thegloweringcastle - Tumblr blog

thegloweringcastle · 11 months ago

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Stahp it, my heart can’t take this amount of sweetness!! 🥺🥺🥺

Really, it’s been so long since I’ve even attempted to write and you have no idea how much this means to me. I haven’t been forgotten! My work hasn’t been forgotten! My work is still being enjoyed and appreciated!

You’ve given me the biggest gift ever with this reblog. Thank you so much for letting me know that you’re still enjoying my work even though it’s been ages since I’ve been active in the fandom. I love and appreciate you so much 🫶

A Million Lifetimes

Happy holidays to @sideralwriting!! My dear, I appreciate your patience with me as I navigated life (& the gift swap) this holiday season. It has been SUCH a delight getting to know you these past few weeks and I look forward to hopefully staying in touch after the swap! I'm sorry this isn't my best work, but I hope you like it nonetheless. I tried my best to add small little details you might appreciate, and I know it's not great but I hope it may bring you some joy. <3

And the absolute biggest hug and thank you to @acotargiftexchange for being so patient with me - I'm sorry I had to be *That Person* this year. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart<3<3<3<3<3

No warnings to be found! Just silly feysand fluff and shenanigans.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Many people use the holidays as a time to reflect on all which has changed. Some measure how much they’ve grown as individuals, others use it as a way to mark the end of a long, grueling year - seeing the short break as a way to signify a year’s worth of change and prompt improvement for the months between the next holiday.

Feyre and Rhys, on a similar note, liked to use it as a way to track how many times they have found each other, over and over again.

***

This time the wind blew gently; not hard enough to urge people inside, but not so gentle that it went unnoticed. In the crowded holiday market of Velaris, two people huddled closer together, sharing heat and smiles.

“I’m just saying,” Feyre’s words formed between them as frosty clouds. “I still think that the winter we spent in Greenland was better than the one in London.”

“But Feyre darling,” Rhysand’s words were not as clear as Feyre’s, thanks to the scarf he kept tight around his face. “London!”

“Yes, London, but it was early nineteenth century London and we had just run into each other - quite literally - from slipping and sliding through sewage.”

“Oh, darling, you forget how I so smoothly saved us from certain doom.” He tugged the scarf away from his face, rewinding it around both of them.

“You didn’t save my shoes, that’s for certain.” She huffed. “All I’m saying is I believe you’re looking at it through rose-colored lenses.”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to win, am I?”

“No, my love. You’re not.” She offered him a pat on the cheek - a consolation.

They wandered between stalls of vendors, watching the holiday lights and decorations in quiet awe. Feyre itched to blend the colors together on canvas, perhaps make a mashup of every holiday she’d ever spent with Rhys. There would be golds and reds from the market they currently walked through, but there would also be greys and browns and greens. Light and shade, with a fair share of tears to balance out the smiles. It would be… chaotic. And perfect. A strange, haphazard image that perfectly depicted their lives.

She tugged on his hand, drawing them to a stop in front of a Bavarian craftsman.

“What about that christmas in Germany?”

“That was a pretty good year. Bloody cold though.” He shivered, as if just the thought of it sent chills down his spine. “I think it’s still one of my favorites of our firsts. It was refreshing to see you so at ease. Remember how simple it was that year?”

Yes, Feyre remembered that life well. It was among her favorites, she supposed; one of their cozier lives.

***

Feyre could feel the cold seeping through the window of the train even on the farthest side of her bench. Her lace gloves didn’t do much other than look pretty, and not for the first time she grew irked at women’s fashions for being so terribly impractical. Sure, petticoats galore were plenty warm in such low temperatures, but not very easy to maneuver; and narrow-heeled boots weren’t especially stable in slush and ice.

Nonetheless, she was enjoying her travels. Watching the world blur past the window was meditative - reassuring. There may not have been much left for her to escape, but being on the move was the only way to ensure peace and quiet - and the only way for her to feel less adrift in her search for… whatever it was she thought was missing.

The train drew to a halt, wheels screeching against the tracks as it stopped for a station in Munich. The hustle and bustle of people unboarding began immediately, luggage being jostled down the aisle and people rushing past. It was a wonder Feyre even noticed the booklet which tumbled to the floor - she wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t fallen from the pocket of a man with violet eyes.

She leaned over, snatching it during a break in the crowd while trying to keep track of her stranger. Right before he stepped off, his gaze found hers.

Her heart tugged, and before she knew it, Feyre was out of her seat - belongings snagged at the last minute - and braving the crowd to follow the man with violet eyes. The notebook couldn’t have been more than thirty pages or so, yet it sat heavy in her hand as she navigated the crowded station, ducking between people and dodging around suitcases. Feyre realized that she had lost sight of her stranger, but there was a sense of urgency she couldn’t shake. It wasn’t until she was panting for air and had almost certainly gone in circles that she slumped onto a bench, setting her things down with a clatter and letting the book fall open on her lap.

She knew it was rude to look, but it was unlikely that she would find the owner to return it. One peek couldn’t hurt; if it was a grocery list - well, nothing terribly personal there. If it was notes, or perhaps a novel in the making… She was an artist too. It would be fine.

Still, she wasn’t quite prepared for what she found on that random, worn page.

In that icy chill

Of those depthless blue eyes

I see only warmth

I wonder

How might it feel

To succumb to you

Adrift in your blue

“There you are,” A voice deep as night stood out over the din of the train station. “From the train. I’ve been looking for you.”

Feyre snapped the book shut with a resounding thwack and stood abruptly, only to be pinned in place by a pair of violet eyes.

“I’ve been looking for you too. For a while, I think.” She held out the journal. “This is yours?”

“Indeed. Thank you for finding it for me.” Their hands overlapped, making it impossible for Feyre to let go.

“This may sound odd, but for quite some time I’ve been looking for something I think I lost. You seem to be good at finding things,” She could listen to his voice forever. “Perhaps you could help me once more?”

Even as he asked, the pieces began to fall into place. Sounds of past lives ringing through to the present, urging her to hang onto him. Memories returned to both of them, and his grip moved from the journal to her hand.

“Of course.” She smiled, watching carefully for a crinkle around his eyes. “I would love to.”

***

“I have to admit, all those skirts were warm, but they sure were a pain to deal with when nature called.”

Rhys’ laugh boomed between the aisles of vendors. “And it made it much more challenging to undress y-”

“That’s enough!” She clapped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything too filthy. “We are in public, Rhys!”

He smirked. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yeah, sure you weren’t.”

“I think it’s you who let her dirty mind get carried away.” His grin was impish.

“If I have a dirty mind it’s only because you’ve rubbed off on me.”

He put his hands up, surrendering. “Whatever you say, love.”

They wandered some more between vendors, debating over their favorite holidays together and which first-meeting was their best.

“I thought it was funny when your friend introduced us,” It was a memory that Feyre often thought of, no matter how plain it might have been. “Not sure if it was the best, but it was… normal.” Out of everything, that had to count for something, right?

Rhys laughed loudly, grabbing her hand even tighter. “And he kept meddling in our business no matter how clear we made it that we were together.”

“It was flattering to know he thought we went well together, at least.” She wagged a finger at him, laughing slightly. “At least it was better than the one where you saved me from being burned at the stake. That was pretty horrid, wasn't it?”

He pulled her close, teasing and hinting at a kiss. “At least I got to play hero for you.”

“Oh,” She dragged it out. “That’s right, because we were early in the game and I was, at the time, still half convinced you were a complete prick. Yes, you did need those extra points.”

He hummed, half in amusement and half in agreement. “What about that one we spent at that inn? That was one hell of a time.”

“The place with the armadillos?” She shivered. “Unfortunately, I do remember that.”

***

Feyre did not like the high desert for two reasons. Reason one: The air was too dry, it hurt her skin and chapped the inside of her nose. Reason two: there were too many creepy crawling critters that wanted either to kill her, to eat her, or to steal her body heat.

It didn’t matter if it was winter and most animals had either migrated or gone into hibernation underground. She did not. Like. The. desert.

“Almost there, darlin’.” Rhys encouraged, ignoring the fact that she had just chewed him out in an hour-long tangent for “dragging her into the middle of nowhere for a single, stupid job in the blasted desert during a snowstorm”.

“I thought the desert didn’t get snow.” Feyre was pouting. She knew she was pouting. Unfortunately, she was too uncomfortable to care.

“This is the high desert, love. It’s a bit more dramatic than what we’re used to.”

“Rhys,” She pulled their horses to a stop and faced him. It was getting harder to see as the snowfall grew heavier. “Please tell me we’re close. I don’t want to cut this life short, I especially don’t want to cut this life short because of one stupid decision.”

“I promise you, darlin’, we’re not far.” He turned to face forward, pulling out his compass. “There’s a small town just around this bend. We’ll stay there ‘till this weather clears up.”

Feyre didn’t waste her energy responding - she wanted a hot drink and soft bed now.

Sure enough, Rhys hadn’t been lying. There was a town - small and rundown though it was, Feyre was just grateful they wouldn’t freeze to death in the most miserable place on earth.

Rhys held the door for her, the two of them stepping into an inn and stomping the snow from their boots and shaking the ice from their scarves and coats.

“Howdy there and welcome, I’m Shirley and I sure am happy to see you. What can I do for you lovely folks tonight?”

Feyre looked up from where she was struggling to undo her buttons, ready to charm the lovely owner for a room, before letting out a startled gasp.

The woman - Shirley - held an armadillo to her chest as one might hold a cat or puppy. A snake rested coiled on the hearth, another few armadillos trundled between tables at the restaurant. Other patrons sat at the bar normally, seemingly unconcerned with the lizards crawling around the counters.

“W-we um-”

“Howdy ma'am.” He stuck his hand out, not once looking at the armadillo the lady held. “The name’s Rhysand, this here’s my lovely wife Feyre. We got caught in the snow and were hoping you might be able to spare a room for the two of us?”

“Of course! I hope you two don’t mind cacti too much. Any concerns? You know what, doesn’t matter. I’ll grab a key and show you two on up!”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, ma’am.”

Not even thirty minutes later they had gotten a room and were getting ready for bed. Or, Rhys was getting ready for bed.

“Rhysand, you know I love animals. I adore animals. I do not, however, adore snakes. Or any desert dwelling creatures. They're gross, and dusty, and out to get you. Remember that Christmas in Australia? Boiling hot and everything was trying to kill us.”

“But darling, that’s Australia.”

“That’s irrelevant!” She huffed. “My point is, I want to celebrate our first christmas in this life somewhere other than an Inn filled with wild animals.”

He grabbed her hands, stopping her pacing and making her meet his gaze. “We will. I promise.”

Sure enough, the storm had passed by the time they woke in the morning. They were up and at’em in a hurry, Rhys’ compass taking them to the next town over in time for a holiday spent indoors, together, and most importantly away from wild animals.

***

“I think I still have that compass, somehow. I remember finding it again in an antique shop in that area a few lives ago, then I tucked it away for safekeeping - and the future. Sort of like you do with our rings.”

At the mere mention, Feyre brought hers up to the light. It glimmered beneath the street lamps, scratched and nicked from centuries of wear. Some people may have been bothered if their wedding rings had been so damaged, but Feyre just saw it as lives well lived and loved.

She shrugged. “So that may not have been my favorite, but it wasn’t the worst. In hindsight, it was a more entertaining year, so I can’t hate it.”

Rhys’ shit-eating grin dimmed, shade by shade. “I know which one was my least favorite.”

It was Feyre’s too.

They both sobered and held one another a little bit closer.

***

In all of their lifetimes, through dozens of centuries, it was the longest they had been apart; the loneliest they had ever been, too.

War had a tendency to do that.

In this particular life Feyre had been teaching art classes at an elementary school, biding her time while waiting for something. Someone. There was a pain in her heart amplified by a holiday season spent alone. It felt like every day the rain would just fall and fall and fall, unbroken by sunshine or snow. Even ice would have been welcome - anything to cut through the long, unending shadows.

She sat in a late night diner, avoiding returning to an empty apartment while sipping burnt coffee over a half-finished portrait of a man with raven hair and violet eyes. Something familiar, someone unknown. Behind the counter a server switched the radio to a news channel broadcasting the latest updates from overseas.

Had she known that her next life would be so much fuller, she might not have been so hopeless. Had she known that, a lifetime from then, memories would come rushing back and the stranger in her painting would not be so strange, she might have been less disturbed by the sheer number of renditions she had made of the same man.

Alas, she did not know these things. She didn’t even know the cruel twist of the universe - the war? - taking from her the man she didn’t know she waited for. And so for many many more nights she sat in silence with a tepid, burnt coffee (she preferred hot chocolate) and endless half-finished portraits, always hoping for the rain to stop.

***

Children rushed past them, dodging around holiday shoppers and festival booths with shocking agility. Silence hung between them like a clock’s pendulum at its peak, ready to come falling down at any second.

He squeezed her hand. “It made our next-first-meeting even better, I would say.”

Sparkling lights of all different colors turned to smudges in the background as Feyre focused her gaze on Rhys; on his violet eyes. Some things about him had changed, especially after the war, but his eyes stayed the same. The way he smiled with his entire being remained the same. Reliable. Constant.

“I think I would have to agree.”

***

With time their memories would fade. They would begin again, growing into new lives and apart from each other, but they were inevitably always nudged back together. And each time, they remembered one another a bit more easily.

So when Rhys settled in after the war and his new neighbor felt like home, all he needed was a light push in the right direction.

That day in particular had been windy and icy. Roads were closed, businesses were shut down, students were off of school. The universe handed Rhys an excuse to seek out his neighbor on a silver platter: the power went out, and Rhys knew his apartment was the only one with a classic wood-burning fireplace.

She answered after only the first knock.

“I have hot chocolate at my apartment and a working fireplace - if you need. Hot water too.”

Her gaze was soft, and she didn’t hesitate before agreeing.

They kept that year simple, soft, easy. It’s what they needed - something comforting. She stayed even many hours after the power had gone back on and the world had returned to operating in full-swing. They fell into easy company as years long since passed came rushing back, and a new promise was made to never be separated for that long.

***

They still had yet to break their promises.

“I thought that was very domestic, even for you.” Feyre grinned, exchanging a few coins for a small cone of roasted chestnuts.. “But I wonder if maybe we’d earned it. So many different adventures and lifetimes… maybe it’s good that we finally have the time for things like hot chocolate and wood fires. And roasted chestnuts.”

His lips turned up, the creases around his eyes softened. “Maybe you’re right.”

When it inevitably grew too cold outside and even their shared scarf and intertwined hands weren’t enough to keep them warm, the couple navigated through the crowded streets towards their shared townhouse.

Cozy, small, but most importantly - theirs.

He took her jacket, she put away his hat. He put the kettle on, she got their mugs and measured out the tea. They moved fluidly together, silently; familiar over so many different lives spent together. It wasn’t until they had settled in together on the couch, warmed pumpkin beside steaming tea on the coffee table, that Feyre spoke again.

“I still don’t know which of our holidays is my favorite. Maybe I don’t have one.”

Rhys reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind one ear, cupping her face with the movement. “My favorite one is the one with you.”

“That’s most of them - I don’t think that counts as any single one, as romantic as it is.” She placed a kiss on his cheek. “But you sure are a sweet talker.”

“Then it’s this one, right here, right now, with you. When we can finally have forever.”

***

In every one of their meetings and partings, Rhys and Feyre fell together into one single life. Whether it grew from eye contact across a supermarket, a quick handshake in a business meeting, or simply bumping shoulders on a crowded sidewalk, and no matter how it ended, there was another life waiting for them. Homes to be lived in and loved, holidays to be spent bundled up together in a bubble outside of time.

It was the general consensus between the two of them: The best lives were the ones spent together.

#writtenonreceipts is the best ever ❤️#excuse me while I go cry for a little bit #internet besties❤️#feysand

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thegloweringcastle · 1 year ago

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I need this to be a novel. I need to to make this a novel that I take with me on sunny afternoons to read by a pond with lily pads and willows, and then pause where I’m at to fall asleep when the warm sunlight makes me sleepy, then wake up and keep reading it until the evening frogs come out and I finish the book as the sun begins to set. Because holy s—t this is so cozy and happy and free, despite Elain’s awful parents and Lucien’s attitude. I also loved how motherly Deirdre is to Elain and how she treats her with so much kindness and patience.

And returning Lucien’s attitude… I LOVE his teasing. Mr. Sassypants giving Elain a tough time is what I exist for. It gives me life. But when I tell you I MELTED at his thoughtfulness-

I love how he likes to rile Elain up and make her squirm, but at the end of the day he really is a gentleman and is WILLING TO SLEEP ON THE FLOOR OF AN INN

I don’t care how fancy the inn is, I wouldn’t trust the cleanliness of the floors if it were life or death. So yeah, Elain’s a lucky gal.

Sorry for rambling but I have one last thing: THE VOCAB!! I loved the vocab you used! Maybe it’s just my STEM-Major-Brain leaving the English side of my mind to rot in the basement, but I spotted lots of very strong words throughout that really added to the writing style and characters!! I fully intend to go back and take note of some cool words so I can study vocab for fun in my free time (I miss when school was that easy 🥲)

This is such a delightful story and I CANNOT wait to see where it goes in part three! 😘🫶

Ao3 Link // Part One

HA! I can’t do anything right. Let’s pretend it was always spring/summer that the story was happening in, not winter. Like why did I say winter in pt 1? I feel like I knew that weddings in the regency/Victorian era were most always in spring/summer…Anyways here’s part 2.

And in true written fashion—we’re gonna need at least one other part to finish us off. I’m sorry. Really. I’m posting this one before Rowaelin Month kicks off and then I’ll try and have it finished up in October.

Warnings: bits of abusive parents, mild violence, steam. ~7k words

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Our Fingers Touch, I Find My Way Back Home

She was seventeen and still subject to the whims of her mother. Two weeks after the chilly dip in the stream and Elain was confined to the house. Because, really Elain how could you be so foolish as to do a thing like that? And in front of the duke’s son, no less.

It was just as well, she supposed. She caught a bit of a fever by the following day and needed all the rest and tea possible to get her on the mend.

Nesta at least wasn’t quite so clipped in her admonishments.

“I thought you knew to be more careful than to get thrown in the river,” Nesta commented blandly as she arranged a new tea service on the small table in Elain’s bed chamber. For once, the eldest Archeron daughter didn’t sneer away from mundane tasks.

“It was a stream and I am fine,” Elain replied. She didn’t look up from her cross-stitching as Nesta settled into pouring tea and preparing their cups.

She really hadn’t meant to fall but no one seemed to care beyond the fact that she, delicate Elain, had gotten soaked to the bone and was now ill. Oh, Mother wouldn’t let her hear the end of this.

“Are you?” Nesta asked. She arched one of her perfectly shaped brows, her hair swept into an elegant coronet of braids. Her coming out had been a smash and she’d already had many a suitor. Yet…Elain could tell there was something weighing on her sister’s mind. Just eighteen and Nesta seemed to carry a far too heavy load then most and Elain had no idea what it was.

“Yes.” Elain punctuated the word by casting aside her stitching and taking a cup of tea. “It’s merely a chill. I shall be fine by the morrow.”

“You sound like a toad and look like a drunkard rolling in from the bar.”

“Nesta!” Elain tried, and mostly failed, in hiding a smile.

Nesta merely rolled her eyes and sipped her own tea. “Well, so long as you say you’re fine and don’t lie to me, I’ll believe you.” She paused before continuing then nodded to Elain’s bed. “Why do you have a man’s coat lying about, sister?”

“Oh!” Elain nearly scalded her tongue. She hurriedly set her cup down, and tried not to spit up hot tea. “It’s nothing! Lord Lucien was kind enough to offer his jacket after resc—helping me. I’ve yet to return it.”

“I can have Clare clean it up and send it over with an errand boy,” Nesta said. She was already rising to the servant’s bell as though to do just that.

“No, no.” Elain reached out and tugged at her sister’s sleeve before she got very far. “Don’t worry yourself. It’s just a coat. I’m sure the lordling has plenty more to use.”

Nesta eyed her with mild confusion. But then she shrugged and plopped back in her seat. “Fine. Save’s me from having to do anything.”

Elain sat back and let her sister talk about the -ton and all the scheming of the other mama’s and daughters and how one way or anything she would have no part in it. As Nesta continued on, Elain found her mind beginning to wander back to the simple green coat the rested on her bed and the strange little flutter it caused deep within her chest.

.*.*.

Evidently, her wedding was to be a grand affair, the talk of the entire -ton. Once, Elain would have been elated. Once she would have reveled in her mother’s praise and the expenses being rained down upon her. Once she would have taken it all in great pride. She was the daughter to make her parents happy and allow their grand dreams to come true.

But as she waded through fittings and talks of florals and guests and food—Elain was focused on something else entirely.

Lucien’s mouth.

It was strange really, to think about a man’s mouth such as she was. There’d only been one other man she’d been interested in kissing and that had not ended well at all. Since, she’d never been interested in kissing another.

Lucien Vanserra threatened her resolve with only the briefest of interactions. Him and his stupid smirk, his full lips, and that insufferable way he said her name. Elain. As though it were his duty to pronounce each individual syllable with the utmost care and precision.

If it wasn’t his mouth, it was his hands.

This probably was not what one friend thought about the other regularly.

She was not a very friend.

“Elain, darling, you must pay attention!”

Drat.

Elain looked up from her tea to find her mother and Lady Vanserra herself eyeing her. Mother of course was very close to loosing her control and saying something unbecoming. Lady Vanserra however had a genuine smile of conciliation. She always did seem like a wonderous woman.

“I beg your pardon,” Elain murmured. She straightened her posture and recrossed her ankles. “There is just so much to think about right now.”

“It’s your wedding,” Lady Vanserra said. She reached over and patted Elain’s knee. “Of course you’ve got plenty on your mind. There’s so much to think about and worry over.”

Mother looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon, but she was a lady so she held her tongue. A true miracle if Elain had ever seen one.

“Thank-you,” Elain said with sincerity. She offered her future mother-in-law a small smile, even as her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of being caught lost in her own thoughts.

“Yes, well,” Mother said tightly, “we still need a decision on your bouquet. Now we know there won’t be sunflowers, but I thought—”

“What?” Elain blurted. “There needs to be sunflowers.”

Mother’s nose crinkled. “Oh, there so strange, Elain. Truly, the daisies and orange blossom will do nicely. They’re far more elegant. I know Lady Doyle keeps a remarkable garden of her own. I’m sure she would be more than willing to—”

“I would prefer sunflowers, mother.” It was the first time that Elain could remember ever being so firm in speaking to her mother. Truly, she never raised her voice or spoke out of turn. Not even when she wanted to most. And now that she was, Elain could feel a new wave of horror wash over her at the reality of what it meant.

Her mother’s silver eyes flashed in warning. Her mouth thinned impossibly and Elain wondered if her teacup would shatter from how tightly it was held.

“Sunflowers,” Lady Vanserra said, voice soft as the folds of her gown, “are lovely. Margot, let me and my house prepare the bridal bouquet and other florals, please. You’ve already offered up so much.”

Elain didn’t think she was breathing. Not with the way her entire body seemed to contract and retract and her heart beat an entirely new tempo. She kept her eyes trained on her mother, chin firm mouth set. When finally her mother looked away Elain felt only a bit of relief. But wondered if she’d truly won any sort of battle.

“That would be delightful, Dierdre,” Mother said. Her ire, for the time being, had gone and Elain managed a deep, calming breath.

.*.*.

Dawn rose bright and warm on the day of the wedding. It was a good sign. A welcome sign. Many ladies faced woeful downpours during these early months of spring, many forced to postpone parties and honeymoons because the roads grew too muddy in some stretches between cities. Not today.

Pale blue sky stretched for miles without even a whisper of cloud to interrupt it. That combined with the thriving green laughs, full trees, and vibrant flower bushes of the Archeron gardens—it truly was a beautiful day for a wedding.

And yet, Elain’s stomach churned with anxiety.

She rose far before her lady’s maid came to collect her and was found seated before the bay windows that opened over the back gardens. It was usually her favorite place to sit and reflect. She could spend hours there as the morning passed in lazy fervor.

Never again.

The door of her room burst open without warning, nearly sending Elain to floor in a panic. She should have known her mother would come and make such an entrance.

“Are you not up? Elain, we don’t have long to prepare you for the wedding.” Mother swept through the room with various maids flowing after carrying fabrics, cosmetics, and other such items.

They in fact had hours yet to prepare meant nothing to a mama when her daughter was set to marry the son of a duke.

“It’s still early—” Elain wanted her mother to see reason and just give her a moment longer to herself. It was in vain and soon enough, Elain was thrust into a heated tub and was scrubbed down with salts and oils and pumice stones. She would be radiant if it was the last thing Mother did.

After bathing, her hair was taken over by brushes and pins. The curls could get rather unruly, even when wet. It didn’t help that mother hated Elain’s hair as it was. Thankfully Nuala took over on styling her hair while her mother focused on the dress.

Elain hadn’t had time to appreciate the gown during all the visits with the seamstress. She’d been too nervous over her upcoming nuptials that she hadn’t paid attention to any of the details. Which, she supposed, she should be upset over. She’d thought about her wedding often as a girl and young woman. She’d planned every detail in her own might, straight to the point of what design her shoes would be. This was supposed to be a remarkable day.

But as she had lotions applied to her skin and powders pressed to her nose, Elain felt like a stranger in her own body. None of this was the way she pictured it.

“Where are Nesta and Feyre?” Elain finally asked her mother. Maybe with her sisters present, some of her trepidation would ease.

Her mother waved a hand dismissively. “They don’t need to be here.”

“They are to stand with me, are they not?” Elain asked. Maybe if Nesta were here Elain could glean some of her sister’s iron will and feel even a modicum of strength.

“Your sisters are hardly worthy examples of virtue, Elain,” Mother said. She pulled Elain from the vanity and into the center of the room, stripping the dressing gown Elain’s shoulders without any warning. “Now come along, step into the dress, we need to ensure there aren’t any last-minute adjustments.”

Elain bit down hard on her tongue. Maybe once she was married, she needn’t be around her mother so much. She could send for her sisters as often as she liked. She could have a house to herself and a strange sort of friendship with her husband and child—no children. That wouldn’t be an option, would it? Lucien wouldn’t be under pressure to bare an heir. Not when he still had four remaining brothers. Besides, they were just friends.

“Arms, Elain!”

Elain lifted her arms for her gown’s sleeves.

Well, she could still have a fulfilling life, couldn’t she? She didn’t need children. Nesta may have a child and Feyre was still unwed. And she could always have her other hobbies, Lucien seemed amendable in that regard. She could bake, she could garden, she could host scores of her own parties.

“Elain, could you at least try to appear amiable?”

Wrenched from her thoughts, Elain lifted her chin and plastered a comfortable smile on her face. She was dressed in a pale gown of lilac and lace, the sleeves long as they flowed to her wrists. The waist line cinched in a daring way against her ribs and the corset was tight enough to create the illusion of a full bust. Elain turned to the mirrors that had been brought in for this exact moment.

She did her best to keep her smile in place, but she just couldn’t make it reach her eyes. Her hair was twisted up and out of the way pinned with gold and orange blossoms. And while a lovely style, Elain wished her hair could have at least hung a little bit so she could feel a touch more like herself. The gown itself was beautiful and complimented her pale skin and slim figure. At least her mother insisted on keeping with the fashions.

And yet…and yet…Elain felt nothing like herself.

“You really must smile better then that, Elain.” Mother tutted and continued to move about as she straightened none existent lines and plucked invisible bits of lint from the dress.

“Yes, ma’am.” And she did smile then, that practiced one that mama always said made her pretty.

She smiled as her lady’s maid applied a final round of blush to her cheeks. She smiled as her mother pinned a necklace of sapphires to her neck (hardly Elain’s first choice). She even smiled as rose water splashed against her wrists and she was ushed from her room for what would certainly be the last time.

No matter how badly she wished it—time would not slow down. Not even as Mother ushered her through the house and to the waiting. Not even as Mother barely explained what would happen during the wedding night consummation. Not even as the chapel came closer and closer.

Time was a thief, Elain supposed. Plucking memories straight from your mind and burying them deeper until they were barely whisps behind your eyes. It was thief and she a mere victim.

By the time the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the chapel, Elain was in a fit of worry. She was certain the rose water had worn off thanks to an unholy amount of sweat shimmering against her skin. That would be blamed on the unnatural heat of the day.

As a footman helped her mother down from the carriage, Elain nearly slammed the door shut again and yelled from the driver to hurry on and get as far away from here as he could manage.

It was to no avail because her father, having arrived earlier with the guests, was already reaching in for her. As if someone else were taking over her body, Elain accepted the outstretched hand and stepped into full daylight.

She would have thrown up, right there on the church steps, if her eyes hadn’t caught on the flowers. Vibrant and colorful, the steps of the church were lined with intricate displays of flowers. Foxglove and marigolds. Pansies and dahlias. Lilac and sunflowers. The sunflowers. Elain had to stop and stare at the incredible sight of them all. Their bright yellow petals wove in and out of the various floral arrangements. It was beautiful.

Elain very nearly burst into tears as the sight. She was so caught up in it that she almost missed Nesta who had been waiting along the steps of the church as well. In her arms she held a simple bouquet of sunflowers and greenery.

“Lady Vanserra insisted this be for you,” Nesta said. Her mouth barely upturned into a knowing smile.

Elain accepted the flowers, not trusting herself to speak.

Nesta wore a simple gown of pale yellow with her hair in its usual twisting braids. As always, she looked lovely and elegant, perfectly poised for what was about to come. Elain had a feeling she was supposed to be waiting inside, but was immensely grateful her sister had disobeyed their mother for this.

“Mother, shall we walk together?” Nesta asked, with all the innocence of a viper. “Feyre is already at the front and the groom seems very eager to see his bride.”

There was no other choice then to follow through on the suggestion (that really wasn’t a suggestion at all). Mother and Nesta climbed the chapel steps and through the waiting doors.

That, at least, was a relief. Elain didn’t think she’d be able to walk down the aisle if her mother were at her side yammering the entire way. Her mother had all her expectations lined up in a perfect little row for Elain to follow through on. Her father, however, did not. Oh, he had his own expectations but he kept those quiet and to himself. It was far easier to ignore his judgements that way.

Elain only had time for a single, steadying breath before her father reached out for her arm and tucked it against his.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “For all of us.”

How was she to respond to that? Was it right to foist her down the aisle to a man she barely knew? Was it right to ignore her own wishes because he had made mistakes? Was it right to place this duty upon her shoulders and expect her to make things right in a world that looked down upon her sex with suck ilk and ire?

Elain sucked in a breath, the sweet aroma of the flowers calming her unease. Lady Vanserra had outdone herself. With the beautiful arrangements, the sheer amount of flowers, and the simple sunflowers that sang their bright joy on an otherwise bothersome day.

Everything would be fine, wouldn’t it? The flowers had to be a good omen.

Father prodded her along the steps, up and up and up.

And the sun was shining. Elain loved the sun.

The doors of the chapel were thrown open wide.

And Lucien wasn’t terrible, was he?

Cedar oil mixed with incense cloyed through the chapel and Elain had to stop to draw in a full breath. Even when her father very nearly dragged her along to the start of the aisle. Her heart was beat heavily in her chest that Elain could feel her blood actually moving through her veins. She could feel each of her pulse points practically on fire. It didn’t help that her head pounded just as hard.

There was no escape, was there? No where to run. No where to hide.

And while Elain was quite skilled at fading away and letting other dote upon her, skilled at ignoring a problem that was annoying and otherwise uninteresting, skilled at being nothing more than Elain—she did not, could not, let that define her now.

The soft chatter of voices came to a pause as Elain and her father approached the top of the aisle. She couldn’t make out anything other than the thin strip of blue carpet that led all the way to the front where the priest waited—rather impatiently. But she glazed right over that because beside the old man with his stiff cravat was Lucien.

Lucien stood tall and proud, his dark suit fitting him well. His red hair was swept out of his face, leaving his high cheekbones and sharp eyes on display. The sight nearly drew Elain to a stop. His eyes were only for her as she began to walk down the aisle.

Father set a quick pace down the aisle; far quicker then what Elain wanted. If she tried to slow down herself, she was sure he’d drag her to the alter, appearances be damned.

So Elain did the only thing she could—she kept her eyes trained on Lucien. She didn’t know what drew her to him. He represented nearly everything she dreaded. She’d thought so many times about what her future would hold and the shape it would take. She’d always known she would marry, always known her life would lead to this point.

But when it was by the forceful hand of her father, when she didn’t have a say in who her life would be entrusted—everything inside her wanted to rebel. Even though it had only been a scant month between the marriage announcement and the actual wedding (Mother would only keep up appearances where it mattered), Elain found that every thought she’d had for her future dried up like an un-watered garden in the summer months.

Lucien remained steady before her.

It was strange because she still felt a simmering rage towards Lucien for this entire mess. And his stupid mouth. But she couldn’t help and also remember the kindness he’d shown by offering to be her friend. A small offer that allowed her a modicum of peace for this betrothment. The warring emotions didn’t help calm her raging heart nor her flipping stomach. In fact, they made it impossible to even walk in a straight line.

If it weren’t for the hard certainty in Lucien’s gaze or the firm set of his jaw, Elain may have tested her father’s grip. As it was, she remained focused on Lucien’s calm nature. He was holding himself together remarkably well. Elain wondered if he were dreading this as much as she was. He’d flirted and teased her enough while stuffed in that closet that she didn’t think she knew what the real him was like. Would she ever know him?

Before she had time to even digest that thought, she was standing right before him. Numb, Elain let her father pass her hand off to Lucien whose fingers interlaced almost perfectly with hers. It was such an intimate touch that Elain felt heat creep up her skin, replacing the cold dread of just a moment before.

She looked up into Lucien’s eyes as he studied her. It was just a moment, a singular moment that was just theirs. Her father had retreated and the priest yet to speak. And in that moment, everything else faded to nothing.

“What would you ask of me, as your friend?”

“To trust me, to talk to me.”

His words from that night weeks ago echoed in her head and Elain let herself imagine that everything would work out in the end. She gave his hand a single squeeze and then turned to the priest who waited impassively.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest said, voice raised as if he could reach the heavens.

Elain didn’t listen. At least…she tried. But the longer he spoke, the faster the blood in her ears pounded and lighter her head felt. Truly, all she could focus on was the steady feel of Lucien’s hand in hers. So big and warm she almost couldn’t understand it. And there was the scrape of calluses that she finally realized couldn’t have been there because a duke’s son did not work with his hands. His skin should have been smooth, soft, unblemished. Yet here he was with a rough patch on his thumb that moves in slow circles on the back of her hand.

It was so distracting that Elain almost missed the prompt from the priest to accept her marriage vows.

“I do.” She could only speak in a mere whisper. And truth be told, she was surprised anything came out to begin with.

As the priest reiterated the marriage vows to Lucien, Elain finally managed to raise her gaze to him. He was already watching her, his russet eyes bright in the pale light that filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the chapel. She’d never known a pair of eyes could hold such care or tenderness, never known it to be directed to her.

“I do.” Lucien replied to words Elain had long stopped trying to listen to.

“Then with a kiss shall this marriage be sealed and your lives entwined till death.” The priest retreated only a step, proffering a faux taste of modesty.

Elain wondered briefly if she should have let herself think about Lucien’s lips just a little bit. Especially considering he was moving toward her now, one hand already reaching out to cup her chin while the other moved from her hand to her elbow.

As Lucien dipped closer, Elain took a sharp breath. He smelled of cinnamon and sunshine, intoxicating to her as she found she couldn’t take a normal breath to save her life.

“Breathe, Elain,” Lucien whispered just for her. “it’ll be over before you know it.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him. It wasn’t a silly little kiss she was worried about. Everything that came after was a different story.

She never got the chance to say anything as Lucien took the opportunity to kiss her.

It was utterly chaste and hardly scandalous, but Elain could feel it pierce against her very soul. It was in the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the feel of his fingers brushing against her chin. She’d never been kissed like that before. All her dalliances with Graysen Nolan were wet and quick and more for his benefit than hers. This was something else entirely and it set her heart fluttering with unmanageable energy.

Thankfully, Lucien was able to keep himself composed as he was able to pull himself away, all the while maintaining graceful composure. He grinned down at her, as if knowing what all was going on through her head.

“See? Not so bad.”

“You’re an ass,” she hissed, utterly forgetting they were in a chapel.

If possible, his stupid smile stretched even wider at her irreverence. He tugged her hand to lead them down the aisle. Elain had never been more grateful for the ridiculous superstition of the bride and groom not acknowledging their guests until outside of the church. With any luck her mother would be so hard pressed to send them on their honeymoon (for the sole act of baby-making) that Elain wouldn’t have to see any of them again for at least a month. Maybe two if she was lucky.

They passed through the tall oak doors and into the bright spring sunlight. Elain had never felt happier to be outside and in the open air as she did in that moment.

“Never a good sign that your bride is desperate to get outside, eh?” a chipper, rather proud voice, spoke up from the behind them. Elain nearly screamed, she hadn’t expected anyone to be so close behind them. But she turned to find it only to be Jurian Renault, Lucien’s best man. The man, one of the most decorated officers in England, grinned broadly as he dashed a hand through his thick brown hair.

“Jurian,” Lucien said, with a bit of resignation accompanied by an eye roll. But Elain didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched in amusement. “And where is your better half? I’d have liked her up there with me more than you.”

Hardly offended, Jurian merely sighed. “Alas, my darling counterpart is unwell this morning. But she sends her congratulations and will be more than happy to offer the summer manor for your honeymoon, should you need the accommodations.”

If Lucien was as shocked as she was by the offer, he made no notice, only looked down at Elain with a raised brow. He was deferring to her?

“It would be nice to get out of London,” she said slowly, hoping to sound more diplomatic that she was feeling. She would run halfway across the world if it got her away from her mother for a time.

Lucien squeezed her hand in understanding. He nodded once and looked back to his friend. “The quiet would do us both well.”

“You would find no better place,” Jurian assured her. He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the wedding party and guests finally emerged from the church. “I’ll send word to the house keeper to begin preparations for your arrival.”

It was all he had time to say before Elain was swept into a hug by Feyre (it was rather undignified a reaction and Mama made sure to make it known). Elain wouldn’t let the moment be ruined, however. She returned her sister’s embrace as tightly as she could. They were soon joined by Nesta who, much to Elain’s surprise had tears in her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her sister cry.

“If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Nesta said fiercely. And Elain was inclined to believe her.

.*.*.*.

Much to Elain’s delight, Lucien managed to usher them on their honeymoon not long after that. Jurian and Vassa’s summer manor was a day’s ride away, meaning they would need plenty of time to get their reasonably. They would end up spending a night at an inn all the same, but Elain could have kissed Lucien all over again for getting them out of the city as quickly as he had.

Her sisters had seen to collecting and packing her things, most of which would be delivered to her new home with Lucien. It would only be a small cottage near the duke’s home, but it would be well enough for Elain. So long as it put distance between her own family.

But she wouldn’t worry about any of that for a blessed month.

Even though the carriage, provided them by the duke and duchess, had just barely left the main roads of the city, Elain found herself plastered to the window watching the change in scenery. The large buildings and homes bled away into sweeping hills and fields of grass. The actual road was still in decent enough condition that the ride was smooth and even. It afforded her the peace of a settled stomach as the world swept by.

“Have you never come this way?” Lucien asked from his seat across from her.

Elain settled back, straightening her skirts. Here she was acting like an over eager child. She needed to show grace, decorum.

“Only once when I was a child,” she said, “my aunt lives out here, I believe we’ve passed her road. But it’s been sometime since I’ve traveled.”

She couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice. She loved to travel. At least, she expected she would. Her limited exposure to the world had only sustained that to her. Meeting new people, experiencing new customs, seeing the beauty of new lands—it all sounded magical and wonderful.

“Hmm,” was all Lucien said. Though, he still watched her closely.

It was the first time they’d been alone together since the broom closet debacle and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to act. He was her husband who was supposed to be her friend and not her husband. Their relationship would take some time to sort out and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic herself. She wasn’t even sure how to talk to him at all.

“Don’t you enjoy travel?” she asked, because that’s what a good friend did. A good friend was concerned and involved and knowledgeable of their person. “I’ve heard you did quite a bit of it.”

Lucien stretched out of his side of the carriage, his long legs bumping against hers but he made no effort to change his posture. He looked so utterly relaxed that Elain didn’t know what to make of it. He’d always been so meticulously put together, so at ease with life around him. Yet here he was now with a slightly rumpled appearance and casual.

“I have,” he agreed, “my father needed someone to represent our house and since I couldn’t serve in the military, that’s wear I fell in.” A wry smile flashed across his handsome face. “It was never to places I would have liked, unfortunately.”

There was hidden meaning in his words that Elain couldn’t quite decipher. She’d been witness to these offhanded remarks before, silently questioned them.

“Well, then we will need to some travelling of our own,” Elain said.

“Will we?” Another raise of his brow.

Elain felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. She’d misspoken, it seemed. Or she just spoke of things she needn’t have. Or been too presumptuous.

“Well we’re newlyweds,” she replied as if that was a good response. “We’re afforded our liberties. Besides, it’ll keep us away from prying eyes.”

She was thinking exclusively of her mother but really the entire -ton could be included in that. As soon as they returned, she knew there would be a bid out for whether she was pregnant or not. A thought that both terrified and upset her.

“What is it?” Lucien asked.

Elain snapped her eyes back to his face unaware her gaze had wandered. Nor that her brow had furrowed so thoroughly.

“Pardon?” She straightened, sitting up straighter, clasping her hands, and smoothing any doubt or frustration from her expression.

Lucien leaned forward; elbows braced on his knees. He regarded her with a mute expression. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not,” she said primly, smoothing her skirts again.

“Liar,” he said.

Elain gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“You are outright lying to me, my lady,” he said, shaking his head morosely. “Not even a day in to our marriage and my wife doesn’t trust me.”

My wife.

Elain nearly shivered at the words. Which was a ridiculous reaction to have. Heavens above.

“I don’t even know your middle name,” she replied, “how can I trust someone if I don’t know that, at least?”

His stoic façade splintered as he grinned. She did like when he smiled like that.

“I don’t know yours. So I believe we are at an impasse.”

He was taunting her.

“Ah, but see, you’re the one who convinced me to take part in this arrangement, which means you owe me.”

Elain found herself leaning closer to him with each word. She couldn’t necessarily help it, being drawn to him. There was something about him that she couldn’t shake, an itch she couldn’t scratch. Being close certainly helped. But by this point she was impossibly close. Close enough that she could see the outlines of his scars and the way the faded into his skin. She could see the golden flecks of his eyes that melted into rich brown.

“I owe you?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Lucien only shook his head, that infuriating smile remaining on his lips.

The rest of the carriage ride passed by slowly, not that Elain minded. She loved watching the world pass by, loved seeing the way the terrain rolled together, loved the way the sky faded from blue to a hazy gold and flushed pinked.

It was only then that she remembered they would be stopping for the night at an inn. Her heartbeat kicked up and she felt her body flood with heat and then an icy chill. She knew what the wedding night was about and what to expect, but she and Lucien hadn’t discussed that. They were friends. Friends.

“It looks like we’re pulling into the inn now,” Lucien spoke up. He paused a moment and then, as though reading her thoughts, continued to speak. “I’m sure we can arrange for two rooms.”

Yes. No. Before Elain could think of a proper response the carriage rolled to a stop before the inn. A footman hopped down from his perch almost instantly to open the door.

Cool night air filtered inside the carriage, reminding Elain just how chill the season could still be. She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders as Lucien exited. He reached back with a proffered hand to help Elain in her decent. She accepted, grasping his fingers in what would be the first time they’d touched since the wedding. Lucien waited until he was sure she was grounded before release her hand and instructing the footman and driver of their duties for the evening.

Just behind, another carriage approached, this one filled with their belongings and their respective servants.

“I’ll make sure your room is ready and have dinner sent up,” Lucien told her. He kept her hand tight in his grasp drawing her closer to his side. She had to admit that she didn’t quite mind the protective nature. Not right now at least.

“Thank-you,” Elain said. She didn’t let him pull away either. Not until they’d entered the inn and the keeper’s wife immediately swept Elain of with her.

Elain cast a single glance over her shoulder to find Lucien watch her as she departed. She’d told herself that she wasn’t going to look back, told herself she didn’t need to. But she did all the same, her breath catching at the soft look in his gaze.

She stomped down the feelings that rose in her chest, hard. She did not need to feel things for him. Especially not when they were still figuring out who they were to one another. Married or not, friends or not, they still didn’t know each other.

The innkeeper’s wife led Elain and her lady’s maid upstairs to a room. For once, Elain was grateful for her husband’s reputation and status as a duke’s son, it allowed a bit of an expedited process to get a room.

The room in question was a modest size, but not small by any means. It boasted a spacious area with a large bed and fireplace already crackling happily. A smaller doorway led to where a wash bin and the chamber pot were kept. A footman dropped one of Elain’s trunks at the end of the bed before bowing out. Immediately, her maid set to readying her night clothes.

“My lady,” Nuala said, voice chipper as it always way, “I can prepare a bath if you’d like before Lord Vanserra—”

“No,” Elain said quickly. “It’s been a long day, just getting ready for bed is enough.”

She ignored the way her skin flushed and the sudden heat that washed over her. She didn’t want to think at all about what her wedding night was supposed to be. All she wanted was to get in her nightgown and go to bed and put this day behind her.

Nuala was just beginning to plait her hair for bed when there was a soft knock at the door.

Elain froze in her seat before the vanity. Nuala gave her a significant look through the mirror, which she promptly ignored. Instead, Elain tied off the braid herself and stood, running her hands down her nightdress. It wasn’t scandalous by any means, a simple silk thing with lace hems. She hadn’t even bothered to get anything nicer.

“Enter,” Elain said. At least her voice didn’t warble. She tugged on her robe for good measure as she stood in the center of the room. Nuala cleaned the vanity and tucked her dress away without a sound.

The door opened to Lucien. He didn’t enter the room completely, only remained in the doorway.

“Lady Vanserra,” he said, telling her his own valet was with him as well. “It seems the inn is limited on rooms.”

It took a long stretch of silence before Elain grasped his meaning.

“Of course,” she said, “come in. I’ve finished my preparations.”

The door opened a bit wider and Lucien entered, his valet and a footman behind him. The valet held a tray of food and the footman one of Lucien’s own trunk. While the footman left immediately, the valet remained. He held on to the tray, standing dutifully out of the way.

“Set the tray on the bed,” Elain instructed him. “The washroom is available for Lord Vanserra to make his own preparations. Nuala, you’re dismissed, go get some rest.”

Both servants obeyed with efficiency. The valet extracting a few of Lucien’s items to take to the washroom.

With perhaps five minutes to herself, Elain sat on the bed and grabbed a bowl of stew and roll that were waiting for her. It was a simple meal; the stew had thick chunks of beef and potatoes, the roll light and buttery. Her mother would have turned her nose to such a meal served in such a way, but Elain quite enjoyed it.

She wondered if she could finish and move the tray from the vanity and slip into bed to pretend she was asleep. She barely ran through that checklist before the washroom door opened again. Shame, she would have liked to avoid anymore awkward interactions that night.

Lucien dismissed his valet and when the door clicked shut, he released a long sigh.

“Tired?” Elain asked. The question slipped out before she could stop it. She didn’t know why it felt so strange asking him a question, so strange venturing into whatever this would be.

“It was a long day,” Lucien said, a wry smile twisting his lips. He wore a loose linen night shirt and a pair of cotton trousers, nothing elaborate. She didn’t know why she’d expect anything different.

“Well have a seat and eat something,” Elain told him. “You must be as hungry as I am.”

He paused a moment as if debating to himself what he wanted to do. He came to some sort of conclusion before crossing to the opposite sit of the bed and taking a seat on the edge. The bed sank beneath his weight. When he took his own bowl of soup and roll, they fell into a companiable silence.

It did nothing to ease Elain’s anxiety. Sure, when she was able to garden or bake and she could fall into a meditative state as she worked. She liked having her thoughts to herself, liked being able to think about whatever she wanted. But now, she felt a surge of energy building in the room.

“How are you feeling?” Lucien asked, his bowl half drained in a matter of minutes.

“Fine,” Elain murmured, “just tired.”

She tore a piece of her roll, nibbling it. There was still plenty of space between them, she on her side of the bed and he on his.

“If this is making you uncomfortable—” he began.

“Lucien,” she cut him off and smiled softly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

When he set his finished bowl down, Elain thought that would be the end of it. That he would clear the dishes and set the tray out in the hall for a maid to collect. Instead, he reached over and took her hand in his. Just like at their wedding, when their fingers touched, she felt a spark and gooseflesh pebbled on her skin.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

There was an earnestness in his eyes that had her heart squeezing.

“Of course,” she replied, doing her best to push against the rising heat in her cheeks. She set her own bowl down and stuffed the remainder of her roll in her mouth before sweeping the tray up to take to the door herself.

She thought she’d managed to temper her emotions by the time she turned back around. Only when she did, she found Lucien was looking at her with a small frown that clouded his features. Elain wondered if she’d said something wrong or misspoke in some way.

“You,” he paused a moment, “I didn’t coerce you into something you did not want?”

“No, Lucien.” Her heart squeezed again, more painful this time as she thought on his words. “H-have I already been such a miserable friend you regret the offer?”

“No,” he said. Again, he reached for her hand, this time pulling her closer until her knees bumped against the bed. “No regrets.”

She wondered, briefly, if he was lying to her. Not that it would surprise her if he were. They’d been friends barely a month, married less than a day—what reason did he have to trust her?

“If you would prefer, I can sleep on the floor,” he said, “let you have the bed.”

“Nonsense,” she said immediately, “you’re the son of a duke. You’re not sleeping on the floor. The bed is perfectly big enough for the both of us.”

Even if it would only be sleeping, she wouldn’t be alone in bed. Not on her wedding night.

Lucien seemed reluctant to agree, but when Elain fixed him with a glare, he obliged and scooted to the other side of the bed.

With far more courage than she ever thought she could muster, Elain settled into bed beside him.

“We never did establish any rules, did we?” she asked, busying herself with flattening the wrinkles in the bedspread.

“Rules?” Lucien repeated.

“Of what—of how—” She bit her words off and stared forward into the fire at the opposite end of the room. “Of where we go from here. I know there are expectations for us, for you.”

“I don’t care about anyone’s expectations,” he said, “we don’t have to define ourselves by anyone. Least of all—”

He trailed off and Elain looked at him.

“Least of all?” she prodded.

“Nothing.” Lucien turned down the oil lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a cold darkness, save the low burning fire. “Let’s sleep, Elain.”

Elain wasn’t pleased with his non-answer. She kept looking at him in the darkness willing him to say something else, willing herself to work up the courage to speak up herself. But nothing came out. Hunkering down in bed, Elain turned on her side and closed her eyes to a dreamless sleep.

#writtenonreceipts has me in a chokehold #this is just such a delightful au #I never want it to end 🥹#writtenonreceipts is the best ever ❤️#elucien

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thegloweringcastle · 1 year ago

Text

THIS IS-

I JUST-

GAHH!!!!!

The Jane Austen fanatic in me is absolutely losing her mind. This is so freaking perfect, I can hardly put it into words 😭

Sorry I’m so late to the party but better late than never, right?? And omg am I so glad I finally made it. I think one thing (of many) that stood out to me was the dialogue. It’s soooo tricky to make the dialogue feel natural unique to each character, especially when the story is set in a different time period. BUT MY DEAR, YOU PERFECTED IT!!! It fit the regency setting (which I ADORE for elucien, btw. You’re brilliant. You’re a genius. I love you.) but wasn’t too stiff or unnatural. The characters really came to life in this and it’s making my heart melt 🥹

This was so enjoyable and I just adored seeing young Elain and Lucien poke and prod and bicker, they are just TOO CUTE!!! I gobbled this up and can’t wait to speed through the rest before reading it over and over again. As always, you did such a wonderful job!!!!

Elucien Week Masterlist // AO3 Link // Part 2

Day Four: High Society @elucienweekofficial

Summary: A Regency AU. When her family faces the backlash of questionable business choices, Elain Archeron finds herself betrothed to Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the duke. A past of brief interactions taught Elain that there was no good to come from the man, but she soon learns there is more to the young lord than she could have ever known. Two Parts.

a/n: I shared a small section of this story last year during Elucien week as well, so if it looks familiar, that is why! Planning on two parts. And guess what??? Part two is mostly written (and by mostly i mean 3k words and it'll probs be 6-8k).

warnings: none for this part! ~8.3k words

.*.*.*.*.

When Our Fingers Touch, I Find My Way Back Home

When she thought of love, Elain did not picture her parents. They were cold, calculating, vindictive individuals who certainly deserved each other. They were so far from typical conventions of affection that tolerance was the word she associated them with.

Her parents had married when mother was fresh into her first season, seventeen and well connected. Truly, Margot St. Moore had been the diamond in her season and been used to capture the attention of Lord Elias Archeron. Elias of course was only interested in a wife who would continue to garner gossip and valuable information that he could use to further his political agenda.

When she thought of love, Elain did not picture the heroine of the latest book she was reading. It was dull, long winded, and focused only on the male perspective. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by that fact considering it was Aunt Ripleigh who’d gifted it to her, but she’d had high hopes for it in any case.

And it wasn’t that Aunt Ripleigh wasn’t a capable woman herself. No. Aunt Ripleigh simply waited to be acted upon. She hardly ever sought her own will, her own wants, her own desires. It drove Elain insane especially when she’d been forced to spend an entire winter with the woman. She’d gotten very good at baking however, so that was alright she supposed.

Rather, when she thought of love, Elain looked to her sister. Which was hilarious when one thought about it because Nesta did not believe in love. At least she hadn’t. Until war hero and decorated officer Cassian Madura returned to the city and promptly swept Nesta off her feet.

The two were so different that Elain wondered how it was possible they’d come together. They’d certainly played many rounds of cat and mouse during their courtship. At one point Elain believed that Nesta had dismissed the man for good. She didn’t know the entire story behind their coupling, but Elain did know her sister and Nesta had never truly been happy until Cassian had come around.

The strange, free-falling nature of love had long fascinated Elain. She’d had her own fantasies and desires for what love would look like for her that she’d become quite enamored with the idea. Of course, she knew that love was hard to come by. Even if she was a woman and the second daughter, she’d understood she might need to make some sacrifices in her little world. But she’d long held on to the notion that she would be loved.

Until now.

“I’m sorry father,” she said, folding her napkin across her lap. She cleared her throat and leaned forward over the table. “I don’t think I heard what you said.”

Breakfast had never been an enjoyable affair. It was insufferable in the fact that they were all forced together at Mother’s insistence. Every meal was meant to be spent together, hilarious considering none of them liked the other. But Elain new better than to comment on that.

“Oh, Elain,” Mother sighed heavily, taking a long sip of her tea. “You know perfectly well what he said.”

Elain ignored her mother and stared at her father. He was doing a rather remarkable job at examining the single missive he’d received with breakfast. A missive that was minuscule, Elain knew.

The only other person in the room, aside from the staff, was Feyre who was twirling her fork in her fingers in a very undignified manner. Younger by a nearly two years, Feyre still had time before marriage became a priority. Even then, Margot and Elias Archeron were rather bored with being parents at this point that Feyre may never be forced to find a husband.

“You’re betrothed,” Father said flatly. “To one of the Vanserra boys. I spoke with his grace, Lord Vanserra just yesterday.”

Father finally tossed the missive to the side before cutting into the sausage on his plate.

“Which Vanserra boy was it?” Elain asked as calmly as she could. But her fingers were shaking, her whole body in fact. And there was a distinct rage building in her blood that she was certain would come pouring out at any given moment.

She had to pull herself together. Ladies did not dissolve into rage at a minor inconvenience. Ladies were calm, collected, and careful.

Mother sighed again and poured herself more tea. “Don’t be so difficult, Elain. You’ve been preparing for this your entire life. After your sister married that, that brute, you had to expect that you would bring our family some honor. Honestly.”

Elain met Feyre’s gaze. Her little sister merely shrugged. Wonderful.

“And I am happy to do so, mother,” Elain said, her smile felt tight and sharp. “I only wish to know who I’ll be spending the rest of my life with.”

She simply couldn’t believe that it would be a Vanserra she would marry. Oh, they were a well-respected family. They were rich, educated, dripping with all the prestige of the world. But there were rumors too. Rumors of cruelty and spite. Just last year two of the seven sons had been killed in a horrific robbery while abroad. Elain had heard from three different ladies that Beron, the family patriarch, had his own sons killed for no reason other than the boys were useless in business. There were also the rumors of cruelty. Lady Dierdre didn’t leave the Vanserra estate often for a reason.

Elain sipped her tea, trying to calm down.

She’d grown up with the Vanserra’s though. Had endured those boys like one endured an annoying fly that would not leave you alone. And she had a sickening feeling which brother her father assigned her to.

“Lucius, Leonardo, Liam.” Father waved a hand. “The one with the red hair.”

They all had red hair.

“Lucien,” Elain murmured. Really, there was no other option. The eldest was well into his thirties the next two married and the other still abroad. Dread weighed heavy in her stomach.

Father grunted and continued eating his sausage.

“Unfortunately,” Mother said, another sigh. “I would have preferred Eris. I tried arranging him and Nesta before she sullied herself—” a click of the tongue from Feyre “—and tried again for you. Unfortunately, he has a match now.”

Mother dropped sugar into her tea. “And even if that other one is the youngest and won’t inherit a title, you will still be a Vanserra.”

“Is Father’s business truly failing so much?” Feyre, finally breaking her silence, picked up a slice of strawberry with her bare fingers. “So much that you think a marriage alliance will fix it?”

“Hold your tongue, girl,” Father barked. “We always knew Elain would marry and maintain the household. When all our holdings go to her husband it will merely procure a legitimate union.”

Elain and Feyre exchanged another look.

“I will not tolerate your attitudes anymore,” Mother said. “The both of you. Petulant children. I raised you better than this, Elain. You are a lady. You will do as you’re told. And Feyre—you will sit properly at the table or go sit in the mires.”

Feyre slowly straightened her back.

Elain gave her mother a nod. “Of course, Mother. I forgot my place.”

And then she promptly kept her lips sealed for the rest of the meal.

…

It was when Elain was twelve that she met Lucien Vanserra for the first time.

She wasn’t supposed to be outside in the gardens, but she simply couldn’t resist. It was still early enough in spring that the new blooms were still budding, and leaves were unfurling that it all had an heir of magic to it. In just a few weeks this garden would be transformed from bare branches to insurmountable beauty. And she wanted to see every moment of that transition.

Even if it was still a bit cold. And yes, the clouds overhead were gray and fierce and looked ready to pounce. But it was no longer winter. She needn’t be contained anymore.

So, Elain wandered the gardens. She could identify most of the plants by their leaves alone. After kindly bullying the head gardener to teach her about his stewardship, Elain had come to more fully appreciate this small piece of the world.

As she rounded a corner of her favorite part of the garden, she saw a flash of red and a creature dashed out of the shrubbery. It paused in the middle of the path, staring at her. A fox. Sleek and lean with large russet eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you a surprise,” Elain said, because what else was there to say? “Having a look around?”

Its tail twitched and head listed to one side. And then a great shout echoed across the garden and the fox flitted off again.

Elain couldn’t help her cry of dismay when a boy, just a few years older than her, came charging through the garden. He was impeccably dressed for a boy his age with crisp linen and shiny boots. His fiery red hair hung over his face as he ran towards Elain.

“Where is it?” he asked with obvious desperation.

“I—what?” Elain stared at him, this strange boy with a pal-mal racquet in one hand and determination in his eyes.

“The fox! The blasted thing stole through the game and ruined my shot!”

Elain blinked. “You were startled by a fox?”

The boy scowled. “I didn’t say I was scared.”

“Then how did it ruin your shot?” she insisted.

“It ran out in front of me,” he replied.

“And you got distracted?”

“No!” The boy did not appreciate her at this moment, she could see that well enough.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asked.

“It’s a menace,” the boy said. He looked at her in earnest now. Elain could see how bright his eyes were, rich brown like the fox’s. His skin was a warm, rich color, darker than most in the -ton. “I want to catch it.”

Elain’s eyes widened. “What on earth for? You wouldn’t hurt it would you?”

The boy started. “Well, I suppose I don’t know. I didn’t think that far.”

“You’re very strange,” Elain told him.

“Well so are you,” he said.

It was Elain’s turn to scowl. How dare he! He didn’t know her from Adam.

“I am a respectable young lady and I would ask that you treat me as such,” she said, and then lifted her chin in the air for good measure.

“You’re covered in dirt,” the boy said. “Ladies don’t roll around in the dirt.”

Elain glanced down. It appeared he was right. She’d knelt beside the roses pulling weeds earlier. And then there was a mess of fallen branches in the hydrangeas. Not to mention lavender.

“A lady is allowed her hobbies, and her discretion,” she said, perfectly mimicking her tutors.

The boy cocked his head. “I don’t know. Still seems strange to me, you were talking to yourself too. Or is that another one of your discretions you're allowed?”

Was he mocking her? Elain couldn’t help her scowl, even with her mother’s inner monologue raging in her head.

“At least I’m not running about like a savage waving a stick,” she said.

“It’s fun, you should try it,” he replied, “but ladies aren’t meant to be savages.”

“No,” she said, “they’re not.”

And then, for whatever reason, he grinned at her. Something wild and bright and utterly different than what Elain ever saw on anyone. He then swept into a low bow.

“Lucien Vanserra,” he said, “seventh son to the duke.”

The Duke? Elain stared at him. Her father was a lord who managed funds and trades. This boy, Lucien, so clearly outranked her in social standing that Elain could hardly even think. Mother was going to be furious for being so forward and impolite to him.

“And you, my lady,” Lucien asked, his impish grin still in place. “Might I know of your name?”

If she didn’t tell him her name then he couldn’t tattle on her for being so uncivilized.

Elain clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. Not only would mother scold her, but she could also revoke Elain’s privileges relating to the garden, or baking. If either of those things happened, Elain had no idea what she would do. She would be forced to read. Or paint. Or cross-stitch.

“Elain!”

She started, terrified that her mother had found her out in the garden, dirty, talking to the duke's son of all things. Hand clutched to her chest, she spun around, searching for who was calling for her.

Walking quickly down the path towards her was Nesta. Barely a year older than her, Nesta was already so lovely. Her dress was perfectly pressed and arranged, and her body, perfect for dancing, moved with perfect elegance.

“Elain, what are you doing?” Nesta demanded as she drew closer.

While Nesta wouldn’t tell their mother about this little venture, she would try and mother hen Elain the rest of the day. Elain glanced at Lucien. As if he could help.

All he did was offer another bow. “Lady Elain.”

And then he was scampering off the way he came.

“Elain!” Nesta finally stepped up beside her and took her arm. “Who was that? What’s going on?”

“It was, I was,” she was at a loss for words. In all her life, Elain always had the words for every situation. “There was a fox.”

Nesta did not like that answer. She tugged at Elain’s arm, pulling her back to the manor.

“Come on, you have to change before mother sees you.”

There was no other choice than to follow.

…

The winter months were long and dreary. Compared to the bright vibrant warmth of spring and summer, winter was the bane of Elain’s existence. It was barely even Winter Solstice and Elain was ready to return to the comforts of the other seasons.

“Get that scowl off your face,” Mother snapped.

Elain blinked and looked in the mirror of her vanity. Her maid, Nuala, was carefully pinning her curls into an elegant twist while her mother paced the room behind. She wasn’t scowling, was she? She was merely staring off into nothing.

“You’re going to be the center of attention tonight at the ball and we cannot have your future husband see that on your face.” Mother picked invisible lint from her dress. “You are a lady who everyone will be looking to, tonight.”

Elain straightened her shoulders and relaxed her jaw. “Of course, Mother. I’m sorry. I just can’t help but imagine how tonight will go. With my betrothal to Lord Lucien there will be a number of expectations.”

“Expectations that you’ve been training for since you could walk,” Mother replied crisply. She came up behind Elain, nearly pushing Nuala out of the way. The lady's maid said nothing, knowing better than to try and address the woman. “It is nothing you cannot handle.”

The compliment was a rare gem that Elain would savor for just a moment. She told herself to relax, to breathe evenly. It would be a successful night of celebration and merriment. Even with the official engagement to Lord Lucien, there were still holiday celebrations. The dancing would be wonderful, the food divine, and the decorations. Elain had helped the head housekeeper in all the planning. Mother only accepted the notion when Elain reminded her it was how she would best prepare for her own house in just a few months’ time.

It would be a remarkable night, and her engagement to Lord Lucien would not sully it. She loved parties and gatherings and adored the excitement that came with all the various arrangements.

“All finished,” Nuala said. She pined one more curl into place. It was lovely with the twisting curls and gentle braids she’d created. She’d even pinned a small string of pearls to act like a crown.

“Thank-you Nuala.” Elain smiled at her maid. She’d long been a good confidant and wonderful friend despite their differences in station. “You’re dismissed, I’ll ring for you later tonight.”

Nuala curtsied before hurrying from the room. Just as she was leaving, another of the maids approached, rapping on the door.

“Excuse me, my ladies,” the maid said, curtsying just as Nuala had. “Lady Arch—er Madura has arrived.”

Elain perked immediately. “Do send her up Greer.”

“No,” Mother cut in. “We are already late. We’ll see her downstairs.”

They were ahead of schedule, but Elain knew better than to correct her mother. But she desperately wanted to speak with Nesta. The two got along as well as sisters could, but they still had their differences. And while Elain had her own thoughts and opinions about Nesta’s choice in life (not that she begrudged her sister’s choice in husband nor how she took hold of her life) there were simply things that she didn’t understand.

Things that she couldn’t talk to her mother about. And Feyre, well, Feyre was ice and snow. Hard to navigate, hard to approach. Sometimes, Elain would say that Feyre and Nesta were the most similar of the sisters, but she didn’t want to get her head eaten off.

“Now,” Mother said, drawing Elain from her thoughts. “Tonight is all about your betrothal to Lord Lucien. You must dance with him and you must speak with him. Civilly. None of this running around to your every whim and fancy. I will not have you become a gossip.”

“I have to attend to guests,” Elain insisted. She did not want to spend an entire night stuck to Lord Vanserra’s side. It was laughable. Ludicrous to expect her to do so. “I am in part hosting this event, Mother.”

“The only one hosting this night, is me. I am the lady of this household,” Mother said. Her voice was stoney and viciously cold. Elain hardly restrained her wince. “You cannot flirt with every man that walks through that door. Have some restraint, Elain.”

Elain dropped her gaze, demurely. “Yes, ma’am.”

There was no point in arguing with her. Not now. Soon, she would be gone from the manor. Gone from the constant nagging and finagling. Soon, she would have her own house to tend. Lord Vanserra would allow her that small mercy, wouldn’t he?

“You’re frowning again.” Mother rapped her on the shoulder and sighed. “And your hair. Why must you have so many curls? It really would be better if it lay flat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then Elain was left to follow her mother down to the main hall where the ball would occur.

Everything had been transformed to reflect a taste of winter. Blue and white ribbons combined with simple floral arrangements. The chandeliers had all been shined to perfection and candelabras burned through the hall. The carpets had been washed, banisters polished, and every surface that was supposed to gleam did so as if set upon by the sun.

Elain allowed herself a moment of admiration for the work the staff had done. But only a moment. Mother was already halfway across the hall and trailing behind like a little duckling would not make the night any easier.

Immediately, there were names to be learned, curtsies to be given, and greetings to be issued. Elain had been trained for this. Mother had taught her everything about being a good hostess and deferring to the man of the house. Mother had also taught her how to carefully gather information from everyone that passed through their doors.

And while Elain didn’t mind a bit of gossip, she didn’t necessarily enjoy the attention this sprung on her. If she were being honest, she wished she could have a single moment for herself. Just one where she could take everything in about the decorations of the house, the music, the food. Where she could simply breathe and not worry about whether she’d done well enough or worry about how others saw the way she ran the house.

She just wanted a moment.

“Elain,” Mother hissed beside her when they weren’t inundated with another round of guests.

She snapped to attention, realizing she was giving too much attention to a snag in Lady Charlotte’s gown. The poor dear was failing miserably at hiding her pregnancy.

Elain didn’t need to ask her mother what happened because she already knew. It only took a glance.

Entering their families' great hall were the Duke and Duchess. They were resplendent in their dress, the duke formal in a black coat and rich cream shirt, trousers, and cravat. His black hair was neatly styled and those dark brown eyes shrewdly examined everything in the hall. His wife, though, was by far the most beautiful woman Elain had seen. Her red hair was twisted into a fashionable chiffon and laden with sparkling gems that matched the green of her gown. With a willowy frame and bright, amber eyes, the Duchess was remarkable.

Following right behind them were two men that were impossible to mistake. Eris and Lucien Vanserra. They were both proud and arrogant as they stood in the doorway. So similar yet so different. Where Eris had paler skin, Lucien was darker, where Eris was sharp and cut cold as his father, Lucien retained the subtle softness of his mother.

Elain couldn’t help but stare. Truly, she tried to avert her gaze. To focus on Lady Viviane who looked resplendent in a gown of pale blue. To congratulate her on her pregnancy that she had no qualms of hiding unlike most ladies of the -ton.

But once her eyes snagged on Lucien, she could not look away. And when he caught her staring, Elain knew she was lost.

A smirk tugged on his lips and his brow rose in challenge. Elain lifted her chin and looked away. There was only so long she could get away with it. Only so long until her mother forced the hired string quartet to play something. Only so long until she was thrust into the arms of her betrothed. Like an animal.

…

She was seventeen when she realized that her life would never be her own.

She’d tried to ask her mother for permission to spend time in the kitchens with the cook so she could learn how to braid bread and roll out pie dough. At first, Elain foolishly thought her mother would give her permission. Until Mother tossed her head back and laughed.

“You are a lady, Elain. And you will be married the second you turn eighteen. There is no reason for you to sully yourself with that sort of thing.”

Elain was quickly learning that sully was mother’s new favorite word. Especially after Nesta had been seen dancing with Cassian Madura at the Berdara Ball just two nights ago. Mother had just never used it in reference to her before. Elain was always lovely and sweet and perfect.

And even if Elain didn’t like being called those things, didn’t like the way they made her feel so enclosed and trapped—she’d never thought her mother would be so blatant in her cold words and cruel actions.

Perhaps that was why Elain found herself wandering the large fields of the property that day. It was early spring and the rains had stopped for a small respite. She’d been desperate to get out of the house. To feel the fresh air and taste the sweet breeze that came with the fresh blooms of spring. Even if it was still chilly and the clouds overhead looked ready to burst at any moment.

Elain wasted no time as she practically ran across the sprawling lawn. It wasn’t long until she was far enough away from the manor that she could breathe a bit easier, that even her mother’s nagging voice disappeared.

She only came to a stop as she reached the small stream that served as a border between Archeron and Vanserra land. How they lived so close to the duke Elain had never learned and she was certain that the truth would not be comforting, so she put it out of her mind as best she could.

She wore one of her simpler dresses today which made it easier to walk and explore in. Not to mention it was a bit older too so if it got a little dirty, no one would care. Well, Nuala might give her a look, and Elain was fairly certain the maid was giving her mother reports on her actions.

That was something she could worry about later, Elain decided.

She carefully crept closer to the stream bed, the grass slick with the earlier rain. Elain had always had good luck finding different colored rocks. She loved the varying colors that could range from burgundy to pale blue. Even the dull grays were fascinating especially if they had a distinct stripe or marking that—

Her foot slipped and before Elain could even attempt to right herself, she went spiraling face first into the river.

There was no way to catch herself. She knew it the second she felt the shift of her stance. Elain let out a shriek as she fell. The cold watch sloshed around her and immediately seeped into her shoes, her dress. Gasping, Elain floundered in the water until she sat up. Soaked. Utterly soaked. And freezing.

The chill stole the air from her lungs and Elain could do nothing other than stare through the loose tendrils of her hair that had come free from her chignon.

“Lady Elain!”

She heard the voice but couldn’t focus on anything other than how cold she was. Her lungs wouldn’t cooperate either. All she could do was sit in that water and let it wash around her. It hadn’t been terribly deep, perhaps only halfway up her calves, but now it felt as though she’d been dragged hundreds of meters below the surface.

There was a loud splash from somewhere beside her and before Elain could register it, strong hands were dipping beneath her shoulders and legs and she was hauled against a broad, warm chest.

The arms that held her were firm and unyielding. Elain could do little more than cling to his front and bury her face against his shoulder as the shivers took control. She could make out a strong masculine scent of sunlight and pine, it was oddly comforting in a strange, subtle way.

When she was set down on solid ground, Elain’s knees buckled and she held on tighter to the arms around her.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured in her ear. “Easy.”

Elain shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. Oh she knew that voice. She knew exactly who it was that held her.

“Are you alright?” Lucien Vanserra’s low voice hummed in her ear. She wanted to push him away, to stand on her own, to—

Her knees buckled again and like some swooning heroine in a horrible broadsheet story—she clung tighter to the youngest Vanserra. Elain was still too shocked and chilled to be embarrassed by this miserable state. It didn’t help that Lucien exuded so much warmth.

“It seems I slipped,” she finally whispered. She kept her eyes closed, willing her skin to stop flushing. Maybe if she stayed still long enough, she’d just sink into the earth and vanish.

She felt the soft brush of his hand against her cheek, brushing a damp curl away.

“Indeed,” Lucien murmured. His hand moved to run down her arm, rubbing warmth back into her. “I saw you tumble. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Elain steeled herself before blinking her eyes open. His own eyes were trained on her—russet brown with golden undertones, the left eye laced with pale scars along tender skin. She took a slow breath. Ever since their brief meeting when they were children, Elain had only seen him from a distance. Nesta had whispered rumors that Beron Vanserra was not a good man and they shouldn’t engage with him or his family. Duke or no.

But here and now, amid the soggy weather and cool breeze that mixed with her wet skirts--Elain found herself unable to pull away from him.

“I’m fine,” she whispered even as a shiver wracked her body.

Lucien chuckled darkly. “Forgive me, but you look like a drowned rat, my lady.”

The haze of surprise dissipated and Elain found herself scowling. “Well then, I shall be on my way. I hate to be such an eyesore.”

She pulled away from that careful grasp he still held her in and nearly went slipping all over again. Lucien caught before Elain fell. His strong hands gripped her arms and his own sturdy build kept her grounded.

“Don’t go off in a huff,” he said.

Elain swatted his arms. She was able to keep her balance this time as she managed to put some distance between them.

“I should have remembered how rude you are,” she snapped amid her shivers.

Gathering her skirts in her hands, Elain stalked off in the direction of her family home. Lucien kept pace easily and before she could swat him again, he’d shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Warmth immediately enveloped her and Elain had to clamp her mouth shut to hold back the satisfied sigh that wanted to escape.

“We wouldn’t want you catching a cold,” Lucien said when she finally looked at him.

She didn’t know how else to respond to that other than to continue walking while he remained dutifully by her side.

…

The ball was off to a remarkable beginning. Even if her mother had dragged her away from most of the inner workings of the planning--Elain noted with satisfaction that everything was still delightful.

The lights were perfect, the food continuous, and the small quartet in the corner extremely talented. All from her careful deliberations.

Elain allowed her pride to be stroked for just a moment before it was dashed away by a familiar form approaching her side. She couldn’t help the sharp inhale nor the way she shifted just so subtly toward him.

“Well, Lady Elain,” Lucien said, “we meet again.”

In the years since that regrettable day where she’d tumbled into the stream—Elain had done her best to avoid the youngest Vanserra. At first it was embarrassment. And then it turned to something else—something Elain didn’t know how to identify, only that when she simply thought about the young lord, her cheeks would heat and her heart thudded harder. Embarrassment. Anger. Both seemed like decent explanations so in the end she focused on the latter.

Anger mostly at him for being so arrogant. And teasing.

Ever since that day, Elain hadn’t known what to think or how to act toward him. Certainly he had acted the gentleman and delivered her back home safely. But he’d never called on her after, never passed a kind note, nor paid her any heed at dances or shared meals when they arose.

She, apparently, was utterly uninteresting.

“Indeed,” she said crisply. She clutched her glass of punch tightly between her fingers, fully expecting the delicate glass to shatter at any moment.

“And fully set to ignore me too?”

Elain glared at him, despite her keen desire not to even acknowledge him. She lifted her chin, though it did little in making up the difference in their heights. Lucien practically towered over her with a lean, but firm build. He’d certainly filled out in the years since he’d saved her from the stream. Heat flushed her skin and she looked away.

“No need to get shy on me now,” Lucien remarked, she caught the curve of a smile on his stupidly full lips. “We are betrothed after all.”

“How could I forget?” She set her drink down on the table she stood beside. She turned her full attention to him and gave him the full effect of her scowl. “It’s only been drilled into me ever since the announcement.”

“No need to be so upset.” He only grinned at her expression. “That hardly seems a way to enter a marriage. It should be far more fun than that.”

She couldn’t do this. Elain turned away, already looking for the best escape. If only Feyre was here. But Mother didn’t allow her to come to parties even if she were of age. Nesta and Cassian were all the way on the other side of the ballroom speaking with the young Miss Gwyneth Berdara and Miss Emerie Costa. It would be painfully obvious if she stalked straight across the hall for them leaving her betrothed standing there.

Well she could just leave the event all together. Her mother hadn’t said anything about how long she would need to stay after seeing her intended. She’d fulfilled her duty so she could now leave.

She saw her escape when the young general Jurian Renault and his wife Vassa Deveraux approached. Elain was aware that her betrothed and the general had met at school and nearly been expelled together after a rebellion of sorts involving frogs, explosions, and crotchety old men. She didn’t know much beyond that, but this would certainly be the perfect distraction.

As soon as Jurian called for Lucien, Elain swept away toward one of the back stairways that was hardly used by anyone—servants included.

She'd hardly made it out of the great hall before Lucien caught up to her. He didn't try to touch her, merely keeping just one step behind her.

“Lady Elain.” Lucien cut her off before she made it even a step up the stairs. “Is this how you plan to spend our marriage? Running from it?”

“Yes,” she said simply. She tried to dodge around him but he was too quick for her. Lucien stood firmly in front of her that even one stiff shove didn’t get him out of her way. Bastard. “If you would get out of my way.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he replied. He grinned, his teeth flashing, and Elain scowled as she tried to push him again. Built like a wall, the man didn’t budge. “You and I have things to discuss.”

There was an earnestness in his words even if his face appeared cut from stone. Everything she’d heard about his father, his brothers, came rushing to the front of her mind and she had a hard time reconciling that cruelty.

“I am not a puppet for you to dress up and play with,” she told him. He let her pass him this time and she hurried up the stairs that would take her to her rooms. “Nor am I a wife you can brush aside without a second thought.”

“I never said you were,” Lucien said. His ridiculously long legs kept him in pace with her.

“Please,” Elain scoffed. She glared at him, mostly upset that she couldn’t storm away properly. It was a lady’s prerogative to have equal storming rights. “You’re getting a perfect little wife for your perfect little life. I know the kind of man you are, Lord.”

He waited until they rounded the third floor before grabbing her arm and swinging her around to face him. Elain couldn’t help the little peep of surprise that escaped her when suddenly she was staring at his chest. Steeling herself, Elain lifted her gaze and met his eyes. Beautiful and russet brown, his left eye scarred through the corner. It was, unfortunately, impossible to look away from him. Perhaps it was his broad features, the deep tones of his skin. Or even that subtle strength coiling within him.

There was something about Lucien Vanserra that called to her. She didn’t know how to describe it, and that terrified her. But she couldn’t help it. She often found herself thinking about it, wondering what might be going on in that trickster-like mind of his. And now here she was, so close she could smell whisky on his breath and cloves on his skin.

“You think I want this?” he asked. “That I asked for it? You think you know me, Elain?”

The way he whispered her name sent a shiver racing through her. She could do nothing to control it. His voice was dark and heavy as he spoke as though he were trying desperately to hold something back.

“No,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “Perhaps I don’t know you. But whose fault is that?”

A sharp smile.

“Oh?” he raised his hand to curl a finger beneath her chin. “It’s my fault, is it?”

She could only stare. She feared that if she nodded it would just give her body permission to go falling into his arms like one of the heroines from Nesta’s favorite books.

“Yes,” she replied when it was clear he was waiting for her to answer. “You are not an easy person to know.”

Lucien laughed, laughed, at her. The sound rumbled from him and sent flurries through Elain’s belly. “I’m not easy to know? You, Elain, have never met yourself, have you? For every chance I’ve tried to get to know you, you have ignored me. Hiding behind tea cups and floral arrangements. I have tried to reach out but you have said nothing. Believe you me, say the word and I will be gone.”

Elain rolled her eyes. “You won’t leave. This marriage contract benefits your father as much as mine.”

“I care not for my father,” Lucien said. The mention of his father leeched the warmth that usually accompanied him away as suddenly as if she’d smothered him. His eyes sharpened though, boring into her. “Nor do I answer to him.”

Elain’s heart beat far too heavily in her chest. They were up on the third floor of the mansion, the sounds of the party a mere hum in the background. She should have been concerned about being alone with a man, being so close to him. She should be concerned over the party continuing on without her for heaven’s sake. But all Elain could do was stare into Lucien’s gaze.

She wet her lips, speaking before she lost her nerve. “Who do you answer to, then?”

A look flashed in his eyes and Elain swore it was hunger. Desire. Want. No one had ever looked at her like this before. It sent a flush through her entire body. If she’d still had a wit of decorum left in her senses she would have shoved him away. As it was, she arched toward him. Whether it was simply for the connection of another human or for feeling more than the dainty woman everyone thought her to be--

Lucien’s eyes pierced her to the very soul. And when he dipped in closer, Elain felt her breath catch. One of his hands brushed over her cheek as though painting the blush right onto her skin.

Elain’s lips tingled in anticipation; certain he was about to kiss her. Much to her surprise, and horror, she wanted him to. In the years since the incident at the stream she’d tried not to think about him. She’d tried to forget that small taste of protectiveness and rebel against it. She'd become so used to being told what her life would be like and how she should act that now having him thrust upon her in such a manner made her want to shrink back. To fight any claim he might make over her.

But he did now want this either, did he? A forced marriage being controlled. This was never what he'd imagined for himself…was it?

And yet there was a desperation to him as his hands went to her waist, fingers tightening in the fabric of her gown. He didn't want to let her go…despite it all.

"What do you want, Lucien?" She asked when the silence stretched too long.

He leaned into her and Elain would have stumbled if he hadn't been supporting her she would have simply forgotten to stand sinking into those russet eyes of his.

"I," he began, but there was the click of a door and the two sprung apart looking for the source of the noise.

There emerging from her rooms in a simple blue dress was Feyre. She merely raised a brow. Just because she wasn’t allowed to attend the ball downstairs did not mean she was supposed to stay in her rooms. Well, their mother certainly expected it, but Elain knew her sister. Feyre had likely stolen a bottle of wine and had a little nook set up on the roof with her paints and a canvas.

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorway of her room. “I do hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

The drawl was pointed, amused. Lucien emitted a low growl that only Elain could hear before he pulled away. He made sure Elain would keep her footing this time.

The interruption was just what Elain needed. She pulled out of Lucien's grasp, not an easy task when he seemed determined not to let her go, and faced her sister.

“Feyre,” she said. “What are you doing?”

Feyre betrayed nothing as her blue eyes widened in innocence. “Simply out for a stroll and thought I'd heard your voice.”

Her sister was a menace that shouldn't be trusted.

“Shouldn't you be enjoying the ball you planned?” Feyre continued, not moving from her perch in the doorway. She gave a pointed look at Elain’s rumpled appearance.

“Your sister was merely showing me about the manor,” Lucien stepped in lightly.

“Liar.” Amusement flashed in Feyre’s eyes.

“Feyre!” Elain could only stare at her sister. Seventh son or not, you didn't say such things to the son of a duke.

But Lucien merely laughed. “I can see why you're tucked away up here, not many could stand your sharp tongue, I take it.”

Feyre lifted her chin, eyes narrowed. “Consider it a good thing you're already betrothed. For I could make things miserable for you, Lord.”

Having had enough of this mess, Elain took Lucien's hand and pulled him down the hall, away from Feyre’s rooms. She knew her sister’s threat was mild to say the least, Feyre hardly cared about propriety or what they’re mother said.

“Perhaps you should tend to your studio sister,” Elain said. She gave Feyre a significant look which mostly went ignored.

“Good night,” Feyre sang lightly and then returned to her room, the door sticking shut behind her.

With no intention of showing Lucien Vanserra her bed chamber, Elain practically shoved him through the next available doorway, a broom closet, and rounded on him. She’d misjudged how big the closet was because when she turned to more effectively yell at Lucien, he was far closer to her than she’d expected. In fact, her nose nearly brushed his chest. There was no where she could go because she was a fool who had stuffed herself and Lucien in said closet without any second thought.

Craning her neck to glare at him, Elain crossed her arms over her chest. She ignored the fact that her bare arms ran along the soft fabric of his jacket sending small sparks along her skin.

Lucien meets her gaze, raising a brow that stretches out the scars that line one side of his face.

“Really, Elain? I thought you wanted to avoid this sort of scandal?”

As if anyone would care if they were stuffed in a closet together. If anything, it would only make her mother happy as they would be forced to move the wedding date up. A thought that churned Elain’s stomach.

Still, she set her jaw and did her best to appear to be looking down her nose at him. “Scandal. Our mothers would happily march us down the aisle tomorrow if they could.”

“Indeed,” Lucien mused. “Seems a bit silly then that we continue with a betrothal if that is the case.”

She pursed her lips. “I’ll retain what little freedom I have left for a bit longer, thank-you.”

Lucien’s brow ticked higher in the silent ask: then what are we doing in this damnable closet? Or something close to it because that was certainly the thought racing through her own mind.

“By spending the duration of your party in a closet,” he murmured instead. His breath aired out against her face: warm and tainted with the spicy scent of whiskey.

“It’s my mother’s party,” Elain said, a bit too sharply. Even though she’d been the one to organize everything to confirm the menu to— “And she made it clear I’m supposed to spend time with my betrothed. So really, I’m doing exactly what is expected of me.”

A small huff of amusement escaped Lucien’s lips and he shook his head. “Well, congratulations on that, I suppose.”

“Thank-you.”

Another smile turned up the corners of his mouth, his stupidly attractive mouth.

She took a small moment to force a quick breath, praying it would calm her erratic heartbeat. It didn’t work and she felt a flush begin to rise along her skin, creeping across her collarbone and neck.

“You wished to speak to me,” she said, voice quiet in an effort to hold back her flurry of emotions, “isn’t that why you chased me all around my home?”

That smile of his remained even as he pulled back to put space between them once more. “I know this marriage is not ideal for both of us, however, it is one that will benefit both of our families. Which we’re both concerned with.”

He gave her a significant look; the kind that said he was well aware of the pressures she was under from her parents.

“And?” she pressed, ready to get out of this damned closet that was somehow getting too small--the walls closing too tight around them and the scent of his cologne too strong and delicious.

“And I propose an…understanding,” he said. He paused as he considered his next words. “There is no escaping what awaits us, but we need not be miserable.”

Elain’s stomach churned at his words and what he could mean. She wasn’t a dunce, she knew that displeasure and unhappiness prevailed in most marriages of the -ton, her parents for example. But that’s not what she wanted. She wanted a marriage and happiness and a husband who favored her. And now here was her intended off to suggest affair partners before they were even wed.

“I would that we could be friends,” Lucien said, cutting in to the spiral of Elain’s thoughts.

She frowned; certain she hadn’t heard him right. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

Staring up at him, Elain tried to read his face. It was impassive as ever, the only thing showing any trait of personality being the scars that emanated from his eye. Though, she supposed that didn’t count.

“You want to be my friend?” she asked. Such a thing had never occurred, nor been proposed, to her. Mama always said that men wanted one thing and one thing alone and they would use her for it in any way they could. Besides, Elain had never had a real friend before. She could never trust her maids or ladies in waiting—they were all too loyal to Mama. She had her sisters, but Nesta was married now and Feyre had her own little tricks up her sleeves. They’d never been close and Elain doubted they ever would.

“Yes.”

And Elain, for some strange reason, believed him. For the most part. She wouldn’t let him behave so casually and confidently though.

“And what does being your friend entail?” she asked. Curious to see how he would define the word. It wasn’t as though she had a good definition herself, but that didn’t matter.

Amusement flashed briefly in his eyes before vanishing entirely.

“Never had a friend before, Lady Elain?” He asked it with amusement and fully of jest but the question pierced straight to her soul.

Because no; she’d never had a friend before. Not really. Not a close confidant nor companion. Oh, she had her sisters, but theirs was a strange thing to where Elain wasn’t sure exactly where they stood together.

Realizing she’d been quiet for too long, Elain merely shrugged. “Never one so misbehaving as you.”

That got a full laugh out of him. Rich and bright, Elain knew she wouldn’t forget the sound of it anytime soon. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him laugh like that.

“I suppose I can try and be better,” he said, “for you.”

“That’s all I would ask of you,” Elain said, with far more bravado than she felt. She then repeated her earlier question. “What would you ask of me, as your friend?”

“To trust me, to talk to me.”

He made it sound so easy that Elain just kept watching him, waiting for the impossible requirement to rear its head.

“That’s it?”

“For now.” And just like that his roguish nature returned and whatever brief kinship Elain may have thought present evaporated. His eyes gleamed with obvious merriment and a subtle slouch entered his posture.

Elain did her best to rise to her full height as she glared at him, which only made him smirk. With as much dignity she could muster, Elain reached around him to the door of the closet to shove it open. She needed space, needed fresh air, needed to not be so close to him while her mind ran rampant and chaotic.

“Until the next,” Lucien said.

Ever the gentleman, Lucien took her hand. He leaned in to press a kiss to the back of her fingers. Elain ignored the way her stomach clenched and her skin tingled. But it was hard to ignore the way his hand practically dwarfed hers and his woodsy scent wrapped around her.

And just like that, he slipped out of the closet to leave her alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that were not conducive to friendship. And thoughts that were simply not real to begin with. Because Lucien Vanserra, and whatever understanding they’d come to, was never going to lead her to happiness.

#do you hear that?#that sound is me screaming #writtenonreceipts is the best ever ❤️#everyone please join me in giving writtenonreceipts a standing ovation #screaming crying throwing up #elucien #internet besties❤️

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thegloweringcastle · 1 year ago

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thegloweringcastle · 1 year ago

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i think some of you need to eat a slice of cheesecake and listen to ambient rain noises ten hours

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thegloweringcastle · 1 year ago

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Happy birthday!!!! I’m so emotional, you guys look at my friend! She’s come so far and accomplished so much!! Can we please all give her a big hug and a standing ovation???

So proud of you, @writtenonreceipts!! Thank you for always being such a great person and a caring friend <3 Enjoy your birthday - try to treat yourself to some extra sweets and a new book (or two, or three…) - and take some time to appreciate your hard work!🤗🥳

One more shout out for my birthday <3<3<3

@thegloweringcastle

To the friend who hasn't given up on me. Words cannot describe how grateful I am for you that I have to make it public. You've given me so much support, kindness, and strength over the years that I don't know where'd I be without you. I struggle making friends and having people I trust and your unfettered kindness swooped in and made this tumblr space so much better.

Truly, your friendship means so much for me. Not only your writing advice but helping me celebrate the little victories and finding joy every day. Thanks for helping me see the good in myself and encouraging me to keep going.

#I’ll always be here cheering you on!!!#happy happy birthday to you my dear! <3 #I’m beyond proud of all that you’ve achieved ❤️#thank you for being my friend 🥹#love you bestie 🫶

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thegloweringcastle · 2 years ago