Elain tilted her head, feigning sympathy. “I’m not, darling. I wish I were. But you’ve already lost him. He’ll never come back to you.”
Y/N felt the ground beneath her feet shift. All the uncertainty, the fear, the confusion—it was suddenly too much. She was drowning in it. And all she could do was stand there, unable to fight back, as Elain’s cruel words swirled around her.
With a final, venomous smile, Elain stepped toward the door, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. “You have 24 hours, Y/N,” she called over her shoulder. “Pack your things. Leave this place, and never come back. Or I’ll make sure these rumors get even worse. I promise you, you’ll regret this.”
And with that, she was gone, leaving Y/N standing in the quiet of her shop, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of the threat heavy on her shoulders.
Lucien... She didn’t know what to think anymore. Did he believe Elain? Was she really so insignificant to him now? Had he ever cared?
Y/N’s mind spun in endless circles, the weight of the rumors and Elain’s cruel words crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her throat as the reality settled in: she was alone.
And soon, she would lose everything.
He lied.
Even as Elain’s soft words curled around his mind, urging him to let go, to forget, to move on—he had lied. He was going back to see her. He didn’t know why, didn’t know what he expected to find, but the thought of Y/N, alone in that little shop, had lingered in his mind like a splinter he couldn’t remove.
He shouldn’t care.
Shouldn’t be thinking about her at all.
But something about the way she had looked at him that last time—something in her eyes, in the way she held herself, in the quiet hesitations between her words—had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t shake. It was wrong, the way her absence gnawed at him. It was wrong that he still remembered the way she smelled, the way her fingers had once brushed against his when she handed him something, the way she looked away just a second too late, as if she didn’t want to stop looking at him at all.
Elain would hate this.
The thought slithered into his mind, unwanted.
But he pushed it away because it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He just needed to see her, just once, just to put this restless feeling to rest.
Lucien turned the corner, his heart beating just a little too fast, the familiar sight of her shop coming into view—
And then—
He stopped.
Everything inside him stopped.
The door was boarded shut.
Rough wooden planks nailed haphazardly across the entrance. Red paint smeared in crude lettering. Out of Service.
His breath left him.
The street moved around him, the city still alive, but Lucien stood utterly still, staring at the place where her shop should have been. The place where she should have been.
Gone.
Without thinking, his feet carried him forward. His throat was tight when he turned to the nearest person, catching the sleeve of a passerby. "This is—this was—Y/N’s shop," his voice came out rough. "Did she move? Where did she go?"
The male barely spared him a glance. "Oh, her? Last I heard, she left a day ago."
Lucien's fingers clenched. "Where?"
The male only shrugged. "Don’t know. All I know is she doesn’t work or live here anymore." Then he shook Lucien’s grip off and walked away, disappearing into the crowd as if he hadn't just unraveled something deep in Lucien’s chest.
Warnings - no smut-just aftercare, Lucien's gloriously naked ass, mentions of bite marks/scratches, established bdsm dynamic/relationship
Author's Note - this was a fun little something to write for kinktober. remember yall, aftercare is just as important as the fun stuff when it comes to kink. divider by @/saradika-graphics
You were floating. Weightless. Free. Eyes closed and drifting into a sea of darkness, flickers of light sparking behind your closed lids as they danced around your field of vision. There was no thought of your body, no pulling drag of your limbs. Just a tingling, heady peace that enveloped you all over.
“Shh.” The rush of air passed over your ear, unsettling and soothing all at the same time. “Breathe with me,” Lucien’s rumble of a voice sounded next.
You felt the pressure of his heavy hands on your chest and abdomen, sinking slowly into you as you jolted beneath them. The crashing feeling of reentering your body startled you and you realized all at once that you were crying. Wet tracks lined your face, your breath hiccuping in your chest.
The weight of his hands increased, the pressure grounding you to your body as you felt his chest rising forcefully behind you. Cradled in his arms, back pressed to his front, it was if he were holding the fragments of you together.
“Deep breaths, lovely,” he whispered as you felt his chest expand again.
You followed his command, pulling in a shuddering inhale even as your brain still spun, unable to cling to words or thought. Tears still streamed from your eyes as the weight of your body settled into the warm wall of muscle behind you, the weightless feeling dissipating like morning dew in the light of the sun.
“That’s it. I’ve got you.” His breath fanned over your cheek sending a shiver down your spine, goosebumps erupting over your arms. “Again.”
The intensity of your emotions threatened to spill over again, your exhale leaving you in a rush bordering on a sob. His arms tightened around you, anchoring you to him. Hands pressing harder to your chest and belly, keeping you focused on your breathing.
You kept breathing, filling your lungs with every expansion of Lucien’s chest behind you, savoring the heat of his skin against yours. You were sitting in the v of his legs, propped against the headboard of your shared bed, head leaning back against his shoulder. Once you were centered, breath steady and even, he pulsed his arms around you tighter once more.
“Welcome back,” he chuckled against your neck.
You smiled lazily, feeling as if you could hardly move a muscle without strenuous effort. Slowly the soreness of the night's events seeped into your consciousness. Your legs trembled as you tried to shift them against the sheets, muscles weak and aching.
“That was pretty intense, huh?” He dropped his arms slowly, allowing you to shift higher up, your hands rubbing at your face and swiping away the tears. “How do you feel?,” he questioned.
You tried to find the words but nothing came. Your brain still felt as if it were floating, drifting, somewhere else entirely, even as you wiggled your toes and stretched your limbs, testing the feel of your soreness.
Lucien seemed to gather the intel despite your lack of words. Easing his way from behind you, he stacked the pillows against the headboard, guiding you down upon them. Reaching for the nightstand, he grabbed the jar that sat there, ready and waiting.
The smell of eucalyptus and witch hazel filled the room as soon as he unscrewed the top. Astringent and pleasing, you settled into the bed further, knowing what was coming. His long fingers dipped into the thick lotion inside as he took his place at the foot of the bed.
Gathering your legs onto his lap, he started first on your calves, kneading gently and rubbing into the muscles. You groaned, closing your eyes and sensing that weightless feeling tease at your head again.
The room remained silent aside from both of you breathing. Lucien’s hands continued working their magic, moving higher up your body as you began to recall every moment of the night that left you feeling as you do now. The twisting and bending, writhing and panting, biting and scratching, legs folded into positions that only Mother Above knew where Lucien had conceived of them.
You felt his hands slip under the soft cushion of your ass cheek bringing with it a flare of hot pain. Oh yes, the spanking. How could you forget?
“Roll over,” Lucien said softly. You twisted, hissing a little at the sore feelings that cropped up over your body, his large hands moving to guide you onto your stomach. Another slather of thick lotion was spread over your flaming cheeks, soothing away the hurt.
After you had been rubbed thoroughly from head to toe, you rolled back over, meeting the gaze of the beautiful fae male that hovered over you, golden eye gleaming. “How do you feel?,” he asked again.
Relaxed and sated, you hummed, thinking before you spoke. “Great,” you rasped, your throat dry. “But hungry.”
Lucien laughed quietly, his mouth tilting up into a beaming smile. “I think we can take care of that.” He swiveled his hand in the air between you and in the blink of an eye, he was holding a tall glass of water. “But first, drink this.”
You sat up once more, leaning back against the soft down of the pillows and accepted his offer. Bringing the perfectly chilled water to your lips, you drank. Slowly at first and then chugging, the thirst that first sip awakened within you was fierce.
Taking the now empty glass from you, Lucien carried on. “What are you thinking? Something sweet or savory? I think we still have some of those lamb canapes left over from the other night?”
“Ohhh, yes,” you sighed. “Those please. And a slice of cheesecake too, pretty please.”
“Sorry, lovely,” he said with a kiss to your nose. “But the cheesecake was finished off yesterday. We might have some chocolate laying around?”
“Look behind the strawberry jam in the very back to the right. I stashed away the last piece.” You smiled a scheming smile, giggling to yourself.
Lucien threw his head back laughing, hair gleaming in the moonlight that streamed into the room from the window. “Coming right up.”
He didn’t even bother to clothe himself, striding from the room stark naked, gloriously toned ass on full display. The bright red welts down his back and darkening bite mark to his shoulder didn’t miss your attention either.
Your eyes drifted closed as you waited, but you slowly rolled each joint of your body one by one as you laid there, keeping yourself from slipping into slumber before your hunger was quenched.
The click of the door pulled you back from that fuzzy headspace. Your body was fully relaxed, sore but in that delicious healing way, yet your stomach rumbled.
“Perfect timing,” you quipped as the tray was laid over your lap. You popped one of the delicate flaky pastries in your mouth, sighing in pleasure as the flavor burst on your tongue.
Lucien brought his hand to your face, stroking the backside of his knuckles along your cheek. “Any pain?,” he queried, brow pinching slightly.
“Nothing of note,” you spoke around the mouthful before swallowing. “I’m alright, Lu.”
“You had me worried there for a minute.” He swept his thumb under your eye where your tears had fallen. You leaned forward, grasping at his arm braced against the bed for support and brought your mouth to his tenderly.
“And you knew just what to do. Just like always.” Reaching up you slipped one hand to the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair and scrubbing your nails against his scalp. With a moan, he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, reveling in the sensation.
“I know you’ve always got me, Lucien,” you continued, settling his torso against you now. “You torture me in every way,” you smiled as he huffed a laugh against your skin. “But you always bring me back unharmed.”
Lucien lifted his head now, staring directly into your soul intensely. “I trust you, with every part of me.” You stabbed at the cheesecake on the plate before you with your fork, lifting it to his lips. “Now, eat.”
He flicked his gaze down, pulling back slightly and looking as if he might refuse. “I saved the last piece for you,” you encouraged, following his mouth with the fork.
“Oh, really?,” he smiled doubtfully.
“Yes. Really,” you huffed. “Eat.” His lips parted and his tongue darted out, landing on the underside of the fork before pulling it into his mouth seductively with a wink. You giggled at his antics, handing him the now empty fork before reaching for the plate of cheesecake and shoving that into his hands too.
“Now turn around,” you prodded gently at his ribs. He shifted himself to sitting along the edge of the bed without protest. Picking up the jar that laid on the bed, you unscrewed the top and dipped your fingers inside. Dabbing first at the purpling bite mark, you gently rubbed until the lotion was absorbed. You worked your way across the expanse of his skin, covering every fresh mark with a thin sheen of lotion.
Setting the jar back on the nightstand, you reach inside the drawer now, grabbing the brush that laid there. You gathered Lucien’s shining hair into the palm of your hand, working gently at the ends with the brush, careful to hold it away from the still raw skin of his back. The burnished strands gleam against the pale freckled skin as you worked your way up, carefully untangling the knots you encounter. As you finished, you separated his long hair into bundles, weaving them evenly into a loose braid.
Without a word, Lucien’s hand reached over his shoulder, handing you a leather tie that he seemingly produced from nowhere. You fastened off the end of the braid, rubbing at his shoulders with your palms. He turned smoothly to face you again, grasping your hands with his own as they fell back to the bed.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He moved to standing, grabbing the tray from across your lap and setting it aside.
“Join me?” You asked as he slipped his muscular arms beneath you and hoisted you into his hold.
“After I change the sheets.” Your eyes scanned over the bed as he walked toward the bathroom. The covers were a tangled mass sliding to the floor, one corner of the sheets popped off, exposing the mattress beneath, dark spots of moisture spread over nearly the entire width of the bed.
“We did make a bit of a mess, didn’t we?,” you giggled.
“We? That was all you, sweetheart,” he teased.
“I couldn’t have accomplished all that without your help, you know.” You slapped playfully at his shoulder and he smirked at you.
Lucien ran the water to the perfect soothing temperature and poured in the oils and salts before easing you into the delicious warmth. When he returned from his task, he slipped in behind you, cradling you the same way he had earlier in the bed. You leaned back against him, pulling his arms around you before reaching one hand up behind your head and rubbing at his face.
“How do you feel?,” you questioned. “Anything you need?”
He nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss to its center. “No, I have all I need right here.” He brought his knees up, caging you into the curve of his body beneath the water as he pulled you tighter against him.
You relaxed into him further, allowing your eyes to drift closed in the heated silence of the bathroom. You didn’t even remember making it back to the freshly made bed, awaking only hours later, cocooned in Lucien’s arms, cheek pressed to his hard chest. You kissed at the skin closest to you sleepily and felt him shift you closer into his grasp before dozing off once more.
general taglist - @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @c-starstuff-man0 @chairofchaos @secret-third-thing
lucien comes home late at night. he's so tired. all he wants is a warm bath and some good sleep. he doesn't find you waiting for him as usual, tho. it's weird. he's used to be climbed like a tree by you as soon as he step into the house, but tonight you are not there.
he searches for you everywhere only to find you asleep in your shared bed, wearing one of his shirts and hugging his pillow.
he basically falls in love with you all over again. you're the prettiest angel he has ever seen in his entire life. he can't tear his eyes off of you. he steps closer, careful not to wake you up. one of your legs is hooked around the pillow, exposing your skin.
he realizes you're not wearing anything underneath. your sex is exposed for him and him only. you had fallen asleep like a good girl, waiting for him to come back. his cock stiffens in his pants, begging to be freed.
lucien can't keep his hands to himself. the soft skin of your thighs and ass just looks so inviting... he starts with gentle and innocent caress, just wanting to feel your warmth. but he wants more. you've been a good girl for him, and you deserve a reward. he is careful not to wake you up when he quickly gets up and undress himself.
he slowly pulls up the shirt just enough to discover your lower back. he quickly licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry at the view. he's exhausted, and you're probably too, but he cant bring himself to stop, his blood his boiling in his veins.
he needs to restrain. you are helpless, you didnt even notice him. he could take you right now without any problem, but it's not fair. but... that's exactly what is turning him on so much he has to unzip his pants to free his cock - you're defenceless, free for him to use. his little princess.
his hand moves between your folds, the touch of his fingertips barely there, just enough to cover your skin in goosebumps. but you dont seem to notice, and he goes on undisturbed. his fingers find with expert movements your little button, circling it slowly. his eyes are fixated on your face, looking for any sign that you might be awake. your breath fastens, but your still very asleep.
with his other hand he pumps his cock a few times, some droplets of precum already leaking from his red and angry looking tip. he gently moves you on your back, and the vision is ethereal. the shirt - his shirt, his so thin that he can see your nipples through the frabric. all he wants to do his putting his mouth over them and worship you like you deserve. but tonight it's not about you. its about him.
he opens your legs, your sex now exposed more than ever. if you were awake, you would probably complain with red cheeks, embarrassment filling your mind. but now... he can do whatever he wants. he is not ashamed to admit that this type of control makes him go crazy.
he change position. now he's between your legs, his nose just mere millimetres from your centre. lucien could feast on you like you were the last meal in the whole Prythian, but he doesnt. he wants to make this moment last for the entire eternity, thats why he licks your folds slowly, to taste the waters. to see how you would react. you let out a sigh, your face relax even more, but other than that - nothing.
his tongue naturally searches for your entrance, hungry for the sweet nectar you're the only one capable of providing for him. his pace quickens a bit, eager to feed himself. his cock is so hard its painful, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. this is like heaven, he thinks, maybe he's dead, maybe he's really in heaven.
but its all real, expecially when he hears your little moans. he forces himself to slow down and watch your pretty face that is scrunched in a pleasured expression. he uses his hands to keep you in place, massaging your skin with a softness that causes a dark contrast with the way he's eating you out. his thumb finds your clit. lucien is needy to hear you sing for him. a particularly loud whimper excape your lips the moment he starts to draw circles on the bundle of nerves, his tongue burning inside you, deeper and deeper.
"lucien..?" you're so confused on what's happening, a moment ago you were alone in your bed and now a red head is between your legs. you're about to ask for explanation, but lucien doesnt stop his movements and the feeling washes all the coherent thoughts in your mind. "shhh..." he groans, the vibration from the sound just adding to the pleasure. "just enjoy, pretty." it might sound like an invitation, but his hand locks you in the bed and you cant move or protest even you want. not that you want, tho.
his circles on you clit became tigher and tigher, just like the knot thats quickly forming in your stomach. you call his name so many times it sounds like a chanter, you're not sure if you're complaining or asking for more with your pleas, but hes not listening either. "i'm... I'm so close, lu." you cry out. you wish you could move to stand on your elbows and look at him, but you're too afraid he will stop. instead, you just lay there and take what he gives you. "let go, love. let go." he can feel your walls spasming around his tongue, your cunt begging for release.
you're lucky that its exactly what he wants to give you. with one last lick, you fall over the edge. its like fireworks exploding under your skin, a feeling you will never get used to. he helps you get through it, keeping you in place as you try to arch your back. his tongue and hus fingers dont stop until you're begging for him to do so.
he press one last kiss to your sex and quickly climbs you, positioning himself on top of you, between your legs. "hello there." he says softly, his nose brushes your neck, breathing your scent. you smile. your hands, that just moments ago were gripping the sheets, now find their place on his hair, giving him some comfort.
a hard presence presses on your belly, reminds you that tonight is not over. he smirks just like a fox and position himself so his tip brushes against your centre. "i hope you didnt think it was over, love." oh, you have a long, long night ahead of you.
“If you stay in the sun much longer, you're going to turn into a lizard.”
You cracked open one eye to watch Lucien walk onto the terrace.
Smiling from your spot on the lounge chair, you said, “You should join me.”
He gave you an amused look. “You've been there for an hour at least. I'd rather not.”
“Oh, come on.” You finally sat up and stretched your limbs. “You can't refuse.”
Lucien sat on the edge of the lounge chair next to yours and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“And why is that?”
“Because you're the Heir of the Day Court, duh.” You clicked your tongue. “The sun is literally part of your genes. Sunbathing should be your favorite hobby.”
Lucien laughed, shaking his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
“Well, sunbathing means sweating,” he replied, “and I don't like that.”
“But I do.” You smirked. “Take off your shirt. Let me enjoy the view.”
He arched a brow, flashing you that grin that had made you fall in love.
“You want me to take off my shirt?”
You nodded. “Mhm. I want to see you glistening with sweat, shining in the sun.”
“I don't shine in the sun, though.”
You waved your hand. “Details. Are you taking it off or not?”
“Fine.”
You were just teasing him. You hadn't really expected him to do it. But Lucien grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off in a smooth motion.
Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you took your time admiring his muscles—his sun-kissed, golden-brown skin the only thing on your mind.
“My eyes are up here, sunshine.”
“Oh, I know.”
He sighed, and only then did you look up at him. Your smile widened.
“So, will you lie here with me now?” you asked. “I need something to look at while I get a tan.”
Lucien took a deep breath, then muttered, “The things I do for you…”
But you saw the smile on his face as he settled into the lounge chair and closed his eyes.
Lucien didn't yell much. In fact, you could swear that since he became the high lord, he'd only yelled at most twice, once to a guard and the other to eris. He'd never once dared to yell at you or let anyone yell at you either.
On one particular morning, lucien was up to his toes in requests and paperwork from his citizens. As were you with duties of making sure the soldiers you trained were in line. Lucien hadn't thought much of having his high lady train his elite soldiers, infact he found it rather sexy.
All are obedient. In particular, Atlas, a tall pale soldier from the winter court who'd run away to be with his wife and children and found sanctuary in the day court. Atlas was the most elite soldier, lucien had, always followed orders.
"Can I see your report?" You stepped in front of him, holding out your hand.
Atlas gave you a thick 16-page stack. Unexpected but classy sure. You went over his report. "It says here you went to the night court for 4 days. Why?"
"To visit my -" "No, that's not what I asked"
You eyed the soldier. "To visit my sister as I was just saying!"
You blinked and smiled. Scratching at your jaw, the smell of wood and solar flares was suddenly completely surrounding you. Lucien.
"Yell at her again, I dare you" his voice was bold and thunderous yet quiet in a way only lucien could do.
You felt the heat radiating off him. "My apologies, milady, milord"
"Don't let me hear this again," lucien kissed your scarred cheek. "Sorry for yelling, my firefly"
Summary: You find the bed empty upon waking up. Bundled in your blanket, you head out to find Lucien and demand that he warm you up.
Tags & Warnings: Fluff, suggestive but nothing explicit (if i miss anything, let me know)
Word Count: 1077
Links: Masterlist
Sunight creeps languidly through the heavy drapes, heralding the persistent call of the waking world. The day has come, and in minutes, the entire room is bathed in golden light. You’re forced to relinquish the last dregs of sleep clinging to you. You roll over expecting to find Lucien beside you, only to see that his side of the bed is empty. You run your palm over the sheets and find them still warm.
With one last stretch, you pull yourself out of the bed and onto your feet. You wrap the blanket tightly around your shoulders, not ready to give up their warm embrace just yet. The manor is deathly quiet as you pad through the hallways as if the rest of the world is as reluctant to wake too. The persistent chill of winter remains in the air, the tiles as cool as ice beneath your feet. The blanket trails on the floor behind you, and you can already imagine the legendary scolding Jurian would give you if he were to catch you. You imagine Vassa would only laugh at you, if she wasn't too busy being a bird.
Thankfully, no such altercations occur, and you find Lucien sitting in the library, busy reading what you assume are reports from Prythian. He’s lounging by the fire, clad only in his rumpled, unbuttoned tunic and plain trousers. His legs are carelessly spread, his cheek resting on his hand - the picture of relaxed nonchalance. Lucien wears finery like a fine suit of armor, his bravado like a sword secured at his hip, and it’s rare to see him so unguarded, so candid. When he spots you, all bundled up, by the door, a bemused expression makes its way across his face.
“You left,” you sniff indignantly.
His only response to your complaint is a smirk. So you pad deeper into the room until you're standing in between his legs. The smug look on his face only seems to grow at the increased proximity.
“Why?” He asks. “Did you miss me?” Lucien’s eyes trail down your body with deliberate slowness, stalling over your exposed thighs. His hand comes up to grasp the side of your hip, a movement made instinctually, naturally, as though his existence only makes sense when you’re there, with him.
You don’t deign to respond, but you let him pull you onto his lap. He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin as he continues to read. You sink onto him, enjoying the heat that perpetually radiates off his body. He’s basically a sentient furnace, your love. Your hands trail beneath his shirt and he jolts the moment your cold hands make contact with his skin.
“Mother’s tits, you’re freezing.” He exclaims, wiggling in his seat.
“Because you left,” you retort, running your hands languidly over his back. Goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. “This is your doing, miscreant.”
Lucien cackles but recovers. “Apologies, my lady,” Lucien says with exaggerated gravity, his hand over his chest. “I’m adequately chastised. I’ll be sure never to abandon you in bed again.”
“You better,” you threaten, trying to fight the smile from emerging on your lips. “Or else I’ll find someone else to warm my bed.”
Lucien stiffens, holding you tighter against him as if readying to fight off anyone who dares to draw near. With his hand on your chin, he lifts your head to meet his gaze.
“What was that?” He speaks, something dangerous lingering in the depths of his words.
You raise your brow in challenge. “I said, if you keep leaving me I’ll find-“
He shuts you up with his lips on yours, but it’s a soft fragile thing. His lips move against yours like the back and forth of a waltz. Lucien pulls you tighter into his embrace, enveloping you in the scent of sandalwood, cinnamon, and smoke. You melt against him and think that you could stay like this forever, as long as you’re with him. You want to lay here even as the world cracks and burns around you, until the both of you are covered in ivy, moss, and memory.
As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Lucien deepens the kiss. Your lips willingly part for him and he licks into your mouth, eager for a taste. His hands are molten against your skin, kneading the pliant flesh of your hips from where your nightgown has ridden up. You can feel his chest expand as he inhales your scent as if reminding himself that you’re with him, in this moment, and there you will remain until your body gives out from the force of loving him.
Eventually, the two of you have to break the kiss. Just there, his forehead on yours, breathing the other in. Idly, you tap your finger over the freckles on his chest, parsing them like constellations in the night sky. You wonder what prophecies you’d be able to divine in the shapes they take. You press a kiss on the freckle over his beating heart, and Lucien shudders beneath your touch.
You move to the wealth of freckles spread across his cheek, over his nose, then on his chin. Lucien pretends to be preoccupied with the reports, but it’s a losing battle. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and you plant a soft, chaste kiss at the upturned corner. You kiss him like he’s an object of worship, and only your heart, your body, your whole being would be a worthy sacrifice.
“Is that the only thanks I get for being your sentient, walking furnace?” He teases, brow arched, but not unkindly. “Threats and a few kisses?” Beams of sunlight hit his face like a lattice of amber, accentuating his sharp features, and setting his russet eye ablaze. And it strikes you just how damn pretty he is, scars and all.
“I’d prefer it if my sentient furnace did not walk away at all,” you retort, raising your brow in turn.
“Ungrateful,” he teases, even as he begins to trail tender kisses over your neck. “You’re lucky I adore you, dearly.”
You huff, pretending his words haven’t set you aflame in a way only he can.
“I suppose,” you begin, tapping your finger over your chin. “I could be persuaded to thank you properly if you go back to bed with me.”
Lucien glances at the report and pretends to consider it for three whole seconds, before setting it down the table with finality. He smiles, as bright as the sun, beautiful, blinding, yours.
“Let's go then,” he says, as he easily carries you back to your room.
AN:
Hello! I’m new to this fandom & I’d love to hear your thoughts. 💙
i’ve been so obsessed with Lucien recently. I made art of him and I love how people kept mentioning his freckles so here is we are. + I hate the cold and had the thought that Lucien would be the perfect person to cuddle up to in winter.
Summary: It's a snowy day in Velaris, yet you can only think about the Autumn Court male who burned a fire in your blood.
Warnings: mutual pining (can someone tell me if I'm using this term correctly idek)
A/N: This is my first ever ACOTAR piece. I'm a bit nervous about this because I knew I wanted to write, but there was nothing in my brain really.... yeah. Also, I know this is way past the holidays, but it's snowing here so.
•--•
Gentle. The fall of the snow outside of your window was gentle. The snowflakes laid soft kisses on the ground, crowding together, a family reborn into foreign membranes. It was beautiful, a symbol of the changing seasons, uniquely precious to Velaris.
You watched alone, a fire burning in the hearth in front of you. Fire licked into the open air, searching for something to embrace its heat more closely. Though the beauty of the cold drew you in, your heart seemed to cry the same way that the fire did. Warm bodies felt cold when lonely, as yours did.
It struck you then, the same way your yearning did every winter. An intense want for the same thing your friends had. You had considered that you were simply the problem, that you never could stick anywhere. Even Amren, cold and caved in when she wasn't content, seemed to inhale the same love that everyone else did, breathing it back out into the group.
Yet, somehow, you never stuck the same.
Maybe that's exactly why you sat here, watching the snow, sympathizing with the fire, while a pile of presents sat on your table. Wrapped with a delicate hand, a bow placed on top of each, and his name written in cursive on a tiny sticker.
He left tomorrow for the Spring Court. He left tomorrow, for Tamlin, that kindness in his heart unwavering. He showed that same, gentle kindness towards you, a clone to the fire that reached out it's fingers. When his hands touched yours, a warmth spread, yet a soft chill soothed deeper than surface level.
Lucien was a dream. You had decided that the moment you met him. The hard lines of his face, cut from cinnamon and bark, yet structured through the very sun which tanned his skin. The plains of his face, sharp, but also smooth like a baby blanket. His eyes, soft in every nature, sucked you in, leaving you breathless.
Gods, everything about him was made with a precision, one that was built to make you fall to your knees.
The knock at your door was enough to startle you to your feet, brushing off the size-too-big brown sweater you wore, sleeves threatening to swallow your hands with every movement. Your blush seemed to glow brighter, ashamed at being caught in a daydream.
Socks slipping as you started for the door, you combed a hand through your hair. It wasn't usual that you were greeted so late at night.
Opening the door, a stinging cold burned at your eyes, brushing past your legs with the irritation of being denied entrance. If you didn't know any better, you would've thought the wind was trying to sweep your visitor inside as well. "Trying" ended up being a fleeing word, the lanky body standing in front of you allowing himself in before the cold could nip at your limbs any longer.
You sent out a 'thank you' to the wind, a howl against your window its only response.
"Lucien," you breathed, shocked at his sudden appearance.
He smiled at you, warming the room with the shine of his teeth. The light from the fireplace cast an orange hue onto his honeyed skin, your heart skipping a beat, every feature hightlighted by the cast shadows. The straight edge of his nose, the way his lips spread over his-
"I was thinking about you," he remarked, unlacing his boots with a calm fluidity, "I wanted to stop by before I left tomorrow. Didn't need you missing all my greatness."
You rolled your eyes, hearing the obvious smirk in his tone, even with his head down.
You stepped back to watch him, unlacing the other boot and kicking it off, standing themselves at attention on your door mat. He shrugged off his coat, revealing a green turtleneck which hugged his arms, alluding to the lean yet broad nature of his chest, tucked into black dress pants. His hair, a glowing shade of red, still had snowflakes in it.
He ran his hand through the front part of that sea of autumn, shaking off some of those flakes. You watched, lips pressed together, keeping composure as he took a few steps before plopping himself down on your couch.
It never failed to shake you, the way he was so comfortable in your place of rest. It spread a heat through you all the same, like the flames were reaching for your heart at his mere existence.
Out of everyone, he had always shown interest in your space.
In you.
You walked over, not noting the way his eyes watched you intently, sitting beside him. His one legs was stretched out across the cushions, forcing you to lift it up, scooting underneath and allowing it to rest across your lap. You never touched people much, though it was not foreign to be physically connected to Lucien.
It was a problem, as it was also a blessing.
"Usually you're happy to see me," he teased.
You rolled your eyes, again, "I am happy to see you, that doesn't mean you aren't obnoxious."
He relaxed a bit, arms spreading over the back of the couch, "There's that little spark."
A silence took over the room. It was familiar, recognizable. Except, this time, it snuck into each breath a little differently, like a hint of something else existed within that silence. Your eyes looked anywhere but his, but his laid on you, drinking in every ounce he could get.
Your fingers twitched, reminding you of the icebreaker that existed right under your nose. You snatched up the pile of presents, setting it on the leg that was laid out on your lap.
"I have presents for you. I meant to find you before you left for Spring, but I... lost track of time."
Lucien breathed in deeply, starting at the three boxes. For him. He moved his leg off your lap, at attention, sitting in a stance that was more serious than the previous. Summoning those he had left at his house in self-consciousness, presents with a shiny yellow and auburn paper sat in his own lap. Your name written on every one.
Surprise played on your features, not expecting gifts from him. You should have guessed in the end, knowing Lucien and his heart. He always looked out for you. He was one of your kind; a stray without a definite home. A wanderer that made a name for himself, as well as a family.
"You first," you whispered, handing him the top present.
Lucien held it, lithe fingers finding purchase in the folds of the present, ripping the soft silver paper, revealing a small box. Lifting the lid, there sat a broach, a deep brown with hues of orange, reminiscent of his own mother's eyes. You knew, having been lucky enough to see the woman that shared such a love for Lucien as you did. Yet, the love you gave was on another level deeper than hers. Hidden and deep-seated, thriving just to be near him, begging your hands to grab him, have him in any ways tangible.
"It's beautiful," he breathed, looking up at you, russet eye reaching out like a siren call.
"There's more," you nudged the next one towards him, blushing at the close attention he paid to every movement.
Setting aside the box that held the broach, he resumed, tearing into the present, met with another plain box. He took it apart, mechanical eye whirring with excitement as his human one flashed excitement.
"A cloak. Gods, how did you know this was the one I wanted?" he asked, smiling wide, "I just saw this in the shop the other day."
You smiled, body curling in on itself at his joy. You pushed the last one to him, feeling bad for interrupting his joy, but shyness crept in at his reactions.
Behind the layer of wrapped paper was a large shoebox, thick cardboard, without detail. He opened the lid, pushing aside the paper that surrounded what was hiding beneath. Boots. A pair identical to the ones he had complained about having to throw away months prior. They were specially designed in the Spring Court, which pushed you to travel and meet with the maker. It took a while before you had heard news of success from the man, but it came nevertheless.
You remembered his face when he realized he would have to get a new pair. You swore at that moment you had never seen a look more devastating. A vow you made yourself; you would never allow him to look that way as long as you could help it. So you left the next day, using diplomacy as your excuse.
Lucien's eyes flicked to yourself, full and beautiful. His soft, burnt umber eyelashes framing them in such a damning beauty you knew for him to die, that beauty could never exist again. Glossy, he blinked away moisture that filled the orbs beneath.
"Where did you get these?" he asked, exasperated.
You blushed. "I had them replicated. The shoemaker was flattered that they had been so well-loved."
He released a shaky breath, striking your heart all the same.
"How do you expect me to live up to these?" he asked, a shy grin taking over his face, "My gifts seem pathetic."
You shook your head, chin low, "I doubt anything you give me could seem 'pathetic.'"
His eyes captured yours again, taken from the sight of his boots. You felt important when he looked at you, like a flower in a glass case, protected and yet shining through.
He set down his boots, as if they no longer mattered, attention fixed as he placed a present in your lap. Your hands tore through, savoring the intricate design and the time placed into wrapping these. Had he thought of you the whole time, like you did while wrapping his?
Except, you had thought of him the whole time you spent wrapping everyone's gifts. You never seemed to stop thinking about him.
Similar to the one that had held his cloak, you unboxed the one in your lap, peeling back paper to see a soft cream sweater. But, holding it up, you gaze at the design. A running fox, knit in the top right of it, directly above your breast, the back holding a similar design, yet the creature sitting upright. The soft texture almost made you angry, knowing it wouldn't be appropriate to wear it every day.
"Lucien."
He hummed in response, questioning your call of his name.
"It's so beautiful," you looked up at him, love seeping from your pores.
His whole face went a shade deeper, pointy ears pulling back. He had no words, handing you another. You opened it with the same grace, finding a small box, one that left you clueless as to what it could hold. You looked up at Lucien, seeing the way that he chewed on the skin inside his cheek. Lifting the lid with a small shake, the bottom half fell into your hand, gaze drawn to the necklace inside.
You couldn't have guessed how much Lucien made from Rhysand weekly, but with his frequent absence, you imagined this cut a chunk. A gold, dainty chain trailed down to what was centered; a teardrop pendant, a diamond shining in the center, refracting the dim orange light that consumed the room. Paired with it were earrings, each with a matching teardrop shape that hung off the ear. They were-
"Gorgeous."
Lucien shifted, adjusting his hands only to rub them up and down the black of his pants. "Feyre had to help me pick them out."
You smiled to yourself, catching his stare. A nervousness that you didn't catch much darkened his cheeks.
You quirked an eyebrow, "Is everything okay, Lucien?"
He avoided your eyes, taking a deep inhale, his chest expanding with the breath. Watching it fall back out of his mouth, he began to speak.
"Y/n," his throat caught the way your name came out. He tried again, "Y/n. I have been... meaning to tell you this for quite some time now. I-" he took another deep breath, looking into your eyes.
"I have loved you since the very first moment I met you. The grace of knowing you fell upon me like a sword I had no choice but to use. Everything you are, and everything you have grown to become has enchanted me so deeply I don't feel I have the capacity to hold it in much longer."
Your jaw fell slack, watching as the stars in his words, in his posture, and in his confidence fell in line, brightening the world you had known.
"I can't breathe knowing you're not mine, but I know if you requested it say so, I would try to shed that part of myself to make you happy forevermore. To separate from you after every interaction is like tearing myself away from my very own soul. I do not think I can bear it much longer; the pain of not having you. I am yours, as wholly as I am my own," he bowed his head, "Without you, I feel half of myself has been lost to whatever Gods demanded you be created. And to be with you here drives me crazy, to know that I cannot hold you in my arms and share you with myself the way my body begs. I need you, and I have grown to known this. I need you deeper than just a friendship, than just a lover. I need you, in this deep string that tugs at my heart, pulling me till I come home; till I find you."
You felt it then. You had always felt it, but it had been muddy, confusing, and had misled you so many times. That fog cleared now, your mind registering exactly what it was -- that glowing golden string, existing only to keep Lucien tied to you.
It made so much sense, cleared out your mind and filled it with every memory and dream you had associated with the male in front of you.
It must've been what launched you at him as well.
Your hands cupped the face of your mate, bringing your lips to his own. Like a mould crafted to fit your own, your mouth fit like a missing puzzle piece. Smooth, warm lips embraced your own, sharing a dance that seemed to spill a power into that bond, its glow burning brighter than the sun in which Helion commanded. Every movement was met with a hunger, one emerging from the years it took you to survive the Autumn Court in which you had met and find him in the Night Court in which you not resided. Centuries of waiting, of reaching into the darkness beyond your eyelids and finding him without his casual heat.
You pulled back, slow as you let your lips cling to each other, forgetting to resist the urge to plunge back into him as you pressed another kiss to his mouth. You lost your mind in that cavern between you, balancing on that rope, folding into each other.
He murmured against your lips, "Y/n."
You only allowed yourself enough space to separate your mouths, resting your forehead against his. Your thumb stroked the scar that cobwebbed under his left eye, capturing you in it's lure.
"Lucien. I could never deny you," you closed your eyes as you nudged your nose against his, reopening them, "I have loved you; this whole lifetime, I have loved you. Even before I knew of you, I loved what you were."
He smiled, a giddy, childish smile, caging the air in your lungs. A new vow, here and now;
Gods, you'd do anything to see him smile like that again.
