What's this? Another Elucien fic for @lizzytish25's birthday? Why yes, dear readers, it is.
Summary: Lucien is tired of loving a mate who will not look at him. Elain is tired of pretending she feels nothing at all. When a vision drags them both into a future neither of them expected to see, the walls between them begin to crumble.
A huge shout-out to the village it took to beta/vibe-check this, including @themadmorrigan, @chaol-apologist, @professorprompt, @star_omnivore, and @chelseamorninggirl! ❤️
Read Chapter 1 on AO3 (assuming it stays up for more than 5 minutes!)
Lucien Vanserra had held many names and titles in his long life. Son, brother, prince. A darling to his mother and a disappointment to his father. Luce, as he was only ever called by two people: Eris, when he’d been young, and later on, Jesminda. Rake. Lover. Exile. Emissary. Friend. Traitor. Emissary, again. Mate…
In truth, he had failed at just about every single one. He didn’t care much for his father, not after what Beron had done to Jes, and he hadn’t spoken to his mother in decades (albeit not by choice), so he couldn’t very well call himself a good son. Or a good brother, for that matter, if his brief interactions with those that remained alive were anything to go by. As for Prince, was he even a prince anymore? He’d never particularly cared for titles. Except perhaps when those titles coupled with his inherent charm helped him sway even the most eligible ladies at court into warming his bed, if only for a short while.
His brothers used to tease him that for all of Sevan’s dalliances, it was Lucien who was the true rake in the family. That was, of course, until he met Jesminda. He had become more than a rake for her. He had become her lover, had wanted desperately to become her husband, had thought for certain that he’d be her mate. He had been so very, very wrong.
Exile he could live with. He had no desire to set foot in the Autumn Court again, at least not while his father drew breath, and even then, the place was too full of memories of a childhood raised in fear and violence, of the ghost of Jes who would haunt him for eternity. No, the only person he would ever consider returning for was his mother, and that was only if there was even enough left of the female to return to when it became safe to do so. If it would ever be safe to do so.
It certainly wasn’t safe for him to return to Spring now, either. Not after the course of events that led him to betraying his only true friend and binding himself to the court of his sworn enemy. Emissary, he was good at and even the fact that he was a turncoat twice over couldn’t take away from his effectiveness at the role.
The same could not be said for his most recently acquired title.
His first act as Elain Archeron’s mate had been to announce it in front of the whole bloody world in Hybern’s cursed throne room, as if the frightened and half-naked girl would consider it a blessing after what she had endured moments prior. When she emerged from the Cauldron, those wide brown eyes locking onto his, it was all he could do not to scoop her into his arms and take her away from danger. Perhaps he should have done exactly that.
If he had, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess of a stalemate they found themselves in. Lucien had hoped that after the war, after Nyx’s traumatic but ultimately successful arrival into the world, after everything had begun to return to some semblance of normality, she might come to him. Or at the very least, let him come to her, if only to talk. To get to know the person at the other end of the golden, shimmering tether that bound them together, no matter the distance. But no matter how many polite smiles he sent in her direction at family gatherings in the River House, or how much he respected the space she so clearly wanted, his mate–his beautiful, utterly devastating mate–gave no indication that she wished to know him at all. That she would ever wish to know him.
No, instead, she seemed to want to know anyone but him, flashing her perfectly white teeth at her sisters, at her High Lord, at the Shadowsinger… The last one grated at Lucien the most. He was not an idiot. He had been there that fateful Winter Solstice night, had felt her fluttering pulse and beating heart through the bond from his room upstairs, and cursed himself that it was another male provoking such a reaction from the female who had been made for him, and he for her. It had taken everything in Lucien not to winnow downstairs into the hallway and shove that bottle of headache powder down Azriel’s throat, but he doubted that would endear him to Elain and furthermore, he wasn’t prepared to have to flee to yet another court as a result of his impulsive actions over a female.
But this was not just any female, was it? It was his mate. His mate who, barring her interest in gardening and her blatant disinterest in him, he didn’t really know at all. There had been a few tidbits here and there, gleaned from Feyre or from overheard conversations, but nothing substantial. It killed him that she was right there, that all it would take was his name to fall from her lips, and he would pledge his undying devotion to her. In his heart, though he’d never admit it out loud, he knew he already had.
It didn’t help that the bond gave him a direct link to how the lady was feeling, either. Especially when it’s not like there was anything he could very well do about it, since Rhysand and the others hadn’t bothered to teach her how to shield her mind or emotions from him. Considering her rare Sight made her a valuable member of the Night Court, it never failed to shock him that they were so lax in ensuring she was protected from mental attacks. Then again, for all his talk of consent, perhaps the High Lord preferred it that way, so he could delve into her mind whenever he wished. The thought made Lucien’s blood run cold.
It killed him that he could not share in whatever she was feeling at the time. He was always distraught whenever he sensed her sadness or frustration, wanting nothing more than to be able to share in her sorrow and comfort her. Reassure her that everything was going to be alright. Worse still was when he felt her joy through the bond, and wished he had the freedom to join in her happiness. He never did, though. Lucien was painfully aware that his presence would not be welcome. If anything, it might undo what little progress they had made as acquaintances, though even that was not an accurate term. At least acquaintances could talk to one another or be in the same room without feeling like they wanted to crawl out of their skin to close the distance between them.
By now, Lucien had been so deprived of her company, never mind her touch, that he knew tonight would be… difficult. It hadn’t occurred to him to skip it, though. Despite his resignation to her feelings (or lack thereof) towards him, he would take whatever opportunity to be in her presence that he could get. Even if each such opportunity carried the risk for the bond to finally override his good senses and make itself known.
Most of the time he was able to keep it hidden–was able to resist the urge to pull out her seat, or brush a stray lock of hair behind her elegant pointed ears, or guide her through a room with his hand on the small of her back. Sometimes, though… sometimes the bond flared more strongly, its will overpowering his own, compelling him to be close to her, to touch her, claim her. Mate, it seemed to whisper to him like one of Azriel’s blasted shadows. Mine.
Get yourself together, he thought to himself, shaking his head to clear the flurry of thoughts that had occupied him since he set foot in the Moonstone Palace earlier that evening. It was hard to believe that Starfall had come around again so quickly, a pivotal focal point of the Night Court’s annual celebrations, second only perhaps to Winter Solstice. Lucien tried not to think of the Solstices gone by, of the presents so carefully selected, only to go ignored by his mate. No matter. His mother raised him to be a male of honour and until Elain outright told him she wanted him to stop or–gods forbid–rejected the mating bond altogether, he would continue to try and break through her walls with whatever humble offering he could think of.
It didn’t help that his mate looked especially lovely tonight. Leaning against one of the drinks tables, Lucien picked up a glass of red wine and brought it to his lips as he cast a sidelong glance to where she stood next to Feyre and Nesta, the former holding little Nyx in her arms. Elain’s gown shimmered like frost beneath starlight. Crafted from layers of pale silvery-blue fabric, it clung to her frame delicately before spilling into a whisper of tulle at her feet. It was not ostentatious by any means, but it commanded attention all the same, regal in its simplicity, and all too fitting for the evening’s festivities.
Lucien’s heart skipped a beat as a laugh escaped her, eyes crinkling ever so slightly with joy at whatever her nephew had just done. Even Nesta’s lips quirked upwards. Rhys and Cassian appeared at their sides moments later, both drawn like moths to their respective flames, and he almost took a step towards them, that same instinct pulling him forward to complete the trifecta, but mercifully, common sense returned to him. He looked away taking in the throng of guests, just in time to miss that Elain’s own gaze had now firmly settled on him.
