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whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 year

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Who Cares for You (m)

Guess who’s back with YET ANOTHER fic lmao. This is based on 2 prompts, one from @waterfallofspace and one from an anon, the prompts are kinda long to put here but essentially the idea was that Elijah comes to work sick and refuses to go home, so Greyson has to figure out a way to get him home and take care of him. THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPTS!! <3 This one was a little out of my comfort zone, and I LOVED writing it so I hope you guys like it :) A little over 3k words because I just cannot be concise, it isn’t in my nature lol.

OH and if you’re the anon who sent the Greyson-centric prompt, I’ll be filling that one later this week >:)

cw: male, cold, coughing, light mess.

Who Cares for You

In the five years Greyson had been the executive chef at Elliot’s, many thing had changed; he’d become a partner; they’d expanded into the storefront next to the original, tiny space; and they’d seen about a dozen cooks, servers, bussers, and dishwashers come and go. One thing always stayed the same, though: August was always, without fail, maddeningly slow.

Greyson was sitting in the office, throwing a ball against the wall while attempting to come up with the fall menu they were supposed to be rolling out in the next few weeks. Was it an urgent task? Definitely not. But, his cooks were on prep projects, his sous chef was sorting through the walk-in, and truly, he had nothing better to do.

Unfortunately, his creativity was about as lukewarm as the office today.

Just when he was about to say fuck it and click out of the near-empty word document he had open, Greyson heard his boss swing open the back doors of the kitchen and stomp inside.

“Christ, it’s hot,” Elijah said, pushing past the chef and into his seat in their shared office. “Is August always this hot?”

“I mean, I’m sure climate change doesn’t help,” Greyson said, cracking his neck and turning toward Elijah. He raised both eyebrows when the two of them locked eyes. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh, what?” Elijah asked, sitting down and turning on his computer. Greyson motioned to his own face, then at Elijah’s. “What?” Elijah asked again.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Greyson pointed out. “You’re not feeling well?”

“Oh. Yeah, I have a headache, didn’t want to put in contacts,” Elijah explained, pawing his nose with the back of his hand absentmindedly. He glanced again at the Chef, who had a cheeky half-smile on his face. “What?”

“Who the fuck gets a cold in the middle of August?” Greyson asked, laughing. Elijah rolled his eyes, then grimaced.

“Fuck off, Grey, I do not have a cold. It’s a headache. Not everything is a -,” Elijah cut himself off when his breath hitched, seemingly out of nowhere. “Huh! HUTSCHH-oo! Snf.” Elijah cleared his throat, and turned back to the Chef, high spots of embarrassment blooming on his cheeks. “A thing,” he finished, lamely.

Greyson snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, not everything is ‘a thing’, but this,” he gestured at Elijah’s entire presence, “is most certainly a thing. I’ve known you five years, Lij, you think I can’t tell when you’re sick?”

“What is this? What is happening?” Elijah turned his chair to fully face Greyson and gave him a look of disbelief. “Are we an old married couple now? You gonna start organizing my pills in little containers and making sure I take them with oatmeal every morning? Putting my coffee on the night before my early-morning shift down at the mines?” Greyson sat back, arms behind his head, and shrugged, clearly amused. “Do people still do the coffee thing? I thought that was eradicated by Big Keurig.” Elijah couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “For real though, boss,” Greyson continued, “It’s gonna be slow as hell tonight. If you’re sick, just go home; Mark can handle the front. Hell, Matt could handle the back, to be frank.” Greyson sat back up and clapped a hand on his boss’s shoulder. “No need for you to martyr yourself. For once.” An insult, but said without malice.

Elijah wasn��t having it. “I’m here. I’m not sick, I’ll take an ibuprofen. I don’t need you to mother me, Greyson, though God knows you love to do it.” He stood up then, clearly looking to finish his tirade strong, but instead crumpled to the side to muffle a volley of sneezes into his sleeve. “Huhh! HuhNGSTSHH-ue! HhDTSHHH-uhh! Hhh...HNSTCHHOO!” Elijah sniffled and looked up from his sleeve at Greyson, who was clearly basking in the thought of being correct. “Fuck off,” Elijah said again.

“I didn’t say a word,” Greyson said, holding up his hands to proclaim his innocence. “But I feel like you might want to bring these,” he handed his boss the box of tissues from behind his computer, “with you.”

Elijah looked, seemingly longingly, at the tissues before pushing past the chef once again. “Not necessary,” he said, opening the office door. “I have to go get inventory done.”

***

“Chef?”

Greyson snapped his head up at the sound of his sous chef’s voice and gave him a half smile and wave. “What’s up, Matt?”

Matt shrugged, leaning against the door to Greyson’s office. “Just checking on you. Thought maybe you’d fallen into a trance or something,” he said. Greyson laughed and swiveled his chair away from the computer.

“Nah, just trying to get this goddamn menu written, but I have literally not one single idea,” he said, pushing his hair away from his face. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Why not have Elijah help? Don’t you guys usually bounce ideas off each other?” Matt asked.

Greyson huffed out a laugh and turned back towards the computer. “Elijah is currently ignoring me for calling him out. He has a cold and desperately needs to martyr himself on this, the slowest week of the year.”

Matt snorted. “Sounds like Elijah,” he said, picking at a loose thread on his chef’s coat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the guy leave early – well, unless you count leaving to take other people home sick.” The sous chef shrugged and pushing himself back to a standing position as Greyson slowly turned toward him, a look of bemusement on his face. “What?” Matt asked.

“Matt, you absolute genius,” Greyson said, pushing himself to his feet. “You just gave me an incredible idea.”

“About… the menu?” Matt asked, confused. Greyson placed a hand on his sous’ shoulder and shook his head.

“Not about the menu,” Greyson said. “Do you think you can hold it down tonight?”

“Uhh… yeah, Chef. I’ve got it covered. Are you...going home?”

“Not exactly,” Greyson said. With that, he swung open the doors to the dining room, leaving his bewildered sage in the dust.

***

Elijah slammed down his clipboard in frustration for about the tenth time that morning – there was no way in hell this inventory was going to get done today.

It had started fine enough; he’d inventoried the wine and beer relatively quickly, but once he got to the liquor his body apparently had other plans for him.

“HUHGSTCCHH-oo! HUTSCH-oo! Hhh...hnGTSHZUE!” Elijah sneezed into his rolled-up sleeve again and cursed himself for being too proud to take the tissues Greyson had offered with him. He wiped his nose gingerly on his sleeve, sucked in, and sat down on one of the thirty milk crates adorning the liquor room.

Much as he didn’t want to admit it, Elijah felt like garbage. He’d known for days that he was getting sick, and despite all of the preventative measures he always took it had bloomed into a Whole Thing, just like what he’d told Greyson it wasn’t. He would’ve laughed if he was thinking of it in hindsight, but in the moment he just felt miserable and sorry for himself.

Elijah went to stand and try to count the bottles once again, when he heard an unmistakable sound in the stairwell leading to the liquor room.

“Huh...UTSHH-oo!”

Elijah turned to face the closed door. Was that...Greyson?

Without warning, the door flew open, and there stood Greyson. Elijah had seen him only an hour before, but for some reason he looked different than earlier. Upon closer inspection, Elijah realized it was his eyes – they were rimmed red, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Grey? What’re you -”

“HUTSHH-oo!” Greyson turned to sneeze into his elbow. He shook his head as though to clear it and turned to Elijah. “Sorry, ’scuse me. I was just looking for you to help me with the menu – HUSHH-oo!” Another sneeze, and what sounded like a muted sniffle from the crook of his elbow.

Elijah couldn’t help but cringe. Maybe this was why Greyson seemed so adamant for Elijah to admit to being ill earlier; because he was himself. “Bless you,” Elijah said, his voice low and congested.

“Thanks,” Greyson said, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Sorry, not sure where those came from.”

Elijah swallowed hard to clear the cough he knew was forming in his throat. “Are you sick?” he asked, expecting Greyson to deny the claim. Instead, the chef just shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Just started out of nowhere. Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair and sniffling lightly. “I just came to see if you’d come help me with the menu, but I see you’re...busy. So I’ll leave you to it.”

Greyson turned to leave, prompting Elijah to call after him up the stairs: “If you’re sick, you should go hombe!”

Without turning to say anything, Greyson held up two fingers as an acknowledgment and headed through the door back into the dining room.

***

“HSTHH! USHH!! HTSSSH!!” Greyson barreled back into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes relentlessly.

“The fuck happened to you?” Matt asked, moving towards his chef with concern. Greyson shook his head and turned on the water at the sink.

“I’m playing the long game,” Greyson explained, leaning down to splash water onto his face. “I may have made a slight miscalculation though because holy fuck.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Matt asked, pulling some paper towels out of the dispenser and handing them to his boss. Greyson took them gratefully, and pressed them into his face.

“Well, like you said, Elijah will only leave if he thinks that he needs to take someone home. So. I’m going to be the someone he takes home.” Greyson pulled the paper towels off his face and looked at Matt with bloodshot eyes. “How do I look?”

“Crazed. Like a madman. What did you do? Spray yourself with pepper spray?”

“Ooo, so close. I snorted some white pepper.”

Matt’s eyebrows creased together and his mouth opened in confusion. Whatever question he had next clearly died on his lips at the incredibly odd admission from his boss. “White...pepper.”

“Yeah,” Greyson said, scrubbing at his nose. “I need Elijah to think I have whatever he has. Thus, white pepper.” He smiled at his sous, who was continuing to give him an unbelieving look. “What?”

Matt shook his head. “The two of you were made for each other, I swear to god,” he said, walking back to his station and picking his knife back up. “What are you going to do when he comes back up and you’re miraculously cured?”

Greyson chuckled softly in the back of his throat. “Trust me,” he said. “I’ve got this all under control.”

***

After another twenty minutes of attempting to finish inventory, Elijah gave up and stomped up the stairs. He knew he’d hate himself for it in a few days, but he just couldn’t fathom counting any more bottles with the absolutely insane headache that had bloomed in his temples.

While walking towards the office. Elijah allowed himself to fantasize about his bed. About wrapping himself up in a blanket, watching TV for hours on end, sleeping as long as he wanted. Was it pathetic? Yeah, maybe a little, but he always felt like it helped get through particularly difficult days.

When he stepped into the office, the first thing that struck him was Greyson, slumped over on the chair with his head in his hands. Elijah cleared his throat, and Greyson sat up.

“Shit,” he said, “sorry, boss. Headache.”

Elijah’s head pounded at the mention of a headache. “Do we have any ibupro – hh..hnnNGSTHH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side and attempted to stifle the sneeze, making the pain in his head explode.

“Bless,” Greyson said, and pulled out a container of pills. “Always stocked and ready. Want some?”

Without thinking, Elijah held out his hand. “Thandks,” he said, dry-swallowing four pills. Immediately, he cringed at the pain in his throat, to which Greyson gave a small grimace of solidarity.

“I feel you. Sore throat,” Greyson said, touching his own and pouring out some pills. He swallowed his with a sip of something from a paper cup, then dipped into his elbow to sneeze. “HUSSHH-uhh!”

Elijah sat down next to the chef and cleared his throat. “You should go,” he said, gently. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Greyson shrugged at his boss and turned back to his computer. “Nah, I’m alright,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t bring my car today, and I’m having my apartment cleaned. The woman who cleans for me doesn’t get there til noon, and it takes her a few hours to clean it.” Greyson smiled tiredly and said, “Thanks, though.”

Elijah swallowed around the pain in his throat and said, “I cand drive you. You cand stay at mby apartment for a few hours, too, if you wandt. I mbean, it’s like ten mbinutes from yours.”

Greyson raised an eyebrow at his boss. “Really?” he asked. “You’d do that?”

Elijah nodded and sniffled a bit. “’Course, Grey. Hhuh…” Elijah’s breath hitched then, and Greyson pushed the tissue box towards his boss, who took a few in anticipation. “HhhGTSHHH-ue! Huh! HUHESZCHUE!” Elijah sniffled again, his sinuses too blocked to attempt to blow his nose, and threw away the tissues.

“Bless you,” Greyson said again. Elijah just ignored him.

“Grab your backpack. Let’s go before the traffic hits.”

***

This is going to work, Greyson thought as they swerved through the city traffic towards Elijah’s apartment. I can’t believe this is really going to work.

After they’d left the restaurant – with Greyson waving to his staff dramatically and Matt rolling his eyes at the theatrics of this whole charade – Greyson had asked if Elijah could stop at Walgreens.

“Don’t want to use up any of your stuff,” he’d explained, though truly he’d wanted to stop because he knew in his heart of hearts that there was no way Elijah, King of Denial, had any kind of cold supplies at his place. Elijah had nodded silently, and stayed in the car while Greyson hopped out and shopped.

The issue was, he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of illness Elijah was dealing with – no clue if he had an oncoming cough, or a fever, or abject sinus pressure – so he was forced to buy pretty much the entirety of the cold and flu aisle. The cashier raised both eyebrows when he placed the mountain of medicine, tissues, and lozenges on the counter.

“Wow,” she said, “someone must have one hell of a cold.”

Someone sure does, Greyson thought to himself when he threw open the door to the car and saw that Elijah was once again stuck in a pre-sneeze.

“Huhh...hhh. Huh, huhhh…!”

“Uh, boss - ?”

“HhNGSTHHZUE! ITSZCHUE! Huh! Hhuh-GTSSHH-oo!” Elijah doubled over his lap to sneeze, and cringed into his sleeve when he was finished, clearly trying to figure out if wiping his nose on his sleeve was too gross when Greyson was going to be sitting next to him.

Greyson dug into the bag of supplies and pulled out a box of tissues, which he ripped open and handed to Elijah. The GM silently pulled a few from the box and blew his nose towards the driver’s side door before turning back to Greyson.

“Thangks,” he said, his voice low and congested. Greyson winced at the sound of it.

“Do you, uh… do you want me to drive the rest of the way?” Greyson asked, placing the bag in the back seat. Elijah cocked his head, confused.

“Thought you were sigck,” he said, sniffling. Greyson pursed his lips together not to laugh.

“Yeah,” Greyson said, biting his cheek at the complete absurdity of this situation. “Let’s, uh… let’s just get to your place.”

Greyson had white-knuckled most of the remainder of the drive, as Elijah seemed to delve deeper into illness with each passing mile. After one particularly harsh sneeze had almost propelled them into a semi, Greyson had nearly screamed, “Oh, Jesus Christ please don’t kill us!” to which Elijah just rolled his eyes.

Finally, they arrived at Elijah’s building and parked in the garage underground. They rode the elevator silently – with the exception of Elijah’s coughing and sniffling – to the floor of Elijah’s apartment, and continued their silence until they reached his front door.

Elijah opened the door and Greyson marveled, as he always did, at how clean and organized his boss’s apartment was. Even the large window in the sitting room was unsmudged by fingerprints or bird shit. It wasn’t like Greyson’s apartment as a dump, not by any stretch, but it was certainly a bachelor pad; Elijah’s, in stark comparison, was styled—cozy and lived-in, but everything in its place. It was a home.

“You seemb to have mbade a miraculous recovery,” Elijah rasped as placed his keys in the bowl by the door. “You sure you’re ndot just allergic to wooorKSHH-uhh! NGTSZH-ue!”

“Lij,” Greyson said, holding the box of tissues out for his boss once again and placing the drugstore bag on the kitchen table, “I made a miraculous recovery because I’m not sick.”

Elijah turned to the chef and raised an eyebrow from behind a tissue. “But...you said you had a headache. And a sore throat, and you were sndeez – INGSTZUE!”

“Elijah,” Greyson said quietly, stepping towards his boss. “I’m not sick.” He slapped a hand onto Elijah’s forehead and gave him an accusatory smile, eyebrows raised. “You are.”

“I’mb – HNGSTHH-uhh! God-fuckigg-dammit,” Elijah cursed, pulling away from his friend to sneeze, once again, into his sleeve. He ignored Greyson’s offer of the tissues this time, in lieu of sniffing, hard, and meeting the other man’s eyes with a watery gaze. “You lied to mbe.”

“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic,” Greyson said, pulling the supplies out of the bags and placing them pointedly on the table. “I didn’t lie to you. I tricked you,” he smiled at Elijah and offered him a bottle of nyquil – a peace offering. “Big difference.”

Elijah took the nyquil tentatively, and gave Greyson a look of confusion. “I dond’t… I don’t get it. Why?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.

“You’re a good boss, Lij, and an even better guy. You drive your staff home anytime they’re sick – hell, anytime they’re even hungover. But you refuse to give yourself the same treatment,” Greyson took the nyquil bottle back from his boss and cracked it open. He handed it back, along with a bag of lozenges, and the box of tissues. “You care for everyone in that restaurant. Who cares for you?”

Elijah felt his voice catch in his throat, so he closed his mouth, unable to form a response. They stood there together for a moment – Greyson sorting medicines quietly, Elijah watching with his arms full of the cold supplies he never would’ve bought himself – until he was finally able to get the words out. “Thangk you, Grey.”

Greyson smiled as he looked up at his boss. “No need to thank me,” he said. “Now take your fuckin’ medicine and get your ass in bed. I don’t trust you to not work, so I’ll be out here guarding the door until I’m positive you’re knocked out.”

Elijah huffed out a small laugh. “Oh, fuck you,” he said without malice. Greyson laughed back, in earnest.

“Get some rest, boss. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

#snz #snez #male sneeze #sickfic #coldfic #snzfic #snzblr #original character #whiskeyswriting #i'll be honest #i like how this one turned out!#i missed writing their banter while doing the ones from early in their relationship #love u guys hope ya like it <3 #also jesus fuck this one feels like extra long??? idk #whatevs. more is more right? lol

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iambutmortal · 2 years

Text

Into Daylight

Summary: Everyone knows what happens when a man can’t pay their debts: the Duke comes to take a child. And Elain knows it’s only a matter of time until he comes for her. But there’s something else lurking in Duke Vanserra’s manor and she’s more wrapped up in it than she could ever imagine.

Pairing: Elucien

Word Count: 17k

Content Warning: None

Read on AO3

For @azrielshadowssing Merry Christmas! I loved getting to write this so I hope you enjoy it and I managed to live up to my promise of sexy Eris. And thanks to everyone at @acotargiftexchange for putting on such a great event.

Elain’s sisters were whispering again. She forced her breathing to stay even, kept her eyes closed. Crammed between the two of them on the bed they all shared, she hoped it looked like she was still asleep.

Based on the steady stream of murmuring above her, they hadn’t noticed she’d woken.

“We’re running out of time,” came Feyre’s nervous hiss.

“He’s not going to take her,” was Nesta’s response, her tone firm. “I don’t care what father does, I’m not letting her go with the Duke.”

Elain felt like she’d been doused in ice water as it dawned on her half awake brain what her sisters meant.

Duke Vanserra was coming to collect what he was owed.

Elain had always known she lived in the worst of the five duchies, the furthest North in a kingdom that never seemed to fully escape the cold of winter. Even in the midst of summer it was never truly warm, spring bleeding straight into autumn, the sun never fully heating the earth to let growth fully bloom.

Nothing grew there, people eking out meager existences by working for one of the merchants in their mansions, riches fueled by the one redeeming quality of Thornfield: it’s port.

Elain’s family had once been among them. She could remember running through halls lined with portraits, satin slippers slapping against floors of marble. All that was gone, taken so swiftly Elain was half convinced it had all been a dream, a childhood fantasy to distract herself from the thin cabin walls that never quite kept out the chill or damp, the tough meat Feyre brought back after hunting.

This was her reality, trapped between the too-thin bodies of her sisters while they tried to figure out how to deal with the seemingly never ending debt her father had accrued.

It was the truth none of them wanted to acknowledge. The money, what little their father had managed to save, was running out, and fast if their ever more threadbare clothes were any indication.

Not that Feyre or Nesta would ever tell her that. Better to keep naive, sweet Elain in the dark, let her stay in her pretty daydreams.

But Elain knew.

Heard Greyson’s threats ringing in her ears, what he’d told her when she turned down his offer of marriage.

You know what the Duke does when a man can’t pay his debts.

Despite herself, Elain shivered. She did know what happened. How footmen showed up on doorsteps in the middle of the night, whisking away a child to pay off whatever the Duke thought he was owed.

He always took the loveliest, and everyone in the village knew when the time came it would be Elain the Duke wanted.

“Nesta,” came Feyre’s response, shaking Elain out of her thoughts. “We need another option.”

Elain huffed a breath and rolled over on the bed. On either side of her, Nesta and Feyre stilled. She didn’t want to hear their plan, what they’d be willing to risk to keep her safe. Let them plot while she was out in the garden, trying in vain to grow something in the hard ground.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Nesta sighed, sounding defeated.

A cold hand - Nesta’s - stroked through her hair, playing with the gentle curls.

“She’s not ending up like the others,” Feyre said fiercely. Elain could almost picture it, the way Feyre’s blue eyes glowed with defiance in the dark.

Elain swallowed down the lump of fear rising in her throat. Rumors swirled around the Kingdom of girls going missing, bodies drained of blood showing up around the various palaces inhabited by King Beron and his five sons.

Another stroke of Nesta’s hand on her hair. “We won’t let them.”

It was dark when the knocking started. Their father looked up at the door from his stoop by the fire, fear and guilt written plain across his face.

“What did you do?” Nesta snarled, even as she stood, throwing the book she’d been reading down on the seat below her.

“They were going to kill me,” their father pleaded, eyes darting around the room, looking everywhere but at Elain.

She put down the shirt she’s been mending, sewing yet another patch into the fabric that was more scraps than original shirt at this point.

Another round of furious pounding rang through the cabin, the flimsy wooden door rattling in its frame.

Feyre joined Nesta on her feet, clutching the arrow she’d been making tight in her hand. As if it would be able to do anything against the Duke’s soldiers.

Elain’s two sisters glanced at each other before Nesta stepped forward to open the door, Feyre following behind her like a shadow.

The footman was more bear than man. Tall, broad shouldered, his dark hair hanging down to his collar. His lips curled in disgust as he took in the hovel they called home.

Elain had never seen her father look more fearful as he took in the auburn uniform of a Duke’s servant, come to collect what he owed.

“He said he wouldn’t send you,” came his horse rasp. “That she’d be safe.”

The footman scoffed. “The Duke doesn’t like to be defined. Although,” he gave the cabin another glance, “I doubt you ended up here because of good decisions.”

“I’ll do anything,” Elain’s father begged, rising on shaky legs, his bad knee nearly collapsing underneath him. Elain flinched at the sight, remembering the horrible cracking sound from when the debtors had broken it while her and Nesta cowered in the bedroom “Just don’t take my daughter.”

“You have the money then?” Was the footman’s only reply. He hadn’t moved from the entrance, had the audacity to look bored, as if he stole children from their families every night. He probably did.

“Not Elain,” came her father’s pitiful whine. “One of my other two daughters would do much better, will work much harder for the Duke. He’d be more happy with them.”

Nesta and Feyre’s faces bore matching expressions of disgust, but neither of them contradicted him. They didn’t think she’d be able to survive whatever horrors waited for her in the Duke’s mansion. Elain wasn’t sure she disagreed.

“I’m under strict orders, the Duke wants the prettiest one.”

Nesta took a step towards the footman, putting herself between him and Elain. “Take me. The Duke will never know.”

The footman’s hand ran along the hilt of the dagger sheaved in his belt. “I was told to take Elain Archeron by whatever means necessary. Don’t make my job more difficult than it needs to be.”

Elain knew Nesta was prepared to fight, to kick and scream and claw until she couldn’t anymore. Feyre too, if the white knuckles around her arrow were any indication.

But Elain couldn’t do it, couldn’t see her sisters hurt on her behalf.

She rose to her feet. “I’ll go.” She hated the way her voice trembled.

“No,” Nesta cried, the sound ripped from her throat.

Elain couldn’t look at her, directed her gaze towards the footman. “It’s only until the debt is repaid?”

“Not a night longer,” he confirmed, face softening for the first time that night. Elain thought she might have detected pity behind those cruel brown eyes, even as he took a step towards her, offering a hand.

Elain took it, letting him pull her towards the front door.

“Wait,” Feyre begged, “let us say goodbye.”

The footman sighed, but dropped her hand. “You have a minute, we’re already behind schedule.” He glared, making it clear he blamed them for the delay but Elain doubted she’d have been granted more time even if she had gone willingly.

Feyre threw her arms around Elain’s neck, pulling her close. “We’ll figure out how to save you,” she whispered in her ear. “I’ll pay off the debt.”

Elain didn’t ask how, knew it was impossible when Feyre’s hunting was barely enough to feed them as it was, much less make any extra money.

Feyre stepped back, letting Nesta take her spot. Elain clung to Nesta’s rigid body and willed herself not to cry. Not where Nesta could see and might decide it wasn’t too late to kill the footman and flee with Elain.

“That’s enough,” the footman interrupted.

Elain detangled herself from Nesta’s grasp, and let herself be pulled out of the cabin.

She thought she heard her father call her name behind her, but the door was slammed shut before she could turn around and check.

The carriage before her was so grand it nearly took her breath away. Elain had thought she’d grown up in splendor, that their own coach pulled by four matching snow white horses had been the height of luxury. She was wrong.

No less than six chestnut stallions stomped and kicked at the snowy ground in front of her, attached to a gilded carriage large enough to fit at least eight. Ornate gold coated the outside, swirling patterns depicting wolves and birds licked in flames. Large glass windows exposed the red velvet covering the inside, curtains hanging behind that could be lowered to give privacy.

A coachman, wearing the same auburn suit as the footman, gave them a nod of acknowledgement as they approached.

The footman swung open the door, holding out an arm to help her climb inside. He followed, sitting opposite Elain on the softly cautioned seats, and with two taps on the roof, they set off.

Elain refused to let herself look back, to see if any of her family were waving her off. A single tear slid down her cheek, dropping down onto the brown cotton dress she wore.

“It won’t be that bad, ma’am,” the footman said. He sounded gentler than in the cabin, his face earnest.

His pity only made Elain feel worse, her stomach turning over itself. A few more tears slid down her face, even as her throat ached with the effort to keep from sobbing.

The footman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “My name’s Jurian,” he offered. Elain just stared at him with watery eyes.

Jurian reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her. “I swear the Duke’s not as bad as whatever you’ve heard about him.”

Elain very much doubted him. King Beron once had seven sons, but two had been murdered in cold blood before they came to age, leaving only five brothers, one to inherit each of the five duchies. Elain didn’t want to know what the Duke had done to make sure he survived, but she very much doubted it was anything less than the cold, calculated cruelty she’d heard of.

“Why should I trust you?” Elain sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the offered fabric.

Jurian pointed out the window. “I grew up about a mile from here, in a cottage similar to yours. My mother still lives there, doing whatever washing people throw her way.”

“How did the Duke get you?” Elain asked, peering at the large man before her. She couldn’t imagine him as a small child, ripped away from his mother due to someone else’s failures.

Jurian gave her a small smile. “My own stupidity, unfortunately. Came on some hard times after my fiancée left me, found too much pleasure in the bottle.” He shrugged. “Nothing to be done about it now. Besides,” Jurian leaned forward, like he was letting her in on a secret, “it’s the best job I’ve ever had. Better for working for one of those stuck up merchants at least.”

Elain snorted. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but if nothing else he’d succeeded in making the tears stop falling.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, Elain peering out the window as the dark forms of trees passed by in a blur. Anticipation formed a knot in her stomach as the trees grew more sparse, the bouncing of the carriage on the dirt road dampening as they switched to more well trodden paths.

Gradually, the Duke’s palace came into sight. Even buried in snow, the manor was breathtaking. Red brick walls, no doubt thick enough to keep out the chills, and a steeply sloping roof of white shilling gave the house a homely feel, at odds with its behemoth size, enough to take up the whole width of the window pane.

They approached from the back, up a path surrounded by carefully manicured gardens. How they’d managed to get anything to grow was a mystery to Elain, but sculpted bushes stood along the road, lightly dusted with snow.

“We’re here,” Jurian confirmed. The carriage ground to a halt, Jurian resting his hand on the lever.

Elain felt more tears well up in her eyes.

“Listen,” Jurian said. “I promise it won’t be horrible, but if you ever fall into trouble, come to me.”

“But why—“ Elain asked. She didn’t know how to finish the sentence without it being rude. Why would you help me? What could you even do against a Duke?

Jurian smiled at her, finally opening the door. “Us humans have to stick together, don’t we?”

Elain didn’t have time to ponder what he meant by that before he was hopping out onto the ground and offering a hand to help her down.

“Come,” Jurian ordered, voice once again gruff as he reentered the house of his master.

He led her towards a small side door, far, far away from the ornate glass ones that led to the main part of the house.

The servant’s hall was dark and narrow, although blessedly warm. Small candles provided just enough light for Elain to see the rough stone floor beneath her feet and keep from tripping. Even at the late hour, workers bustled around them, carrying trays and clothes and hairbrushes. All the things Elain used to have brought up to her as a child, when she had people to boss around.

Jurian led her down past the kitchen, past the laundry room, to a room filled with a half dozen bronze tubs.

A servant girl was waiting for them, her brown hair pulled back from her face in a simple plait, showing off the softly rounded cheeks flushed slightly against her dark skin, full lips pursed in a scowl.

“Took you long enough,” she snapped, roughly gripping Elain around the wrist.

“Sorry to take you away from your busy schedule of cleaning the baseboards for the fifth time this week, Kaisia,” Jurian shot back.

“If you have a problem with my job, take it up with Vassa,” Kaisia snapped, dragging Elain over to one of the tubs. It was half full of water, soap bubbles floating on the top.

“Always pleasant talking to you,” Jurian muttered. Elain heard the door shut, leaving her alone with this surly woman.

“I—“

“Do you need help to get undressed? Or are you capable of doing that yourself?”

Elain shook her head, even as she felt her face heat. Her and her sisters bathed in the same room, one after another on the rare occasion they had enough time and energy to fill the tub, but stripping down in front of a stranger was wholly different.

“Then get on with it.” Kaisia crossed her arms over her chest. “The Duke demands we bathe weekly, so there’s no sense in trying to keep your modesty.”

“Sorry,” Elain stammered, reaching up with trembling hands to pull her dress off.

If possible, Kaisia’s scowl deepened. “Your clothes are disgusting.”

“We don’t have enough money for new ones,” Elain defended.

Kaisia just nudged the pile of fabric on the floor with her toe. “It’ll have to be burned, the Duke doesn’t want to keep anything too dirty around.” She directed her attention on Elain. “Get in the tub.”

“Sorry,” Elain repeated, stepping in quickly.

The water was lukewarm, too cold against her skin, but Elain forced herself not to cry out, couldn’t deal with any more of Kaisia’s scorn.

The woman handed her a scrub brush and Elain made quick work of cleaning herself, wrinkling her nose at the layers of dirt that came off, turning the water a light shade of grey.

Elain had to suppress a yawn, the late hour finally getting to her.

“Did they make you stay up to help me?” Elain asked, feeling guilty for the first time. She doubted most of the Duke’s servants got enough sleep if the crowded hallways were any indication, and she didn’t want to rob Kaisia of any of the free time she did get. It wasn’t her fault she was stuck here.

Kaisia shook her head. “We keep nocturnal hours. You’ll get used to it.”

Elain shuddered, the water rippling around her. She hated the night, the way the dark and cold always crept in, tried to sit as close to the fire as she could as soon as the sun set.

Kaisia peered into the water. “I don’t think you’ll get any cleaner than you are with how flirty the bath is. Up.”

Any guilt Elain felt immediately disappeared. She doubted Kaisia was any better when she first came here, had probably made the bath water even darker.

Kaisia tossed a towel at Elain as soon as she stood up, and she barely managed to catch it before it fell into the water. Elain wrapped it around herself, couldn’t help but sink into the fluffy fabric, the warmth it offered.

Elain stepped out of the tub, and took the white dress Kaisia offered. It matched the one she wore, the design plain but the fabric finer than anything Elain had worn since she was a child. She slipped it on, and then took the auburn cloak Kaisia held, the color matching Jurian’s uniform.

“Walk,” Kaisia ordered, heading to the door. Elain followed mutely, slipping on the soft leather shoes waiting by the exit before entering back into the dark hallway.

This time, no one stared at Elain as she walked through the servants quarters, the new dress and clothes marking her undeniably as someone who belonged among them. They headed deeper into the house, further down into the dark basement, past rows and rows of identical looking wooden doors.

Kaisia stopped in front of one near the end of the impossibly long hallway.

“Ours,” she said, pulling out two silver keys. She handed one to Elain, using the other to unlock the door. “The room for those who’ve arrived in the last month.”

The room was cramped, but bigger than the one room Elain shared with her three sisters. Five beds and dressers stood around the room, four already clearly occupied, the bed covers slightly askew and a few personal belongings strewn atop the dressers.

Elain sat down on the only undisturbed bed, the one closest to the door.

“Duke always wants us to give the new people a night to settle in,” Kaisia said, leaning against the doorway. “I assume you’ll be fine?”

Elain nodded. “Don’t let me keep you from your work.”

“Be ready by sundown tomorrow to start,” Kaisia ordered.

Elain squared her shoulders as she stood in the line of identically dressed women, all in white with their hair pulled back in low buns.

“There’s always more women than men,” Kaisia hissed from in front of her, “so we always get stuck with the worst jobs.”

Elain nodded, desperately trying to keep her bottom lip from trembling. She could imagine all sorts of horrible tasks, from scrubbing the privy to washing the horse stalls.

Privately, so privately she didn’t dare whisper it out loud, she prayed to whatever gods were left that she’d be assigned to the gardens, that she might be permitted to work during the day.

The line was quickly shortening, taking Elain closer and closer to her taskmistress. Vassa, the girls had warned her, was a cruel headmistress, but a fair one, would reassign better tasks to whoever worked hardest.

In front of her, Kaisia got sent to hang laundry with a sigh of relief, and then it was Elain in front of the pretty redhead.

The woman, probably only a few years older than Elain, if that, cast a discerning blue eye over her.

“So you’re the pretty one then?”

Elain stared at her mutely, unsure of how she should answer.

“Not very smart though,” Vassa muttered, before turning around and thrusting a silver tray in Elain’s hands. “Take this up to the master then.”

“I don’t know where—“

“Next,” Vassa called, forcing Elain out of line.

“That’s the worst job,” Kaisia said, sounding sympathetically. “No one wants to spend too much time around the Duke.”

“Where do I take this?” Elain asked desperately. From all that she’d heard about the Lord, she doubted he’d take well to having his breakfast late.

“There’s two cups,” Kaisia muttered. “Fuck. One of the Duke’s brothers is here.”

Elain paled. She’d been prepared to see the Duke, knew running into him at some point during her stay was unavoidable. But serving him and his brother—

“Go up the stairs, take the first left, up another set, and then the Duke’s study is the first door on the right,” Kaisia said. “Just keep your eyes down and don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Elain wanted to ask her to wait, ask if they could switch jobs, but Kaisia turned down the hallway that led to the laundry room as Elain’s feet continued to carry her towards the main part of the house.

If asked, Elain would never be able to say how she made it in front of the study, swung the large cherry door open, and stepped inside without dropping the tray and fleeing, but she did, eyes glued to her feet as she shuffled inside.

“All I’m asking is that you pretend to take this seriously,” came a male voice. It seemed to drip arrogance, the words cut with an intangible sense of cruelty.

“As much as I delight in the knowledge something I do bothers you, I have no plans to change things,” came the response, this voice lower, a rumble that Elain felt in her belly.

Elain dared look up enough to see where to set the tray, and saw the two red headed males sitting on opposite sides of an immense desk.

Both were unfairly attractive, matching high cheekbones and sculpted jaws, even as Elain felt her gaze pulled towards the one further from her. His eyes, one russet, the other made of golden metal, were trained on the man across from him, no doubt his brother. Deep, gouged scars ran from his eyebrow down to his cheek on the left side, the same as that golden eye. His hair fell down to his shoulders, a contrast to the close cut of the other.

The Duke. Elain had heard the stories of how he’d lost the eye, mouthing off to one of the Queens from across the sea, how she’d ripped it out with her nails as the King watched on. A lesson for his arrogance.

And even with the scaring, he had to be the most beautiful man Elain had ever seen.

“I’m taking time out of my life to deal with this,” hissed the man closer to her.

“You think I wanted this?” the Duke asked, pointing at the exposed skin of his hand.

Elain squinted, nothing for the first time that the Duke’s skin was several shades darker than that of his brother.

Probably a bastard. No wonder he got stuck with the shittiest of the five duchies.

Elain took a step closer, clearing her throat softly. She doubted either of the King’s sons would take well to her eavesdropping, only hoped she wouldn’t be punished too severely for what she’d already heard.

“What am I going to do when I have a family? It’s bad enough Callum begged off next month because he knocked up his wife again,” the Duke’s brother continued as if he hadn’t heard.

“Ah yes,” the Duke sighed, “Callum, always living up to our father’s expectations. Although your argument falls flat when I never see you pursuing any of the women who follow you around.”

“Sir—“ Elain said, voice just above a whisper.

That caught the brother’s attention, both sitting straight up in their seats and turning to look at her.

“Didn’t they teach you not to interrupt?” sneered the paler of the brothers, Eris, if Elain’s hazy memory of the royal portraits was anything to go off of.

“I can come back,” Elain says, face burning.

The Duke waved his hand over the desk. “Just set it here.”

Elain nodded, eyes glued to the floor as she stepped between the men.

“They always send the new ones up,” the Duke said, speaking over her. “I think Vassa likes to taunt me with my bad decisions.”

If possible, Elain felt her face grow warmer, the shame burning brighter. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor, disappear from the Duke’s gaze.

“Like Vassa doesn’t have her own bad decisions to contend with,” Eris jeered.

Elain tried to set the tray down as gently as possible, lest the teacups rattle and draw any more attention to her poor job.

“What’s your name?” asked the Duke, as she took a step back.

“Elain Archeron, your grace.”

The Duke nodded. “In the future, Elain, please knock before entering.”

“Sorry, sir,” Elain said, curtsying low even as her stomach twisted into knots at the way the Duke said her name.

She cursed herself internally. As a child she’d had a ridiculous fantasy that she’d marry into the royal family, become a princess. It was just that, a childish dream, but her stomach apparently hadn’t fully caught up.

“You’re dismissed,” the Duke said, turning back to his brother.

Elain gave another bobbed curtsy before darting for the exit, walking as quickly as she could without running.

“Awful good curtsy for a peasant,” Eris said, just before Elain shut the door.

Elain fell into something close to a rhythm over the few days, dropping off the Duke’s breakfast tray before returning to Vassa to be sent off to clean something in the already spotless manor. She barely had time to eat the dinner given to all the servants, something simple albeit filling, before collapsing into bed.

She was kept so busy she didn’t have time to worry about her sisters, wonder how they were doing with just the two of them. Feyre and Nesta had always been too independent to spend much time alone together, both too stubborn to concede anything. Elain had always acted as a mediator between them, and she hoped they were getting along if only for her sake.

But sometimes, just when she was hovering on the line between being awake and asleep, she would think about the Duke. Eris was often with him in the mornings, sitting on the opposite side of the office, the tension in the room palpable. After that first day, neither spoke to her, but Lucien gave her a small smile of acknowledgement before returning to whatever paperwork he was dealing with. And if her stomach felt a little funny every time, then who could blame her. He was unfairly handsome.

As the end of her first week approached, everyone seemed to be nervous, the hallways teeming with pent up energy.

On the seventh night, there was no tray. The servants stood in the hallway in small clumps, tension seeming to radiate from them. Even Kaisia seemed to be affected, strands of dark hair escaping from her usually neat braid. They’d all been told to report early, the last of the sun’s rays just barely shining over the horizon. Elain plastered herself to the window, hoping to soak up as much as she could.

Vassa strode in and everything went dead silent.

“It’s your day off,” she announced. “Do what you wish.”

Kaisia’s hand was around Elain’s before she could fully process the words, pulling her away.

“Where are we going?” Elain asked, utterly baffled. She was sure even if Kaisia did have something planned for the evening, it wouldn’t include Elain. They hardly knew each other, and Kaisia always seemed mildly annoyed at having to talk to her.

Kaisia flung open their bedroom door and shoved Elain inside.

“Don’t leave,” she ordered, before slipping back out.

Elain stared at the door. This whole thing was weird. She’d never seen Kaisia look even slightly shaken but here she was, acting genuinely terrified. But if this was really her night off, she could sleep now, and spend the next morning outside, see the sun for the first time.

Kaisia returned to the room with the other three girls. They looked just as confused as Elain felt.

“Kaisia, what are we doing,” Dacia, one of their dorm mates, asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Have you been here on the nights off before?” Kaisia demanded.

Dacia shook her head. “No. But neither have you.”

“Well I’ve lived in the castle,” Kaisia said, slamming the door. The click of the lock seemed to reverberate through the room. “You don’t want to be out there.”

Elain sat down hard on her bed. “For how long?”

“Until the sun’s up,” Kaisia replied, plopping down on her own.

“This is stupid,” snapped Marcie, heading to the door. “I have things I want to do on my night off.”

Her hand hit the doorknob when they heard the first snarl.

The sound was unlike anything Elain had heard before, something deeper, more aggressive than any of the dogs who occasionally got into fights near the village.

Marcie backed up, face paling. “What was that?”

“The reason you don’t want to go out,” Kaisia answered.

A scream echoed through the manor. Elain’s hair stood on end. The nose was masculine, the cry one of pure pain.

Marcie leaped onto her bed, pulling the covers up over her.

Around the room, the girls followed her example, even Kaisia. Elain swallowed down a hysterical giggle at the sight. They were nothing better than little girls, hoping the monsters wouldn’t be able to get them while they stayed beneath the blankets.

The snarls and barks continued overhead, although mercifully there were no more screams.

“Is this what it’s like every month?” Dacia asked, her voice small.

“Yes. And in the castle,” Kaisia answered. “The King would make us lock all our doors, stay in bed. Everyone who left was killed.”

Elain shivered.

“So new girl,” Yevah, the one of them who’d been there the longest, said when there was a break in the noise. “How did you end up here?”

Elain raised her head from where she’d buried it in her knees. She knew what she was doing, and was grateful for any attempt at distraction. “My father’s ships sank and he couldn’t pay off the debts he’d taken on to send them off.”

Kaisia snorted. “Of course it’s not his fault.”

“What does that mean?” Elain demanded.

Kaisia rolled her eyes. “It’s never their fault you’re here, always something out of their control. It’s because the ships sank, not because he took on more debt then he could ever dream to pay off.”

“Fine,” Elain said, feeling her heckles raise. What did Kaisia know of her father. “Then how did the Duke get you?”

“My brother sold me. Liked gambling more than he did winning and used me to clear his debts.” Kaisia gave a bitter laugh. “I’ll be here until I die.”

“Oh,” Elain said, feeling stupid.

A shout ripped through the room, the words too muffled to be made out, but even Elain could recognize the cruel tone of Eris.

Kaisia flinched, pulling the covers up to her chin, a dazed look on her face. Elain wanted to offer some consoling words, do something but there was nothing. Besides, she doubted Kaisia wanted to hear anything from her.

Elain flopped down on the bed, rolling over so her back faced the door. She pulled her pillow up over her head, desperate to block out the sound, the growls, but it was impossible.

Exhaustion must have overtaken her eventually, because Elain woke up hours later, her face pressed against the pillow. She bolted upright, glancing at the window to check she wasn’t too late. She threw on one of her clean uniforms and darted out of the room, racing down the servant’s hall.

If she could just make it…

Elain threw open the door that led out to the garden, eager to feel the sun on her face.

She’d just missed it, the very last pink of the sky hanging low over the horizon.

Elain wanted to collapse, to sob at the injustice of it all. A week without seeing the sun and she’d missed her chance.

It was better than nothing, Elain told herself. The words felt hollow, the lie bitter in her mouth. She stepped out into the garden, her slippered feet sinking into the snow as she tried to chase whatever light she could.

She could just feel the last of the warmth against her skin. Elain closed her eyes and tilted her head up. This way she could trick herself, pretend it was just the watery light of a winter sun trapped beneath clouds, and not the signs of it setting, sending her back into darkness.

Elain waited as long as possible, until night had fully settled over the garden, before trudging back towards the manor.

Her eyes scanned over the red brick house, catching on a figure standing on a balcony. He raised a single hand in greeting, and Elain tentatively waved back.

She squinted, trying to make out who it was. She hadn’t seen anyone in the house aside from Lucien and Eris, doubted there was anyone else who lived there. Wondered if Lucien felt lonely, when his brothers left.

Elain admonished herself. He was her jailer, what did she care if he was lonely?

Still, she thought she recognized the long red hair, tied back in a low ponytail, could just make out the glint of a golden eye watching her as she slipped back into the manor.

Elain had just enough time to rush back to her dorm and throw her hair up into a bun at the nape of her neck before they had to meet in front of Vassa.

The housekeeper looked tired, even more so than Elain felt. She shoved the tray into her hands with uncharacteristic roughness, the force nearly knocking over the teacup.

Elain managed to steady it just in time, keeping the ceramic from shattering on the floor.

Vassa glared at her. “Go.”

Elain nodded, hurrying past the woman and up to the Duke’s study.

He was waiting for her, hands folded neatly in front of him on the wooden desk. He looked exhausted, dark circles she’d never seen before hanging heavy beneath his eyes. His chin was dotted with red stubble, like he hadn’t had time to shave that morning.

“Thank you, Elain,” he said, rising to his full height to take it from her.

He was taller than she’d imagined, her eyes just barely hitting the tops of her shoulders.

“Of course, your grace,” she said, bobbing a curtsy once the breakfast set was firmly in his hands.

“Can you do me a favor?” Lucien asked.

Elain peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, meeting his multicolored gaze. He was staring at her intently, almost as if he was inspecting her.

She nodded.

“Send Vassa up here.”

Elain nodded again. A surge of disappointment rose up within her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but something more than send up the housekeeper was for sure.

“Yes, your grace.”

Elain hurried back down, keeping her head low.

“The Duke wants to see you,” she said as soon as she was back in front of Vassa.

The housekeeper swore, a litany of curses that would have made a sailor blush heating Elain’s cheeks.

“Fine,” she snapped, turning quickly towards the exit, skirts swishing around her feet.

Elain didn’t have a chance to open her mouth, ask what she was supposed to do next, before the woman was gone in a flash of red hair.

With a sigh, Elain headed to her room. It was wash day, maybe she’d be lucky enough to go now, while the water was still lukewarm instead of freezing.

She swung open the door.

Kaisia was already in there, a white bandage pressed to her neck. She whirled around, guilt written across her face.

“What’s that?” Elain asked, taking a step towards her.

“Nothing.” Kaisia stood up, using her free hand to toss dark curls over her neck. “I’m going to take a bath.”

Elain blocked the door. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Kaisia said. “Now move.”

“Show me,” Elain demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Elain, move,” Kaisia snapped, taking a step towards her. Elain grabbed her wrist, the one holding the gauze up to her neck, and tugged.

“Stop—” Kaisia cried but it was already too late. The white bandage fluttered to the floor, revealing two red dots marking her otherwise unblemished skin.

“Fuck,” Elain said. It was like the rumors said, girls turning up with two puncture wounds on their necks, drained of blood. There was something wrong with the King and his sons.

“Did Lucien?” The image that popped into Elain’s mind, one of Lucien, mouth attached to Kaisia’s neck, drinking, made her feel sick to her stomach.

Kaisia shook his head. “Not the Duke.”

Elain didn’t want to interrogate the relief she felt. “Eris then.”

Kaisia tried to shove past her. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sure, until you’re dead and he turns to one of us,” Elain snarled, shoving back.

“Eris doesn’t take anyone without permission.”

“Because Eris is what you think of when you hear trustworthy,” Elain scoffed. She barely knew him and she knew that.

“I grew up in the castle, remember? My brother’s still there, kissing Beron’s ass like anyone will ever think he’s worth shit. I know what I’m doing and I trust Eris.”

“Why are you defending him,” Elain demanded. “Sure he didn’t make you but what if he takes it too far? What if you end up another one of those missing girls, just a bloodless body on the side of the river somewhere?”

“It’s only the King who does that, none of his sons.” Elain must have looked incredulous because Kaisia glared at her. “He’s been drinking from me since we were young, I know what I’m doing.”

“And Lucien?” Elain demanded. “What about his drinking habits?”

“I don’t know what he does.”

Elain snorted.

“I don’t,” Kaisia insisted. “He was always different, hidden away. Spent all his time with his mother instead of the rest of the children. If he fed, I never heard of it.”

Elain sighed but stepped to the side, clearing the doorway.

“You won’t tell,” Kaisia asked, eyes wide.

Elain gestured to the empty room. “Who could I.”

Kaisia’s look of relief was genuine. “Thank you.” Elain just held open the door, letting Kaisia lead the way to the bathing chambers.

Elain spent the whole walk up to the study torn.

To ask the Duke or not?

He was her best option if she wanted a straight answer, to find out what Kaisia wasn’t telling her. Because she doubted Kaisia had told her anything close to the whole truth.

But to ask the Duke.

Elain was still undecided when she nudged open the door. The Duke was sitting in the same position again, lounging far back in his chair, brown boots propped up on the desk. He’d shaved, much to Elain’s disappointment.

“Your grace,” she said, sliding the silver tray onto the desk and giving a small curtsey.

He lowered his papers. “Thank you Elain.”

Elain turned, heading to the door, before sighing. “Your grace?”

The Duke quirked a brow.

“I saw something last night. Something strange.”

“Strange how,” the Duke asked, setting what he was reading down and leaning forward in his seat.

“I saw one of the girls and she had marks on her neck.” Elain opted to leave Kaisia out of it, didn’t know how much the Duke knew of his brother’s activities.

“Marks?” The Duke asked.

Elain met his eyes. “Bite marks.”

The Duke’s demeanor seemed to change in an instant. His face became a cool mask, something dangerous flickering in his good eye.

“And who do you think would have bitten her?” he asked, voice deadly calm.

Elain swallowed, realizing, for the first time, that the Duke was a very dangerous man indeed. Beneath the neatly pressed suit was something different, something other than human.

“I don’t know, your grace,” she lied. “But I’ve heard rumors in the village, of creatures who lurk at night.”

She knew the minute she said it she’d gone too far.

The Duke’s face was a wash of fury as he rose to his full height.

“You know nothing,” he snarled. “You’re just a village peasant who’s mind played a trick on her in the dark.”

“But—“ Elain started, even as she took a step back, towards the door. Her heart fluttered in her chest, pounding wildly.

“No,” the Duke shouted. “You will say nothing of this to anyone. Now get out.”

The Duke’s tone filled Elain with fear, terror she hadn’t felt since she was young and the debtors came for her father.

She turned and fled out the door, back to the servants quarters without looking back, took Vassa’s orders to scrub chamber pots without question because it meant she would be busy, didn’t have to go back to the Duke’s study.

The next morning Elain woke to see something lying on her pillow. She lifted it up, holding it to the candle on her bedside table to take it in. A silver ring with the most beautiful pearl Elain had seen in her life on top, better than in any of the jewelry her father had given her when he’d returned from long business trips, perfectly smooth and round.

Elain knew what it meant. There was only one person in the manor who had the ability to get such a perfect ring, to have it slipped on her pillow without anyone noticing.

Sure enough, Vassa was waiting for her in the hall. “You’ve been upgraded,” she said, glaring down her nose at Elain. “You’ll be bringing the Lord all his meals, no more cleaning.”

She shoved a dress in Elain’s hands, nearly identical to the one she wore except for the gold embroidery along the help and sleeves. “Go change, dinner staff has to be presentable.”

Elain took it mutely, quickly changing in the room while the other women watched. Dacia and Marcie buzzed excitedly, sighing over how handsome the Duke was, how they wished it was them, while Yevah stared with barely contained jealousy. Only Kaisia seemed unexcited, grabbing Elain’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze of support on the way out.

The Duke was waiting for Elain, not behind his desk but in one of the leather chairs by the bookshelf she’d never seen used.

“Elain,” he said, rising to his feet as soon as she entered.

“Your grace,” she replied, keeping her eyes glued to the table. Her heart was in her throat, hands trembling slightly at the memory of his anger.

“I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was uncalled for.”

Elain just set the tray down on the table next to him. “It is your right as Duke to express yourself as you please.”

The Duke growled low in his throat. “No it’s not. And I’m sorry.”

“You are forgiven, your grace,” Elain said.

“Lucien,” the Duke said, plopping back down in his seat. “If you are to continue to serve me I would prefer you call me Lucien.”

“You are forgiven, Lucien,” Elain corrected. She liked the way the name sounded, the way he smiled warmly up at her. “And your gift of the ring was wholly unnecessary.”

Elain had seen the way the boys in the village seemed to lord gifts over their girls’ heads, demanding favors as a sort of exchange. Elain didn’t want to know what the Duke expected in return.

“You were scared,” Lucien replied, like that settled matters.

“People are scared all the time,” Elain said. “They don’t all get jewelry.”

A single, surprised laugh burst from Lucien. “My father always makes my mother scared,” he said, sobering. “I don’t want to be like him.

Elain tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, if only for something to do with her hands. “I would have preferred you put it towards the debt.”

Lucien looked at Elain like he’d never seen her before, like he was inspecting her, trying to figure something out.

“You don’t know, do you? How bad it is.”

Elain swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “It’s a modest sum, and as soon has my father’s knee heals enough for him to find work—“

“Elain, it’s millions,” Lucien interrupted. “It’s more than my annual allowance. I’m still not sure how your father even had that much to lose.’

“Oh.” It was the only thing she could say , the only thing she could think. Elain felt like her body was deflating, any hope she had of leaving soon, of going back to her sisters fading away before her eyes. She was just like Kaisia, trapped here until she died.

“I thought you knew,” Lucien said. “I thought someone would have told you.”

“My sisters need dowries.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was all she could think about. No one would marry Feyre or Nesta without dowries, take on that much risk without insurance. And if their father was truly millions in debt…

“Do you want them to work here too?” Lucien asked.

Elain tried to picture it, Nesta scrubbing floors, Feyre keeping her eyes down as she delivered the breakfast tray. She couldn’t. They wouldn’t fit into this world, had been born to lead, not to serve.

“No,” Elain said. “Better they don’t know.” She forced a smile onto her face. “But thank you for your offer.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien said again.

“It’s not your fault,” Elain said brightly. “Best not to worry about it.”

Serving Lucien was all Elain had time to do. She delivered his breakfast, set the lunch table, brought lunch, brought it back, sent up tea, had just enough time to take dinner, and then had to retrieve the nightcaps.

Her feet hurt from running back and forth through the manor, to all the different rooms Lucien took his meals in, and her skin was tender from the daily baths Vassa insisted she take.

“The Duke doesn’t want to smell you,” she sneered after that first night, sending Elain off to the bath room.

But she wasn’t scrubbing floors or chamber pots, something Elain was immensely grateful for.

And Lucien was surprisingly funny, making small quips as Elain offered him food, taking delight every time she offered one in return. At least when he was alone. Whenever Eris was there he was uncharacteristically curt, giving nothing more than a nod without breaking whatever conversation the two of them were having.

But Eris was gone more and more often, off in another part of the manor. So was Kaisia, a fact Elain noted, and then chose not to bring up, even as tension seemed to radiate between them.

The same tension that radiated through the halls as the full moon approached, less than a week away.

Elain brought Lucien’s dinner up that night to see his head in his hands, a crisp letter in front of him. Elain recognized the seal, the blood red wax and curled crown that marked a letter from the King.

“What’s happened?” Elain asked, holding the tray aloft. Lucien’s desk was strewn with papers, covering every inch of wood and leaving her no place to set it down.

“A new tax has come from the King,” Lucien said, running a hand through his long hair. “Another punishment we can’t afford to bear.”

Elain shuddered at the thought of another tax from the King, more of the meager crops her village managed to grow being taken and sent away to feed people who already had too much, sending the silver spoon on the tray rattling.

Lucien took it from her, sweeping some of the papers onto the floor and setting the tray on the cleared space.

“Does Vassa think I’m starving?” he asked, eyes going wide at the sight of the massive bowl of soup.

Elain snorted, her eyes roving over the thin white shirt, thin enough to make out the chorded muscles beneath. Lucien looked far from starving. Elain had never seen him train but she knew he must to look like that, to build the muscles she knew lie hidden beneath his crisp pants.

“Maybe she just wants to show off,” Elain said. “I think she made this one herself.”

“Typical,” Lucien muttered. He gestured at the chair opposite his desk. “Sit, have some. I won’t finish it and I bet it’s better than what they serve downstairs.”

Elain did, taking his offered spoon.

She had to contain her groan at the taste. It was more flavor than she could ever remember having in her life. The food they gave the servants was good, better than anything she ate in the cottage but this—

“Good?” Lucien asked, his eye sparkling with amusement.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Elain said, handing him the spoon.

Lucien tried the soup, a slight moan escaping his throat. Elain steadfastly ignored the way the sound sent goosebumps up her arms. “Vassa’s been holding out on me too.”

He offered her another spoonful and Elain took it gratefully. The broth was flavorful, but thin, containing less meat and vegetables than she would have expected for a Duke.

Although if the King really wanted more from them—

“How will you pay the tax?” Elain asked. “There’s already too little in the villages.”

Lucien signed, ripping a chunk off the hunk of bread Vassa had sent with the bowl. “I’ll dig into my storehouse. Beron just wants to punish me anyway, remind me how much he loathes my position.”

“If he didn’t want you, then why not make one of the other two…” Elain trailed off, the unsavory words hanging in the air.

“Why not make one of my other two brothers Duke and kill me off instead,” Lucien finished, sweeping some of the letters into a pile. “There’s benefits to being my mother’s favorite. She knows too much for my father to do anything, things that would make your skin crawl. But she can’t spare me from this.” Lucien gestured at the letter with his hand.

“Did you like growing up in the palace,” Elain asked after a pregnant pause.

Lucien softened slightly. “It was different. I spent most of my time avoiding my father, hiding out in the library, reading all the books on diplomacy I could find.”

“Were you close to your brothers?” Elain asked, thinking of Eris spending two months here instead of his own estate.

Lucien shook his head. “No, at least not when we were young. I was the last born, and I think they all knew I was different, resented that.”

Different because of his father Elain wondered who the man was, if the King was willing to raise his son as his own, let him inherit land instead of disowning him and hiding the whole thing.

“And you?” Lucien asked.

“My sisters,” Elain sighed, trying to think how to put in the words the tension that always seemed to exist in the cottage, and the love that ran stronger beneath it. “They’re very protective.”

Lucien nodded. She wondered if it wasn’t dissimilar for him. If Eris had traveled to help him with whatever his problem was, there couldn’t be that much animosity anymore.

“You know,” Lucien said, “I met your sister once.”

Elain perked up at that. “You did?”

“I was young, probably only eight or nine, and your father came to the palace to talk to our trade ambassadors. He brought Nesta along with him, in hopes of attracting one of my brothers.”

“Did it work?” Elain asked. She vaguely remembered, the year before her mother died, of their house being in disarray, of new dresses and jewels being brought in for her father’s journey to the palace, of a new governess being brought in to teach her and Nesta how to dance.

“She made quite the impression on Eris,” Lucien said. “The girl who didn’t seem impressed by him and his princely status. But your father’s ships sank before anything could ever come of it.”

Elain tried to imagine Nesta being married to Eris, of the bite marks being taken out of her neck, and shivered.

“Are you liking it here?” Lucien asked, changing the subject. “Vassa not being too hard on you?”

Elain chose her words carefully. “It’s…different…than I thought it would be.”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Just different.” She could tell Lucien wanted to ask more, didn’t know how to tell him that he was less scary than rumored in the village, less cruel. But still the fear lingered, of whatever him and Eris were, why they stayed in the dark.

She was spared answering by her spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl. Lucien seemed just as surprised as she was, Elain hadn’t realized how long they’d been sitting there.

“I’ll let you go now,” Lucien said, sounding regretful.

Elain quickly stood, dropping into a low curtsy. “Thank you your grace.”

“Lucien,” the Duke called after her as she hurried out of her study. Sunlight was starting to peek through the curtains on the windows in the hall, sending light scattering on the floor. Elain’s hands itched to throw one open, to let the light stream in while the sun rose, but she resisted. They were closed for a reason, even if that reason remained frustratingly elusive.

Kaisia was the only one awake when Elain returned, the other three of their dorm mates asleep in their beds. Kaisia was still in her day dress, a fresh bandage stuck on her neck.

“Late night?” she asked.

“I could say the same to you,” Elain said, pulling out her nightgown. “You’ve been gone a lot.”

Kaisia shrugged. “Vassa has no complaints.”

“Sure,” Elain said, pulling the nightgown over her head. “And you spending time with Eris has nothing to do with it.”

“I’m not doing anything you aren’t with Lucien.” Kaisia said, voice haughty.

Elain flushed hot. “I’m not doing anything other than my job.”

“And I’m doing mine,” Kaisia snapped.

“Fine,” Elain said. “Pretend that’s it. But don’t come asking for my help when it all goes wrong.”

Kaisia laughed. “Trust me Elain, I know much more about what I’m getting into then you do.”

“Maybe because you don’t tell me anything,” Elain snarled. She turned to fluff her pillow, hitting it hard with the palm of her hand. “Except you don’t want to, you just want to feel like you’re better than the rest of us. Well guess what, we’re all working in the same place.”

“For now,” Kaisia sneered. “Until you bat your pretty brown eyes and get Lucien to fix all your problems.”

“Fuck you,” Elain screamed, throwing her pillow at Kaisia.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up.” The pillow flew back across the room to Elain’s bed.

“Shut up, both of you,” yelled Yevah. “None of us want to hear it.”

Elain glared at Kaisia before blowing out the candle at her nightstand, plunging the room into darkness.

The two women danced around each other for the next couple days, Elain making sure she was never alone in a room with Kaisia. It meant Elain had even less people to talk to. The other three girls were nice enough, but they all worked in the laundry room and all the gossip they had to talk about never included anyone Elain knew.

Lucien had been her reprieve, sharing dinner with her every night. After that first dinner Vassa had started sending up two plates, one for each of them, even as she glared at Elain with clear disapproval every time she came to collect it.

“So,” Lucien said, when they were halfway through their plate of stewed beef and vegetables, “what exactly did you mean by different?”

Elain sighed, glancing at the closed window behind Lucien. “Truthfully? I miss the sun.”

Lucien cocked his head. “Really?”

“I had a garden, right outside our cottage. I would try to grow whatever food I could during the summer. Occasionally we’d get a few potatoes or such, but mostly it was nice to be out of the cottage, to feel useful.”

“I know what you mean,” Lucien said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “The King,” Lucien cleared his throat, “my father always kept night hours. As a child, I would sneak out while everyone was asleep, just sit in the gardens to have a few moments alone, soak in the sunlight. It was the only time I could escape…” Lucien trailed off and Elain chose not to call him out on the obvious lie. To ask why he would need to sneak away. “But you get used to it eventually.”

“If you like the sun so much, why not change things?”

“I’ve adapted,” Lucien said with a shrug. “And in many ways staying in the dark makes things easier. Less complicated.”

Elain shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing it.”

Lucien reached into his breast pocket to pull out a gold watch. He check the time, a grin breaking out across his face. A real one, not the half smiles he so often gave. It made him unfairly handsome, like the story book princes Elain had dreamed about. “Come on, then, we have some time.”

“Time for what?” Elain asked, taking Lucien’s offered hand. It was surprisingly warm, his grip firm as he tugged her out of her seat and through the study doors.

“You’ll see,” he said, dragging her through the halls. Elain had to run to keep up with his long strides, her slippers slapping against the floor. He practically bounced with every step, light in a way she’d never seen him. His eagerness made him look younger, and he seemed to shed the weariness he always had, the weight of the Duchy that lay heavy on his shoulders.

He ground to a halt in front of the doors that led out to the garden. Elain nearly slammed into him, bracing herself with a hand on his bicep.

“Here,” he said, throwing open the doors. The sun was just peeking out over the horizon, casting everything in a warm glow.

Elain stepped out onto the grass, steps hesitant. Lucien’s fingers slipped out of her grasp, letting her go. It didn’t feel real as brightness flooded the world, like it was all some cosmic joke being played on her, ready to be ripped away and plunge her back into darkness.

She could feel the warmth against her skin, chasing away the chill that seemed to linger no matter how deeply she burrowed into her bed, a symptom of the night.

The frozen grass crunched under her feet as she ventured further outside, into the gardens. In the light it was more beautiful than she’d imagined, the hedges a shade of bright emerald she didn’t think was possible, especially not in their cold little region.

Overhead, a streak of fire shot through the sky. She gasped, whirling around to look at Lucien, check if he’d seen it. “What was that?”

Lucien, still standing in the doorway, glanced up. “Vassa likes to have her fun.”

It wasn’t the strangest thing Elain had heard since she’d arrived, and she chose to let it go, save her questions for another day.

She held out a hand to Lucien. “You won’t join me?”

“Trust me, I would love nothing more,” Lucien said, ruefully, “but I can’t.”

“Oh,” Elain said. She didn’t know why it stung so much, why she cared, but it did. She wanted Lucien with her, to show her around the gardens.

Lucien must have sensed her hesitation. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.”

Elain nodded. It was fine. She was going to enjoy this moment for all she could. She drifted further into the garden, down the winding path. She turned back at one point, to see if Lucien had changed his mind but he just waved her on.

It was still too cold for flowers to bloom but the garden was beautiful regardless. Hidden staircases led to several secret spots, smaller beds surrounded by hedges. Elain could imagine two lovers sneaking off to one, the idea so achingly romantic her heart fluttered.

In the middle of it all was a huge pond, the top still frozen over. The few birds that hadn’t flown south hovered around it, no doubt in search of something edible. Elain wished she had some scraps of bread to toss them.

Elain sat on one of the benches that surrounded the perimeter, listening to the slight titters of the birds. The manor felt very far away, the responsibilities and anxiety so foreign they couldn’t touch her.

Between her cloak and the puddle of sunshine she’d found, Elain was pleasantly warm, her eyelids growing heavy with exhaustion.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but Elain had a fuzzy memory of being pulled into strong arms, of a kiss pressed to her forehead. She woke up in her bed, tucked under the covers. She felt less chilled than usual, as if someone had heated the sheets before pulling them up over her.

That night was the full moon, their one night off that month. Elain sat huddled on the bed, back turned to Kaisia as the snarls and barks of whatever came sounded through the manor.

The room was silent, and Elain longed to talk to Kaisia, if only to distract herself, but she wouldn’t. Let the other girl apologize to her first.

The next snarl seemed to be closer, but no. That was just Elain’s mind playing tricks on her in the dark, making things scarier than they needed to be.

A howl rang out, louder than any of the other noises they’d heard. Echoing like it was in the hallway.

Elain sat up, her actions mirrored by Kaisia.

The two looked at each other, Elain seeing her own fear reflected in Kaisia’s face.

Another snarl. This one was definitely closer, sounding in Elain’s ears.

“What’s that?” Marcie asked.

“It’s just our minds playing tricks,” Kaisia said, her tone uncertain.

And then the bang sounded, as if something large had slammed into their door. The wood rattled, but held firm.

“Shit,” Kaisia said.

Another hit to the door. It seemed to shake more this time.

Elain swallowed. She didn’t want to know what was on the other side, what was so desperate to get to them.

Although she wasn’t sure if she was going to have a choice as a third hit had the wood buckling, splintering in parts.

There were shouts now, human voices swallowed up by the growling that rang in Elain’s ears.

“Please,” whimpered someone, Elain couldn’t say who.

Elain pulled her knees up to her chest, waiting for the inevitable.

The fourth strike was too much for the door to take. It flew off its hinges, shards flying into the room. The noise of it clattering to the floor was deafening, taking up too much of the small space.

Elain would have thought the animal was a wolf, if not for the bright red color of its fur, gleaming like flames in the glowing candle light. It was huge, easily the size of a small horse, and muscles shifted under its coat as it stalked towards them, teeth bared to show long, gleaming white fangs.

Someone was screaming, and it took Elain a second to realize it was her.

The animal swung its head, its eyes, one amber and one a shiny gold, locking in her as he prowled closer. He looked almost curious, that horrible growling stopping, if only for a moment.

“No,” shouted Eris as he ran into the room, a rope in hand. From one end hung a heavy metal hook, razor sharp at the end.

It drew the animal’s attention, his head swiveling to look at the lord.

“No,” Eris repeated, advancing slowly.

Vassa and Jurian followed him, both holding similar weapons.

The beast growled, the noise coming from deep in his throat.

Eris pounced, tossing the hook. The metal caught, sinking deep into the animal’s shoulder. He howled, bright red blood welling from the wound.

“Come on,” Eris growled, pulling on the rope.

The beast whimpered in pain but stood firm, resisting even as the hook dug in deeper.

Jurian crept along the wall, pulling something from his belt. A collar Elain realized after a second, a great black one with two rings attacked.

Eris gave a sharp tug on the rope at the same time Jurian lunged, wrapping the leather around the beast’s neck. Vassa followed him, hooking her rope into one of the rings while Jurian did the same.

The two of them pulled, while Eris dropped his own rope. The line went slack, the hook finally stopping its destructive path.

Elain didn’t know what inhuman strength Vassa and Jurian processed, but as they pulled onto rope the beast slid across the floor, claws gouging deep marks into the stone.

“Come,” Vassa grunted, sweat beading at her forehead.

The beast howled, thrashing violently against the grasp the two servants had on him. It was futile as he continued to be dragged, out of the room and into the hall. The sound of claws on stone was ear splitting as he fought against the bonds.

“Are you okay?” Eris asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

Elain startled, turning to stare at him. But his gaze was trained on Kaisia, who was trembling violently.

“I’m fine,” she choked out.

Eris nodded, shoulders slumping. “Good.”

“What was that,” demanded Yevah.

“None of your concern,” Eris said. His usual haughty tone was back, any sign of concern gone.

“It was in the manor,” Dacia said, her outrage evident. “It could have killed us.”

“A one time occurrence, I assure you,” Eris said. “You’ll all be given the week off as compensation.”

“But—“ Yevah started but Eris had already stormed out of the room, shutting what little remained of the door behind him.

Elain nearly leapt out of her skin when she felt the arm wrap around her, before realizing it was Kaisia. She was still trembling, her whole body shivering. Elain pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I didn’t know,” Kaisia whispered. “I promise I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Elain said.

“I would have told you if I did,” Kaisia insisted. “All I knew about was Eris and his brothers.”

“I know,” Elain assured her. “I know.”

The two of them stayed like that for hours, holding each other for comfort, until the sound of the beast had faded with the dawn.

Jurian was waiting for her the next day, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced the hallway. He flashed Elain a sympathetic smile as she stepped out, cloak clutched tightly around her.

He offered her an elbow. “I’m here to take you home.”

Elain gave him a watery smile as she took it, letting him lead her out to the waiting carriage. It was the same one that had taken her to the manor, far grander than the three waiting for the other women. Kaisia had declared she’d be staying, prompting a loud argument with Vassa what was settled when Eris came down and said Kaisia would be staying with him for the week. Kaisia’s glare made it clear he had not discussed it with her prior but she hadn’t refused, not when her alternative was going back to her brother.

Jurian helped her up, and then they were off, back down the same road they came in on. Elain chose to ignore Vassa watching them leave, waving at Jurian until they were out of sight.

“You doing alright?” Jurian asked. “Need anything?”

Elan turned away from the window, where she’d been watching the dark trees pass. “I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. Even if she did know how she felt, she doubted Jurian would be able to do anything to help.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, Elain lost in thought as she tried to figure out what she could tell her sisters, how she could explain what had happened over the past months.

She still hadn’t figured it out when the carriage came to a halt, back in front of her cottage. Jurian swung open the door and helped her down.

“Remember what I told you the first night. If you need me, I’m there. I’ll be with my mother down the road.

Elain managed to give him a weak grin of thanks, and then he was gone, leaving her alone.

A winter of snow had not been kind to the cottage. One of the window shutters had fallen off and the roof seemed to be sagging in the middle, more so than she remembered.

The door swung open on Elain’s first knock. Feyre, wearing the same nightgown she had been when Elain left, gasped. She pulled Elian into a tight hug and Elain couldn’t help but notice how prominent Feyre’s ribs felt, how she was barely more than skin and bones.

“You’re here,” Feyre cried.

“Who’s here?” The voice of their father sounded thin, and Elain lifted her head to see him sitting by the fire on the same cot he dragged out every night to sleep on.

“I’m home,” Elain said, stepping into the light of the cabin.

“Elain,” her father gasped, rising on shaky feet. Elain rushed to him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you, darling,” he said, burying a hand in her hair.

She stepped back to see Nesta waiting. “You’re back.” Not a question, but a statement of fact.

“The Duke gave me the week off,” Elain explained.

“And then he’ll whisk you back off in the middle of the night?”

“Lucien keeps night time hours,” Elain explained.

Nesta arched an eyebrow. “He’s Lucien to you?”

Elain felt her cheeks warm. “We’ve talked.”

Nesta snorted, turning back to the bedroom.

“Don’t take it personally,” Feyre whispered. “She’s upset because she’s agreed to marry Thomas Mandray.”

“What?” Elain asked. She remembered Thomas, the way his eyes always seemed to linger too long on the breasts of women in town, how he always seemed to accidentally bump into certain parts of her body.

“More collectors came, and Thomas’ father was willing to pay a dowry for her,” Feyre said. “It covered some of what we owed.”

“And the rest?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Feyre said, even as her voice trembled. “I can sell some furs, it’ll be fine.”

Elain knew from experience that Feyre’s furs never went as far as they hoped. No one in the village had enough money to pay what they were worth, and even if they did, a single woman was easy to take advantage of. But she nodded and let herself be pulled into the bedroom. Lay nestled between Nesta and Feyre, back where she belonged.

That morning everything felt slightly wrong. They went through their usual routine, Feyre making a watery porridge she spooned into the bowls as they all sat together at the table and ate. Nesta talked about her upcoming marriage with feigned enthusiasm, bragged about how happy she would be once she was out of the house, how Feyre would finally have time to herself to paint.

Elain listened mutely, forcing down the food even as it tasted like ash in her mouth. She couldn’t help but feel guilty that she was there, one more person for Feyre to feed, especially when Elain saw how little was in the cupboard, just a few pieces of dried meat left from when Feyre was able to hunt in the fall.

“We should go to the market,” Feyre said. “Get stuff for your wedding.”

Nesta agreed and Elain followed them out of the house with a waved goodbye to their father. She couldn’t help but notice how light the coin purse looked in Feyre’s hands, how little they had. Felt guilty with how fine her own cloak was in comparison to her sisters’ threadbare garments.

“What do you think of this one?” Feyre asked, holding up a scrap of lace from one of the stalls.

“It’s nice,” Elain said. It was, but plain. And another sigh of what awaited Nesta. A life of misery, of forcing herself to be smaller, lesser, so as never to overstep her husband.

“Get it,” Nesta said, voice brisk. “It’s the cheapest they have.”

Feyre handed over a coin in exchange for a length. One less coin they had to feed themselves.

“So what’s it like?’ Feyre asked as they walked through the stalls, looking at wares they could never dream of affording. “The Duke’s house?”

“It’s huge,” Elain said. “Bigger than ours ever was.”

“And the Duke?” Nesta asked, tone mocking. “Is he nice and kind and handsome?”

Elain’s cheeks burned. “He is handsome.”

Nesta huffed. “Probably why you’re so eager to go back.”

“I—“ Elain started, desperate to defend herself, but before she could, a shout of Nesta’s name interrupted them.

“Nesta,” called Thomas, lumbering over to where they were.

The glare Nesta gave him was lethal, loathing written clear across her face. Thomas ignored it as he slithered a possessive hand around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. His fingers drifted up, to brush the underside of her breasts.

“How is my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Nesta snarled, stepping out of his grip. “Not for another month.”

Thomas leered down at her. “Or sooner, if the debtors come calling.”

Elain averted her gaze, staring determinedly at a silver necklace hanging from a mannequin in one of the stalls.

Feyre managed to detangle them, claiming she needed both their help for dinner, and they were out of the market. Nesta rubbed her waist, as if trying to erase the feel of Thomas’ hands on her.

Dinner passed in tense silence, her father asking how the market went as Nesta and Feyre carefully avoided mention of Thomas. Elain hurried off to bed as soon as she could, followed quickly by Nesta and Feyre. Her stomach felt empty, more empty than it has since she went to the manor. It’s a feeling she hadn’t missed.

And lying in bed that night, listening to Feyre’s stomach grumble and Nesta’s silent tears she muffled with the pillow, Elain knew she couldn’t go back to Lucien, not while her sisters had to stay in the cottage.

She slid out of bed, quietly pulling on clothes.

“Where are you going?” Nesta asked, sitting up slightly.

“I have a friend I promised to see,” Elain whispered, slipping out the door before Nesta could ask any more questions. Thankfully Nesta didn’t follow.

The walk down to the cabin Jurian indicated was a short one, the path muddy from the recently melted snow. The door swung open at the first knock, almost as if Jurian was waiting for her.

“What do you need?” No beating around the bush then.

“Take me back,” Elain said.

Jurian’s brows shot up. “That bad?”

“Please,” Elain begged. “I need to go back and talk to Lucien.”

The manor was the same as it had been when she’d left, still covered in the same layer of snow. Jurian had needed to call for a carriage, so it had taken a full day of waiting, and the sun setting as they pulled in front of the servant’s entrance.

“Thank you,” Elain said, dashing out of the carriage before Jurian could help her down. She practically ran down the hall, to the servant’s wing.

The household was just stirring, people moving between the bathing chambers and their quarters. Even Vassa wasn’t awake yet, the spot she usually occupied left empty.

Elain sighed in relief, striding into the kitchen. Lucien’s tray was already on the counter, ready to be loaded with his breakfast items. Elain wracked her brain, trying to remember what he usually had.

Tea. She needed to brew him a pot of tea.

Elain gave a silent thanks to whoever had left the stove lit as she filled a pot with water and hung it to heat. The bread hadn’t been baked yet, so yesterday’s was going to have to do, as was the half used jar of jam left in the cupboard.

Assembly was easy enough, the dishes sitting stacked neatly in a pile.

Elain carried the tray back up through familiar halls, trying to keep her hands steady, even as nerves coiled in her stomach.

It was all a bad idea. She had no way of knowing if Lucien wanted to see her, if he’d even be willing to help her, but she had no other options.

Her knock on the study door was met with silence.

Elain cursed. Lucien probably wasn’t even awake yet, much less ready—

“You’re back.” Eris looked down at her, head cocked in confusion, from the crack in the door.

“Is your brother there?” Elain asked.

Eris turned around. “Is he?”

Lucien must have given some signal because Eris swung the door open wider. “You can come in.”

Elain gave a whispered thanks as she entered. Lucien was still in his nightshirt, the fabric short enough to show off his legs. Elain blushed at the sight. She knew he was muscled but seeing it…

“Elain—“ Lucien said, rising to his feet. He looked awful, the beginnings of a beard dotting his jaw and purplish bruises heavy under his eyes. “You came back?”

Elain swallowed. “The debt was not yet paid.” Not the full truth, but the most she would say with Eris standing behind her.

“Jurian didn’t tell you?” At Elain’s blank expression Lucien sighed. “Your debts are paid. You’re free to go.”

“All of them?” But no, that didn’t make sense. Why else would Nesta need to marry Thomas than for money.

“The ones I know about.”

The tray in Elain’s hands felt like a weight. “There’s more. More than either of us knew about.” More reasons she’d have to stay.

“Fuck,” Lucien muttered. He looked over Elain’s shoulder. “Eris, get out.”

“But I’m invested,” Eris drawled.

“Eris.” Lucien’s tone left no room for questioning.

Elain heard the door shut behind her, even as she kept her eyes trained on Lucien.

“Fuck, Elain. How did it get this bad?”

“I don’t know.” An honest answer.

Lucien advanced towards her, lifted the tray out of her hands and tossed it unceremoniously onto the desk. The teacup shattered at the force but Lucien didn’t even flinch.

“I need you to save my sisters,” Elain said. “I’ll do anything, anything you ask. I’ll work for you until I die.” She was ready to beg on her knees, she didn’t care. Anything to see Nesta freed from a life with Thomas, Feyre no longer needing to hunt.

“I’m not a man you should offer anything to,” Lucien said, even as he came closer.

Elain’s eyes narrowed. She took in Lucien’s eyes, one gold and one russet, just like she’d seen that night. How Kaisia said he was different, how the King hated him.

“You’re the beast, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

And there it was, all laying in that one devastating word.

“How?”

Lucien groaned, collapsing back into the chair in front of his desk. “What do you know?”

“You’re not the King’s son.” Elain said.

Lucien gave a bitter laugh. “That pretty much sums it up. My mother met Helion. King of Pelas,” he added at Elain’s confused expression. “Right before she married Beron. She wanted to run away, marry him instead but her family wouldn’t allow it. They kept in contact though, exchanging letters. Until a year before I was born, when Helion came as an official delegate.

“I looked different from the moment I was born, but no one wanted to say anything, not when it would offend two kings. Cleaning up that war would be too difficult.” Lucien shrugged. “So here I am, too difficult to get rid of, stuck in the worst duchy of the kingdom while the King makes my life a nightmare.”

“Does Helion know?” Elain asked.

Lucien leaned over the desk, sliding open a drawer and pulling out a stack of letters. “I told him once I was of age.”

“Then why stay? If you hate the dark, hate this place…”

“When my mother’s ready,” Lucien said fiercely. “And not a day sooner.” Lucien dropped the stack of papers down on the desk and slumped in his seat. “So now you know everything you need to ruin me.”

“I told you, all I want is for you to save my sisters. You can’t if you’re ruined.”

“So that’s your offer, my secrets for your sisters?”

“I told you, I’d do anything.”

Lucien groaned, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his throat. “That’s a very dangerous thing to offer me, Elain. Because there’s a great number of things I want to do with you.”

Elain bit her lip. They were edging into dangerous territory now, more than any of their other conversations. “I thought that was why you bought me. So you could do what you want.”

“I bought you so no one else could,” Lucien said. “I know what the people who buy children do to them. Trust me, you’re happier working for a monster than whoever your father was going to sell you to.”

“My father’s about to do the same to Nesta, trade her to the highest bidder. And then there will be more debts and he’ll turn to Feyre.” Because there would always be more debtors, more people her father had made deals with and then failed to pay back, all to fund his ridiculous fraud of his lifestyle.

“You know what I am and you still want my help?”

Elain met his eyes, the shame burning in his gaze. “You could have killed me in that room and you didn’t. You can’t be that much of a monster.”

Luciens voice was dark when he spoke. “Trust me, I every much can be.”

Elain took a step towards him. “Prove it.”

The smile that spread across Lucien’s face was predatory, belonging to the beast that lurked within him. “Marry me and I’ll help you.”

“That’s your conditions? My hand in marriage to save my sisters from the same fate?”

“You could always tell everyone you now I’m a hideous monster. It might make me more cooperative.”

Elain scoffed, taking another step towards him. “Like they’d ever believe me.”

Lucien met her eye, staring at her like she was his prey and he was a hunter. “I trust you can be very persuasive when they want to be.”

Elain looked him over, the red hair falling around his shoulders, the handsome face. And then she sat in his lap, legs straddling either side of his waist.

“Deal.”

Lucien reached up, brushing a hand along her jaw. “I think we should seal it with a kiss.”

“Not a handshake?” Elain asked, but she leaned forward, gently pressing her lips against his. They were surprisingly soft, and Lucien opened to her, let her tongue sweep past his lips. He tasted of spice and cinnamon, something just on the edge of burning her.

Lucien kissed like he was starving, like he wanted to devour her. His hands reached up to hold her in place, grip tight along her waist. Elain’s hands ran along his back, fingers reaching under his nightshirt to reach warm skin.

“Gods,” Lucien murmured, breaking away from her mouth to kiss a line down her neck, nipping and sucking his way down.

Elain whimpered when he found a particularly sensitive spot. She could feel her thighs dampening with arousal. She’d been a few boys in the village before but nothing had felt quite as exciting as just kissing Lucien did.

The noise seemed to spur Lucien on, his lips teasing at the top of her dress, one hand reaching up to brush along her breasts. The touch had Elain’s nipples pebbling under the fabric and she arched into his touch.

“Careful,” Lucien groaned. “We have to save it for the wedding night.”

Elain pouted. “Do you plan on backing out?”

“Never,” Lucien snarled. “But I won’t have anyone accusing me of being anything less than a perfect Lord.”

Elain’s fingers played with the collar of his shirt, working the button undone.“I don’t even have a ring,”

“I gave you one,” Lucien protested. “But I can get you another. Any type you want, say the word and I’ll find it.”

“No. That one’s perfect.”

“Good.” And then Lucien’s lips were back on hers. His hand reached under her ass to lift her up, placing her on the desk with something close to reverence.

Even while sitting, Lucien towered above her and Elain had to tilt his head back to meet his mouth. Her hands reached down, to the base of his nightshirt, and pulled it up and off.

She was met with the sight of warm brown skin and hard earned muscles dusted with fine red hair. Her hands ran up Lucien’s shoulders, down his stomach.

Lucien groaned at her touch, pulling her closer.

“There’s lots of things we can do that will keep your maidenhood intact,” he whispered, pulling away from her to bend at the knees.

“What—” Elain asked. Lucien ran his hands up her calves, pulling her dress up as he moved up her legs. He ripped her undergarments away, throwing them unceremoniously in a pile behind him.

Lucien delved under her skirts and Elain caught a glance of a wound on his shoulder, jagged and half healed.

She sat up, brushing a finger along it.

“Is that from—”

“It’s fine,” Lucien murmured. “It happens.”

Now that she was looking, Elain could see several scars flecking Lucien’s otherwise smooth back, little holes and gashes long healed over.

“Is this your life? Always worried something will happen, the beast will break out?”

Lucien shrugged. “Helion says it gets easier once you’ve settled, have a person to protect. He said he was never calmer than when he was with my mother.”

Elain read the implication in his words. She was his person now. The thought made something melt deep in her chest.

“Now please,” Lucien begged, pulling her skirts up around her hips. “I want to taste my wife.”

“I’m not your wife yet—” Elain started, but the rest of her sentence was cut off by a moan as Lucien licked a stripe up her seam. Her hips nearly bucked off the desk as he did it again and Lucien chuckled, placing one hand on her stomach to keep her still. The width of his palm spanned near across her, squeezing with comforting pressure.

He continued his assault on her folds, tongue playing with her entrance as his other hand reached up, thumb rolling over the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of Elain’s thighs.

The whimpers he managed to pull from her would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t felt so good. Elain felt pleasure build at the base of her spine. Her stomach tightened, her inner muscles clenching against her will.

“There you go,” Lucien groaned. “Come on my face, make sure everyone in the manor knows you’re mind.”

He punctuated the words with a particularly hard flick of her clit that had Elain whimpering. “Lucien,” she panted.

“You’re going to be a Lady,” Lucien continued, as if she hadn’t said anything. “And Ladies do what they’re told.”

Elain nodded, clutching the edge of her desk as Lucien’s tongue finally breached her entrance, darting into her.

“Please,” she whined. “I’m so close.”

“I know you are, love. You can do it.” Lucien rolled his thumb harder over her clit and the stimulation had Elain falling over the edge, pleasure shooting through her so hard she saw stars.

“Good girl,” Lucien said, riding her though the high. “You did so well for me.”

Elain’s chest glowed at the praise. She reached down, a hand on Lucien’s jaw as she pulled him up for a messy kiss. Lucien tasted slightly salty, tasted of her and it only made Elain more aroused, her legs wrapping around Lucien’s hips.

The knocking at the door stopped them from going any further.

“Are you quite done?” shouted Eris through the wood.

Elain flushed hot at the idea of Eris knowing what they’d been doing but Lucien just chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before yelling back, “why do you care about it.”

“I’ll tell father you’re marrying a peasant,” Eris taunted.

Lucien groaned. “What do I have to give you for you to not do that?”

Eris made a play of thinking about it, letting them sit in silence for a moment. Elain tried to even out her breathing, really hoped Eris couldn’t hear her through the wood.

“You know what I want.”

“Fine,” Lucien shouted. ‘You can take Kaisia back with you. But you’re on your own if you want to convince her to marry you.”

“I will,” Eris answered. “And congratulations.”

Lucien just rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss Elain again.

The wedding took place a month later.

Elain knew it would have been sooner but a month was the quickest the seamstresses could get the dress done, and Lucien had reluctantly agreed to wait.

It was worth it, Elain decided, as she brushed hand down the front of the yellow velvet. The dress seemed to sparkle, glowing like she was the sun.

“You look beautiful,” Feyre said, hugging her for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Elain tried not to cry, even as tears welled up. Lucien had ordered Jurian to bring her family to the manor as soon as they emerged from the study, effectively ending Nesta’s engagement to Thomas.

Not that Nesta was complaining as she took Feyre’s spot, wrapping her arms around Elain. “I’m happy for you,” he whispered.

Nesta pulled back, straightening. “Now let's go, Lucien won’t be kept waiting.”

Elain snorted. Lucien would wait as long as he needed to, she was sure, but she was just as eager as him. Elain knew what the crowd thought, all the Lords and Ladies who had come to spectate, hundreds of people Elain had been introduced to over the past week and then promptly forgotten about. That she was pregnant, and this was Lucien atoning for his mistakes.

They were wrong, at least as far as Elain knew. Although Lucien had been hilariously bad at sticking to his promise to keep her pure for her wedding day. Not that Elain had helped much, guiding his length right where it needed to be.

Elain flushed at the memory, raising the bouquet in her hands to cover her small smile at the thought.

Feyre linked arms with Elain on one side, Nesta on the other, as they led her down to the aisle. She’d opted not to have her father walk her down. He’d already given her away to the Duke in his own way, sold her to pay his debts.

He was sitting in the front row though, next to Eris and Kaisia. Her friend gave a small smile and waved, and Elain beamed back. They hadn’t had more than a few minutes to see each other, not while Elain was busy trying to plan things, but Kaisia looked happy. Elain chose to ignore the high neckline of her dress, what that meant. Besides, Kaisia was pretty enough to make it a new fashion statement, especially if she did end up married to Eris.

Lucien was waiting for her at the end of the aisle and Elain’s breath caught in her throat as she took him in. He’d tied his auburn hair back, the color contrasting beautifully against the green suit jacket and brown pants he wore.

His smile was so bright it cracked something in her chest.

“Don’t cry,” Nesta whispered and Elain laughed. Her sisters dropped her arms and she stepped forward to take Lucien’s hands.

If asked to recount her vows later, Elain never would be able to. All she could remember is the way Lucien looked at her, and the happiness burning bright in her chest.

Elain sat at the dinner table later, head resting on Lucien’s shoulder as he gently ran a hand through her hair.

They’d been forced to cede the head to the King and Queen, not that Elain minded much. Being off to the side allowed Lucien to get rather creative with where he placed his hand, resting higher on her thigh that was socially acceptable.

Helion sat across from them, one of several Kings who’d made the journey. King Rhysand, having come south from his own lands, seemed deep in conversation with Feyre and Elain smirked at the sight. She might not be the last Archeron married off to royalty.

“Congratulations,” Helion said, raising his wine glass in toast. Lucien lifted his own, tapping the rims gently.

They drank, a silent understanding between two people who were more related than anyone could guess.

“We should start dancing,” Elain muttered.

“Do you want to dance or do you want everyone distracted?” Lucien teased.

“Why can’t I want both?”

Lucien laughed, but stood, signaling the small quartet in the corner to start up a lively waltz. He pulled Elain up, leading her onto the dance floor.

His hands settled lightly on her waist, the picture of propriety as he spun her around. Others quickly joined them, Helion leading Lucien’s mother out.

Off in the corner, Vassa was directing Jurian through the steps.

“Vassa dances very well for a housekeeper,” Elain said.

Lucien turned, catching sight. “Vassa was raised to be a lady. She liked gambling a bit too much in her free time and her sisters didn’t feel like paying for it, so they shipped her off to be married to Lord Korsechi. I offered her a job if she left and she accepted. Plus,” Lucien leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, “our nighttime hours work quite well for her problem.”

The fact that Kosechi had cursed her to turn into a firebird by day, something Lucien had confided in her.

“And thus started your life of rescuing fair maidens?” Elain asked.

“It worked out well for you, didn’t it?”

Elain hummed. “Hopefully it works out for Jurian too.”

Lucien growled, tugging her closer. “I don’t want you talking about another man on our wedding night.”

Elain rolled her eyes, if only to hide her smile.

The song ended, the audience clapping politely. Lucien rested his hand on Elain’s back and led them over to his mother, still standing besides Helion.

“You look happy,” Lucien said.

Cait Vanserra smiled. “Now that you’re settled, and Eris is on his way, I think it might be my turn to find something else to occupy my time.”

“It’s time,” Lucien said.

Elain pretended not to notice the way Lady Vanserra’s hand drifted to the knife hanging from her belt, the handle the same as the ones they’d been eating dinner with.

“Now go,” Helion said. “I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out with us.”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice, grabbing Elain’s hand and practically dragging her out of the ball room.

“I think we might be moving soon,” Elain commented mildly. “Somewhere warmer.”

“I don’t care where we go,” Lucien said gruffly. He swung open a door, one Elain recognized as leading into the library, and hauled Elain into him. His hand wrapped around her hair, left long and curling down her back, and angled her head up.

There lips met in a hungry kiss. Lucien’s free hand drifted down to the back of Elain’s thighs and then he was pulling her up, her legs wrapping around her waist as her back hit the wall.

Lucien’s hips ground against hers and Elain could feel the growing bulge in his pants, a sign of his desire for her.

“I love you,” Lucien groaned against her mouth.

Elain nipped at his lower lip. “I love you too.”

Lucien’s hand loosened his grip on her hair. “We should go back to my room,” he said, even as he reached around her to start untying the laces of Elain’s dress. “Anyone could walk in on us.”

“It’s your house, my lord,” Elain said, fingers undoing the first of Lucien’s jacket buttons. “I think we can do what we want in any of the rooms.”

“My Lord,” Lucien muttered. “I don’t think I want you to call me anything but that.”

Elain laughed, still working her way down his jacket. She undid the final button and Lucien slipped out of it, leaving him in nothing but a thin cotton shirt.

He finally managed to get her laces undone, pulling the dress down to expose her breasts. “I love these,” he muttered, leaning down to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Not nearly as much as you love other parts of me,” Elain gasped, arching into his touch.

“True, there’s nothing I love are than your cunt,” Lucien said and Elain slapped at his chest.

“That’s foul,” she complained, but Lucien just laughed, tugging gently on her nipple. Elain moaned, hands pulling at the ties on Lucien’s pants.

She got them undone, and roughly shoved his pants down his legs. Her hand wrapped around his cock, pumping once

“Eager?” Lucien asked.

“Gods, shut up,” Elain said, placing her hands on each of Lucien’s cheeks and pulling him up for another kiss.

Lucien met her lips greedily, one hand sliding between her thighs. He moaned at the slick he felt there, her own arousal making itself known.

He ground against her once, but Elain was done. She reached down, guiding his penis to her entrance. Lucien thrust into her and Elain screamed at the pleasure, at the feeling of him, of her husband, filling her.

“I love you,” Lucien panted, rolling his hips into her. Elain met him stroke for stroke, grinding against him.

“You said,” Elain said, her voice breathless.

“I wanted to make sure you knew,” Lucien said, punctuating his words with a flick of her clit.

Elain tightened her legs around his hips, puling him impossibly closer. The new angle had Lucien hitting the sensitive spot inside her, the one that inevitably led to her falling apart in his arms.

Pressure was building along Elain’s spine, dragging her closer. If Lucien’s shuddering breaths were any indication he was just as close.

Elain threaded her fingers through his hair, tangling the long, auburn strands. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, pressing a hot, opened mouth kiss against her skin, biting down lightly.

“Lucien I’m going to—“

“Yes,” Lucien cried, “yes, yes.” His pace was brutal, hips slamming against hers, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the otherwise silent library. “Come for me, wife.”

The word was Elain’s breaking point, pleasure cresting over her as she came. Lucien followed with a sharp slap of his hips, his release emptying into her.

Lucien waited until he was spent to slowly let her slide back down to the floor. Elain’s legs felt shaky beneath her and Lucien wrapped a hand around her waist, supporting her.

“I think,” Lucien said, pressing his lips against her cheek in a quick kiss. “That we should take this to the marital bed.”

“It might be more comfortable,” Elain agreed. She shrieked as Lucien hoisted her into his arms, bridal style.

“Then let me.”

Lucien kept her up for the rest of the night, until Elain could see sunlight just peaking out through the curtains.

She rose from the bed, throwing Lucien’s long abandoned shirt on to cover herself before she padded over to the window.

“May I?” she asked.

Lucien lifted a head from where he lay strewn out on the bed. “You can do whatever you please in your own house,” he declared fiercely.

It was all the confirmation she needed to throw the shutters open, light shining into their bedroom. She turned back around and gasped.

Lucien seemed to be glowing, the shine faint but undeniable.

“How—”

“Another gift from Helion,” Lucien said, rising up. His dark skin looked golden, shining and reflective. “His whole court apparently glows in the sun.”

Elain sat in his lap, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. “I guess it’s lucky you were born in a court that only goes out at night.”

“I’m lucky I found someone willing to coax me into the light,” Lucien said.

And that’s how the two of them approached their first day as husband and wife, wrapped in each other’s arms.

#acotar secret santa 2022 #elucien #acotar #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #all the cool elucien writers gave Eris a love intrest #so I did too

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