#sweet enchantments lucien

[starstrucklovetragedy]

Okay so since Lovestruck and Voltage USA as a whole have been turned to dust, I have decided to make the decision to completely rebrand one of their old series. I've seen a lot of people rewrite and redesign some of the series but I'm going the step ahead by rebranding an entire series. This mean that

1. The genre of said series will remain entirely the same but the setting, plot, and feel will be completely different.

2. The characters will remain mostly the same apart from some changes in design, personality, and even age. (No changes to gender or sexuality)

3. The title of said series with remain the same

A complete reboot and a fresh new start. Plus, voltage usa never really copyrighted anything (trust me I looked) and are basically non-existent so they won't be able to anything lol. And the series I am thinking of rebooting is......

SWEET ENCHANTMENTS! (yayyyyyyy)

I figured since the original was pretty problematic even when voltage tried to cover up rework their writing. And trust me when I will be turning it into a whole new thing while keeping most things still the same.

So what do you guys think?

[latinfeline]

official sweet enchantments recipie from social media

cant say how good it is but an interesting way to promote the series

[ewa-jednak-chce-spac]

[notjustjavierpena]

Five Minutes

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: As promised, y’all. Thanks to @strang3lov3 and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine for always helping me improve my work ❤️💖 Just to put it out there: The translations aren’t always literal but paraphrased to maintain context.

Summary: Lucien kisses you outside during your house party and puts his hand under your dress.

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Teasing/banter, pet names, passionate kisses, groping, dirty talk, over panty clit stim, degradation, slight verbal humiliation, overstimulation, bit of exhibitionism

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54514960

Five Minutes

Your head is swimming with how close Lucien is. His breath tickles your skin when he talks, ghosts over your ear as he noses along the side of your head. In the smoke-filled room where the floor shakes from the music playing, you can smell his cologne on him. He is velvety soft when he speaks, enchanting you, “Let’s get out of here, just for a second.”

“We can’t,” you turn your head a little and look up at him through your lashes, “It’s my party, baby.”

“I don’t care,” he nods towards the open screen door in your living room, “When everyone is distracted, we could slip out. Nobody will notice.”

“That their host is gone?” You tut in disbelief, “Luce…”

“Corazón (honey),” he mimics your tone of voice, “They’re too busy to notice us leaving for a few minutes.”

“Oh, it’s a few minutes now? It was getting out of here a second ago,” you tease him playfully. In reality, you have already decided to give in and all he has to do is drag you away from the crowds. You won’t protest.

“I feel like we’re throwing out a lot of terms about time on the table here,” he grins against your forehead, having moved slightly to hold you close. His arms rest along the small of your back.

“I’ll give you, hmm,” you pretend to think, “Five minutes. Is that satisfactory?”

“I’ll give you satisfactory,” he unwraps himself from you to grab your wrist. You giggle as he drags you through the loud house, slipping the both of you out of the half-open door to your backyard.

The air inside was oppressive; smoke-filled, hot, and with a distinct smell of alcohol. The air outside however is filled with mischief and adventure, your garden smelling of freshly-cut grass and blooming lilacs. Lucien’s hand slips down your wrist so he can entwine your fingers, his hand sure in its grip when he guides you past a group of people who are talking loudly. He hadn’t been wrong; no one seems to notice you passing by as they are all too invested in their conversations. Lucien would probably phrase it that they have their heads too far up their asses.

He leads you to the wall of your house that is enshrouded in darkness now that the sun is no longer shining. The chatter from your guests fades into background noise, replaced by the cicadas singing in the night breeze and a gentle rustling of the leaves on the trees.

As soon as you become your only witnesses, Lucien backs you up against the rough exterior of your house. He cups your face with gentle, calloused hands, and then suddenly, he kisses you deeply and forces you to do a sharp intake of air through your nose. It is like he tries to be soft and sweet but there’s something more behind the way his lips meet yours, and he easily slides his tongue into your mouth because you cannot help but moan at the taste of him.

His thumb goes down your cheek, settles on your chin to pull your mouth open so he can lick hotly into it. You place your hands on his shoulders to dig your fingers into the muscles there, then tilt your head to meet him even more while desire pools in your belly.

The hand that isn’t holding your mouth open for him slides down to rest on your shoulder. However, it moves quickly to grope obscenely at your chest over the fabric of your dress and you let him as his thumb brushes over a nipple. It stiffens immediately despite the indirect touch.

The moan you let out turns into a snicker that interrupts you. Lucien’s fingers have slipped under the dress strap on your shoulder and he tries pulling it off. You shake your head while laughing quietly, “No, Luce, c’mon.”

“But you have such pretty tits,” he argues with almost a raspy whine whilst you pull the strap back in place, “Necesito sentirte (I need to feel you).”

“That’s very nice and all but I don’t need the whole party to see my breasts,” you bump your head slightly against the wall when Lucien’s head descends to kiss your neck, “You’re gonna have to get creative, I’m not going to strip in my garden like I’m in my teens.”

As he noses along your pulse point, both his palms skim down your sides and eventually cup your ass with lewd hands. You think that might be it, but suddenly his fingers bunch up the fabric of your skirt only to pull it upwards so he can slide his hand underneath it. You gasp as he drapes his palm over your whole mound on top of your underwear.

“You’re certainly determined,” you say breathlessly as he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit. More blood goes south. You reach for his hair to pull his mouth to yours again, moaning as he guides two digits over your clothed slit.

“You’ve put me on the clock here,” he replies between kisses, voice a mere growl, “I don’t think I need much time though, do you? You’re sticky through your pretty panties already.”

He moves his hand to run his knuckle over the damp patch on the fabric, pulling away from the kiss to show off the shiny knuckle between your faces whilst he holds the skirt of your dress in his free hand to keep it from falling down again. He smirks in a self-satisfied manner and your mouth falls open in aroused surprise when he sucks the slick off his digit, “Tienes un coño precioso, mi amor, sabes tan dulce (You’ve got a pretty pussy, my love, you taste so sweet).”

“Lucien,” you breathe.

“That made you say my whole name, huh?” He grins boyishly but he is more filthy than anyone knows.

“Touch me,” you look down between the two of you briefly and then find his gaze again, your eyes becoming heavy as the anticipation settles in the evening air. Without a word, his hand finds its way down between your legs again. You widen your stance slightly, open your legs for him.

Your eyebrows scrunch together when he skims his palm over the soft skin right below your belly button. He teases you for a moment, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear before letting them remain on top once again. He finds your clit easily despite it being covered - it’s so hard that he cannot miss it - and presses his index- and middle finger on it. He rubs your cunt in torturous circles and suddenly, the whole world seems to close in on you.

You spread your legs as wide as this position will allow you. Lucien chuckles quietly at your desperation, covers your mouth with his own as you pant with each little pulse of pleasure that he beckons from you.

His fingers shift between featherlight touches to just the right amount of pressure, sending you through a rollercoaster of arousal. You know the white cotton underneath his ministrations is see-through by now, messy and wet from the way your whole cunt flutters and clenches in the absence of anything he is willing to give you. You gush every now and then, and he groans into your mouth each time he feels his palm soak.

“Put your fingers in me,” you beg when it becomes especially unbearable but he doesn’t.

“I don’t think you need the whole party to see this pretty pussy, it’s mine,” he mocks your argument from earlier and pecks your lips impossibly soft compared to how he is treating your clit, “You’ll have to make do with what I give you, mi flor (my flower). I don’t care if you start begging me like a wanton little whore.”

“That’s so unfair,” you whimper as the first tells of your orgasm approaches. Lucien notices immediately and pulls his head back a little to watch your blissed-out expression. He circles in on your clit even further to make you cry softly, biting down on your bottom lip so you won’t alert anyone nearby.

“Shut up and come for me,” he is too pleased with himself. He can probably feel your cunt throbbing against his fingers when you finally do, doing a sharp intake of air as pleasure starts flowing through your lower body. You let it wash over yourself, clenching walls pushing more slick out to wet the thin fabric. If you had time, you would have told him to have a peek.

“You are so fucking cheap and easy,” he reminds you with a sleazy grin but you are too lost to coming from his fingers that you fumble for the right retort and decide to say nothing. Instead, you try not to lose your balance as he keeps stroking your oversensitive pussy until you have to grab at his wrist.

He bites at your jaw, stronger than you ever will be, and keeps up his torture over your panties. You are forced to come again less than thirty seconds later, and now, you start to actually cry out to the point where he has to kiss you quiet again.

You cling to him when he finally stops. He is your anchor in this state of mind-altering dopamine rush.

“You don’t even know how hard you make me,” he whispers against your lips, “Should drag you to the bathroom and fuck you stu—“

In the aftermath, two guests, much younger than him, round the corner. They are deep in drunken conversation, all giggly and eager, and appear to be searching for a quiet spot to do the same thing as you have just done. With a rush of adrenaline that clears your mind, you push Lucien away and yank your dress back down, smoothing out the fabric to remove any evidence that it has been crumpled by desperate hands, something that Lucien points out is only visible to your eyes before the intruders are within earshot.

“Oh, sorry,” one of them says as the other kisses their neck. They try to bat the other away with an embarrassed smile, “We didn’t know you were out here.”

Lucien wraps his arm around your waist and leads you away with his cock shamelessly straining against the front of his slacks. He smiles at the couple and they offer their bottle of wine to him as an apology. He takes a swig from it but doesn’t give it back.

“That’s okay, how could you have known?” He begins the lie, “We’ve only been gone for five minutes.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[prythianpages]

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion. 

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note. 

**

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose. 

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.” 

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.  

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice. 

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

**

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time. 

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you. 

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same. 

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead. 

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply. 

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

**

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different. 

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive. 

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time…for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight. 

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court. 

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin. 

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

if you'd like to read more about these two, here's a part two.

tagging: @scooobies

[dee-writes-smut]

THE AUTUMN COURT (Chapter One)

FEATURING Lucien Vanserra x Reader

SUMMARY These last few centuries you have felt that your home court has become drab and all too familiar. In the rush of a new High Lord, you finally decide to follow your dream, but when meeting a certain High Lady, you're forced to ask yourself whether or not you wish to make your dream bigger than you could have ever imagined. Are you willing to take the risk and jump into the unknown?

CONTENT WARNINGS Beron Vanserra, mentions of newborn/baby, talk of fulfilling dreams, High Lady pushing the reader to accept, themes of deep sadness/loneliness

AUTHORS NOTE it's finally here! The moment we have all been waiting for, the first chapter of the Courts Series! I am elated to start on this new journey with everyone and share Lucien's story. Enjoy ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

The Autumn Court was beautiful this time of year, with the air crisp and cool, and the trees painted in their prime. Golden sunlight filtered through the branches of oaks and maples, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets. It was a land steeped in perpetual fall—burnt oranges, rich browns, and soft yellows painting the landscape like a memory. The soft, steady wind carried with it the familiar scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, tickling the back of your neck as it danced through your hair. You shivered, pulling your scarf tighter around you as you shifted another box of product inside your small boutique.

Once, this season had thrilled you. The constant symphony of rustling leaves, the crunch beneath your feet, the bite of the wind that invited you to stay by the hearth—it had been a comfort. You could recall hours spent as a child leaping into piles of leaves until you were breathless with laughter, the familiar scents of rain-drenched soil and sweet blossoms from your grandmother's flower shop always filling the air. Her shop had been a haven of warmth amidst the chilly autumn, a place of safety and light where you spent countless hours amongst petals and thorns, learning to appreciate every nuance of plant life.

But now, it all felt so stifling. The colors that once enchanted you now seemed too predictable, too faded. The same amber and ochre hues that once held magic in their vibrancy now blurred together into a stagnant backdrop that no longer stirred your heart. Even the wind, once a playful caress, now felt like an insistent nudge, pushing you toward a future you couldn’t quite grasp but longed for deeply. You ached for new skies, new sounds—a world not yet known to you. You had grown weary of the unchanging rhythm of life here. The call of something different, something unknown, thrummed in your veins like a melody just out of reach. It had been growing louder with each passing season, no longer a whisper but a persistent pull.

The soft jingle of the bell above the boutique door stirred you from your reverie, the familiar sound grounding you momentarily. A regular customer stepped inside, casting a casual glance at the display of succulents by the front window. You offered a polite smile, though your mind was elsewhere, adrift in thoughts of the distant lands you had read about but never seen.

When your grandmother had passed the flower shop to you, it had felt like the highest honor. You were young, so eager to carry on her legacy, so full of pride at the idea of continuing the work she had devoted her life to. The plants, with their delicate intricacies and bursts of color, had brought you a sense of peace and purpose then. And for a time, that was enough. The joy of tending to the blooms, of arranging bouquets that could brighten even the darkest of days—it had been enough to anchor you.

But now… the allure of the flowers had dimmed, just like the autumn sun slowly sinking lower on the horizon. What once captivated you now seemed mundane, a pale echo of the passion you once held. The boutique felt like a cage, its walls closing in with every passing day. No matter how many plants you sold, no matter how beautiful the arrangements, the world outside these walls beckoned with a call too strong to ignore.

The end of High Lord Beron’s rule had brought about the beginnings of change, both within the court and within you. His reign had been one of harshness and cruelty, a time when the people sought fleeting joys wherever they could find them—often within the soft petals of a flower or the warmth of a gift from your shop. You had served them, offering beauty in a world that often felt void of it. But with his death came the winds of change, and you felt those winds urging you to move, to leave, to seek out something more.

It had been weeks since Beron’s death, and High Lord Eris had since taken his place. The streets had been buzzing with rumors and hope for a new era. The coronation had come and gone, a grand event that had briefly revitalized business as citizens filled their homes with flowers to mark the occasion. But the celebrations had died down, leaving behind a lull that felt oddly peaceful after years of tension. The new regime promised change—perhaps even for the better—and the anticipation of it only heightened your longing for something beyond the familiar confines of the Autumn Court.

You had spent the quiet hours in the shop planning your escape, meticulously budgeting for your journey across Prythian. You envisioned yourself standing on distant shores, breathing in air that tasted of salt and adventure rather than the scent of damp leaves. You had it all planned—your route, your accommodations, even the smallest details. Everything was ready, and after tonight, you would finally take the first step toward making your dream a reality.

But tonight was a special occasion—a historic moment for the Autumn Court. For the first time, a High Lady would be crowned alongside her lord. You had heard whispers of High Lord Eris’s bride and her radiant beauty, rumors swirling through the court about how she would change things for the better. You couldn’t leave just yet—not before witnessing history unfold before your eyes.

So, you had promised yourself one last night in this place you had once called home. One last event to mark the end of your old life before stepping into the unknown. You would attend the coronation, sneak a glimpse of the new High Lady, and then return to your apartment to rest before leaving the very next morning. By dawn, you would be gone, chasing after the unknown with nothing but a map and your restless heart to guide you.

The evening of the coronation was perfect in the way that autumn nights in the Autumn Court always were—crisp air, the scent of wood smoke drifting lazily on the breeze, and an amber-hued twilight settling over the horizon. The streets were alive with chatter and movement, with High Fae and lesser fae alike flocking to the grand event that would forever mark the history of your homeland. The palace, visible from almost anywhere in the capital, stood like a beacon, its spires stretching toward the dusky sky.

You hadn’t dressed up much—just a simple gown in deep russet, a color that blended in with the landscape rather than standing out. Your hair was pinned loosely at the nape of your neck, a few errant strands brushing against your cheek with every gust of wind. There was no need for extravagance tonight; after all, you intended to leave before the night’s festivities got too far underway.

As you approached the palace, the grandeur of it all made your breath catch. High Lord Eris had spared no expense. The gates were adorned with twisting vines of gold and bronze, their leaves shimmering as they caught the torchlight, and the grand courtyard was filled with guests, all dressed in their finest. A steady hum of conversation and laughter filled the air as guests mingled beneath the autumn sky, the occasional clink of glasses breaking the symphony of voices.

You hovered near the edges of the crowd, feeling like an outsider amidst the lavish display. Your heart wasn’t in it; your mind was already dreaming of distant lands, of leaving this behind in the morning. You had no desire to make small talk or ingratiate yourself with the nobility. But still, there was a part of you—small but insistent—that wanted to witness this moment of change, to see what this new era would bring.

It was then that your eyes caught sight of a figure standing off to the side, away from the throng of guests. She was draped in a gown the color of night, with subtle embroidery that glinted like stars under the light. Her hair—covered in shadow—cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves, catching the glow of nearby lanterns. There was something striking about her, something that made you pause. She didn’t carry herself like the other courtiers, with their practiced airs and stiff postures. There was a quiet grace to her, an elegance that seemed entirely unintentional.

Curiosity piqued, you found yourself drifting toward her.

She noticed you approaching and turned, her eyes—a captivating shade, you realized with a start—meeting yours with a warmth that instantly put you at ease. There was no haughty gaze, no superiority in her demeanor. She smiled, and it was a soft, inviting gesture that seemed almost out of place amidst the opulence of the evening.

“Are you enjoying the coronation?” she asked, her voice smooth and rich, as though she was truly interested in your answer.

You hesitated for a moment before offering a small smile. “It’s… impressive,” you replied, glancing around at the glittering scene. “But I’m not sure it’s really for me.”

She tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful expression. “I know the feeling. All of this,” she gestured vaguely to the festivities around you, “can feel a bit… overwhelming.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence that fell between you as the sounds of the coronation swirled around you both. And then, as though the words simply tumbled from your mouth without permission, you found yourself speaking.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving. About traveling beyond the Autumn Court. I’ve always dreamed of seeing the other courts, of experiencing more than just… this.” You waved your hand at the familiar scenery, the landscape that had both enchanted and confined you for so long.

Her eyes gleamed with interest as she listened, giving you her full attention. “That sounds like a wonderful dream,” she said softly. “What’s holding you back?”

You laughed a little, though there was no humor in it. “Obligation. Fear, maybe. I feel like if I stay here, I’ll never know anything else. But if I leave, I’m afraid I’ll lose everything I’ve ever known.”

The woman’s gaze grew softer, more understanding. “That’s the nature of dreams, isn’t it? They demand sacrifices we’re not always ready to make. But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth chasing.”

There was something in the way she spoke, something that resonated with you. She seemed to understand exactly what you were feeling, and you found yourself opening up to her in a way you hadn’t with anyone else. You told her about your plans—how you had meticulously saved and prepared for your trip across Prythian, how you wanted to see the beauty of every court, from the eternal spring of the Spring Court to the midnight wonder of the Night Court. The words spilled out of you before you could stop them, and by the time you finished, she was smiling in a way that made you feel as though she was seeing something in you that even you hadn’t recognized yet.

“That’s an incredibly bold plan,” she said, admiration evident in her voice. “But I think it’s one you’re more than capable of achieving.”

You smiled faintly, though there was still hesitation gnawing at you. “I want to do it on my own,” you murmured. “If I rely on others to make it happen, it won’t feel like my dream anymore. It’ll be theirs.”

The woman stepped closer, her expression turning serious. “But what if you could have both?” she asked softly. “What if you could travel across all the courts, just as you dreamed, but with a purpose? What if you could serve as an emissary—not only for the Autumn Court but for me personally?”

You blinked, taken aback. “An emissary?”

The woman smiled again, though this time there was a knowing gleam in her eye. “I could use someone like you. Someone with a thirst for exploration and a heart that isn’t afraid to dream. You would be traveling across Prythian, meeting with the High Lords and Ladies of every court. And you wouldn’t be alone—you’d have another emissary by your side, someone with experience in navigating these courts.”

“Who?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Lucien Vanserra,” she replied, her voice steady. “He’s already serving as an emissary, and he could show you the ropes.”

You swallowed, your mind racing. This offer—it was everything you had dreamed of and yet, it wasn’t. It wasn’t yours. It was tied to duty and obligation, and while the adventure was still there, it wasn’t on your terms. You wanted to be free, to see the world without being tethered to anyone’s will, even hers.

She must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You would still be following your dream,” she insisted. “But you wouldn’t have to do it alone. You’d have guidance, protection, and you’d be part of something bigger than yourself. Think of it as a way to make your dream even grander.”

You hesitated. The offer was tempting—more tempting than you wanted to admit. But was it worth the price? Could you achieve your dream without losing the independence that had driven you to chase it in the first place?

Before you could answer, the sound of trumpets cut through the air, and the guests around you stirred. The coronation was about to begin.

The woman smiled at you one last time, her expression softer now. “Think about it,” she whispered before slipping away into the crowd, her dark gown flowing behind her like a shadow.

It was only then, as she disappeared into the sea of guests, that you heard someone speak her name.

The High Lady.

The night was winding down, the celebratory energy of the coronation slowly giving way to a quieter, more intimate atmosphere. Guests were beginning to filter out of the grand ballroom, leaving behind only the most devoted courtiers and a few stragglers reluctant to let the evening end. You had stayed longer than intended, caught in the whirlwind of the festivities and the unexpected conversation you’d shared with the mysterious woman—now revealed to be the High Lady of the Autumn Court. Her offer still lingered in your mind, turning over and over as you tried to reconcile your desire for freedom with the weight of her proposition.

You had slipped outside, hoping for a moment of peace beneath the stars. The cool night air brushed against your skin, bringing with it the familiar scent of autumn leaves and damp earth. The palace grounds were still bustling with the remnants of the celebration, but out here, it felt quieter, as though the world had finally exhaled after the long night.

Your thoughts drifted back to the High Lady. You hadn’t expected her to seek you out, to show such interest in your dream of traveling. And yet, her words had struck a chord within you. You were still torn, uncertain of what path to take, when you heard the soft sound of footsteps behind you.

“Are you always this difficult to find?” The voice was familiar—smooth and warm, with a hint of amusement.

You turned to see the High Lady standing there, her warm eyes gleaming in the moonlight. She smiled, though there was a hint of something more serious behind her gaze.

“I wasn’t hiding,” you said softly, though you couldn’t help but smile in return.

She stepped closer, her gown flowing around her like a shadow, and for a moment, you were struck again by how different she seemed from the other courtiers. There was a quiet strength to her, a confidence that came not from arrogance but from a deep sense of self-assurance.

“I’d like to speak with you,” she said, her voice low and earnest. “There’s something I want you to see before you make your decision.”

You hesitated, but there was something in her eyes that made it difficult to refuse. With a small nod, you followed her as she led you back inside the palace, through a series of winding hallways and up a grand staircase. The further you went, the quieter it became, the sounds of the celebration fading behind you until it was just the two of you, walking in silence.

She brought you to a large wooden door at the far end of a corridor, the light from the torches casting flickering shadows along the walls. With a gentle push, she opened the door and gestured for you to step inside.

The room beyond was a study of sorts, richly decorated with dark wood furniture and intricate tapestries. It was warm, the fireplace casting a soft glow over the space. And there, standing near a large map spread across a polished table, were two figures.

High Lord Eris Vanserra stood tall and commanding, his fiery hair catching the light as he leaned over the map, discussing something in low tones with the man beside him. But your gaze was immediately drawn to the infant in Eris’s arms—a tiny, sleeping child cradled close to her father’s chest as he rocked her gently, his eyes soft as he spoke. It was a sight so unlike anything you had expected from him, a glimpse of vulnerability in a male known for his sharp edges and ruthless ambition.

The other figure straightened as you entered, and it was then that your eyes truly settled on him.

Lucien Vanserra.

The name was known throughout all of Prythian, and yet here he was, standing before you with an almost palpable sense of weariness clinging to him. His russet hair was tied back neatly, his posture composed, but it was his eyes that captured your attention—the vibrant, mismatched gaze of gold and russet, swirling with an emotion that seemed just out of reach. There was a distance there, a kind of guarded detachment that made you wonder what had brought him to this place. He turned to greet you, and for a brief moment, his gaze softened, though there was a sadness lurking behind the warmth.

Lucien stepped forward, his movements graceful and measured as though every action was carefully considered. He bowed slightly, a practiced gesture, before taking your hand in his. His touch was gentle, his skin warm as his lips brushed the back of your hand in a gesture that felt both polite and distant—like a mask he had learned to wear.

“An honor to meet you,” he said softly, his voice deep and smooth. But there was something else there, something that belied the charm of his words. It was as if he was going through the motions, playing a part he had perfected long ago.

You offered a small smile in return, though your mind was still reeling from the sight of him. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in even as he seemed to hold himself at a distance. There was a heaviness in his eyes, a kind of weariness that tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t help but wonder what had led him to become so closed off, so lost.

High Lord Eris glanced up then, his gaze sharp as he acknowledged your presence with a nod. “I hear you’ve been offered a position,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you. “I’m still considering it,” you replied carefully, glancing at the High Lady, who stood beside you with a knowing smile.

Eris hummed in response, his attention already shifting back to the map as he rocked his daughter gently. “It’s a good opportunity,” he said, almost absently. “One that could take you far.”

The High Lady stepped closer then, her gaze locking with yours. “This is where it begins,” she said softly, her voice filled with quiet intensity. “If you take this position, you’ll have the chance to travel, to see every court in Prythian, and to do it with purpose. You’ll be working with Lucien—an emissary with experience in navigating the political landscape of every court. You’ll be learning from him, but you’ll also have your own voice, your own influence.”

She paused, her eyes searching yours. “I know you want to do this on your own, but consider what’s being offered. You’ll have the freedom to see the world, but with the added benefit of protection and guidance. This isn’t about losing your dream—it’s about expanding it.”

You felt the weight of her words pressing down on you. The offer was tempting, far more tempting than you wanted to admit. But there was still a part of you that resisted, that longed to achieve your dream without anyone’s help, without any strings attached.

Lucien, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was quieter than before, almost hesitant. “It’s not an easy life,” he said, his gaze fixed on the floor as he spoke. “But it can be fulfilling. If you’re willing to take the risk.”

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. There was something in his tone that spoke of experience, of having lived through the hardships and challenges that came with being an emissary. And yet, despite everything, he was still standing here, offering you a chance to join him.

The High Lady placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch grounding you in the moment. “Think of it as the beginning of something greater than you ever imagined,” she whispered. “A chance to make a difference in ways you’ve never considered.”

You took a deep breath, your heart racing as you weighed your options. This could be the start of something new, something far beyond the simple dream you had held onto for so long. And while it wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, maybe—just maybe—it could become something even more meaningful.

After a long pause, you nodded. “I’ll do it,” you said quietly, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. “I’ll take the position.”

The High Lady’s smile widened; her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she made her way to Eris’s side. “Wonderful,” she said, her voice filled with warmth as she looked down at their child. “The two of you will leave for the Spring Court tomorrow morning.”

Lucien offered you a small nod, though his expression remained guarded. There was something almost unreadable in his gaze, something that made you wonder what lay beneath the surface of his calm exterior. It was wonder akin to that you felt when faced with exploring the world around you, one that filled you with such curiosity and almost a hunger to dissect and discover.

As you left the study with the High Lady after she said her loving goodbyes to both her husband and child, your heart pounded in your chest. You had made your decision, and tomorrow, everything would change. You were finally stepping into the unknown, taking your dreams by the reigns, and you wouldn’t be doing it alone.

TAGLIATELLE

@littlest-w01f @rcarbo1 @mirandasidefics @thelov3lybookworm @lilah-asteria @megscabinetofcurios

[works-of-heart]

The Rose foreshadowing from that "God Forsaken Bonus Chapter"

That is how some e/riels refer to the BC. It's like they know it is the end of their ship, the nail in the coffin. There is quite a bit of Foreshadowing in the SF Feysand's BC that has pretty significant Elucien hints.

A lot of e/riels say that Lucien's gift of the enchanted gardening gloves was a thoughtless gift. Elain likes getting her hands dirty, so clearly the gloves were belittling her.

Except they weren't. Gloves serve a purpose, they serve to protect you so you don't get cut up by thorns and hurt. Gifting someone safety equipment for their hobby/craft is not careless or insulting. It's saying "I want you to be safe doing the thing you love." It's actually rather thoughtful and sweet.

But, there's something more to those gloves and how they're tied to Lucien, and the symbolism of the thorns from roses. Let's dig in.

 “Don't forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one's hands dirty along the way."  “And torn up by thorns," I mused, recalling a morning this past summer when Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. The thorns had broken off in her skin, leaving sharp splinters that I’d had to pull free. I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.

Elain is stubborn. She's been stubborn about the whole mating bond, avoiding Lucien, avoiding his gifts. She's reluctant to give into the bond and her mate, and it's understandable. She's been through a lot, and she might be blaming him for her rejection from Greysen.

Another interesting thing of not here is, what did Azriel gift to Elain for Solstice?

A rose Necklace.

In this moment, Elain was interested in Azriel. He knew that what they were doing was wrong. Elain went with it too though, asking for him to put it on her, sharing charged looks, sharing an almost kiss...

and then, he called it a mistake.

Rhys vanished, and Azriel was left standing before Elain, who still awaited his kiss. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair  and stepped back. Forced himself to say, "This was a mistake.” She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered, "I’m sorry."

Again, the rose imagery. The stubborn rose whose thorns pierced her, caused her hurt and pain.

This is why I think Feyre's previous statement, saying had she been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her, nothing would have pierced them at all.

It has the same feeling of, "Had she not been stubborn and went with her mate, she wouldn't have been hurt by Azriel." The gloves are more than just to protect her hands while gardening, they are a symbol of Lucien, protecting her heart, protecting her. And with him, nothing would pierce her at all.

[dent-de-leon]

Still trying to cope with the fact that Jester drew Caleb faceless—a mere shadow, a dark silhouette engulfed in flame—his favored element. His raw pain and regret. Caleb being lost in that burning fire, consumed by it. Staring up longingly into this spark of light just out of reach. It shows us his grief, his loss, his desire to atone. Even if the fault was never his own.

The Card of Fire: "Spark: Something is responsible for this. Maybe you. Maybe some asshole. Blaze: Sometimes there are consequences. Sometimes they hurt."

And then there’s Molly’s depiction of Caleb. Jester describes his card for us in the campaign: “The Magician. Molly drew this card for you, Caleb. It looks like you. You’re sitting in a room and all around you are strange orbiting lights. Veth is on the other side of the card. Well, Nott is. Isn’t that interesting?…Molly drew cards for all of us.”

In Molly’s own words from the Oracle of the Moon deck:

The Card of Exploration: "Tinkerer: Technology. Science. Progress. Discovery. The Magician: Magic, beyond mortal understanding."

It really comes down to fire versus light. Unlike the roaring blaze, The Magician shows these gently drifting lights. Warmth and comfort, illumination, fascination. Pure Magic. It's not the searing hate and raw destruction of fire. It's "the Card of Exploration"--self expression, creativity. Discovery, solace. A light to guide your way through the darkness.

We see this glimpse of how Molly finds the arcane alluring and captivating, yet it also escapes his understanding. There's something intrinsically interesting about Caleb Widogast that he can't quite figure out, that maybe he'll never be able to unravel. But he's enchanted by this unassuming wizard all the same.

Dancing Lights is just a cantrip, something Caleb could effortlessly cast a hundred times a day. But the little trick is still enough to dazzle Molly, to be worth committing to memory. There's something sweet about that to me. Caleb himself is quick to dismiss the rudimentary spell: "Anybody can make lights. Anybody can send a message through a wire. I want to bend reality to my will." But to Molly, that one simple spark of magic is beautiful.

More than that, Molly draws Caleb the same way he sees him in his memories. With that some fondness and love that he reminisces on in the final battle with Lucien:

"Another kiss came to him like a tricky word just on the tip of the tongue, elusive yet tantalizing, though the sentiment felt real enough--a friend in crises emerging to a kiss on the forehead. A tender banishment. Caleb. Softness and light. Clammy skin under rough lips. Molly's nose brushing Caleb's hair... Those memories were gone. All of it was lost to him now. Kindness is never lost or forgotten."

Caleb. Softness and light. When Molly thinks of his Magician, that's how he truly feels. And we see it in his cards.

[secretlovelygarden]

"And when -when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you've ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a pure-bred lady in every regard but that."

""Enchanted Gloves." she read from the card. "That won't tear or become too sweaty while gardening." She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy."

I truly believe that gardening is Elain's little act of rebellion. She was raised to be a "proper lady": pretty, sweet, quiet, elegant, and well-mannered. Getting her hands dirty and torn up by thorns is her first (but it won't be the last) act of rebellion against what's expected of her. Lucien doesn't get it because he hasn't looked beyond her pretty exterior and "cute little hobby."

[bluelancess]

Untouchable | Elriel fic part 1/3

Summary: The inner circle is having one of their usual dinner parties, during which Azriel can't help but shoot death glares to Lucien across the table, Elain is the only one who manages to calm him down.

Tags: secret meetings, forbidden love, secret relationship

—————————

Read on AO3.

—————————

Chapter 1: This is falling in love in the cruelest way

The Townhouse was exceptionally quiet today, the only sound filling its empty walls came from Elain’s soft humming in the kitchen. It was a melody she had heard a couple of days back while strolling along Velaris’ farmer’s market. She thought it was sweet, sounded almost a little magical to her ears, she had stopped on her tracks to give her full attention to the street performers, marveling at the way their expert fingers played the instruments, and at how they could attract a large crowd after  only playing a single enchanting note. She was most definitely not doing the song justice, but humming helped her keep her mind away from dangerous black holes that always threatened to swallow her whole, the same way baking and gardening did. 

She was adamant on never letting her mind take her away again. 

Ever.

Elain put the final touches to the delicious meal she was cooking for dinner, and cleaned the palms of her hands on the front part of her light-blue apron. Roasted rosemary potatoes, grilled chicken with lemon zest, honey and mustard, various vegetables she had seasoned earlier; broccoli, peas, a tomato salad with basil and olive oil. 

Cooking kept her busy and occupied most of the time. And it filled her with joy to be able to be helpful in any way she could. Besides, today was one of the Inner Circle’s weekly dinner meeting. Rhysand made it almost mandatory, and considering everyone was busy doing their own thing nowadays, having an afternoon where they could catch up on everything else other than work-related subjects, was a refreshing change. 

Elain had dessert finishing baking in the oven, a blueberry crust pie she was going to  serve alongside some vanilla ice-cream and whipped cream, when Nuala and Cerridwen entered the kitchen, both walked as silently as a ghost would. It used to perturbe Elain at the beginning, them being so silent, but with time she had gotten used to their presence, their company. 

“The table is set,” Nuala said. “We can finish up here.” 

“Thank you,” Elain smiled at her, and slowly removed her apron. Cerridwen extended her hand towards her, so Elain could hand her the clothing item covered in flower. “Is Feyre still asleep?” 

Nuala nodded softly. “She and the babe, both.” 

Elain chewed on her lower lip, concealing the smile that had formed after picturing the image in her head. Feyre lying on her bed, Nyx resting on top on her chest, the tiny wings tucked in, his little chubby hands holding onto Feyre’s gown like he used to do when he slept in that position as if scared Feyre might put him in his crib as soon as he fell asleep. 

“I’ll go change,” Elain told them both, “then I can check up on them.” 

“We’ll clean up here.”

“Thank you.” 

With that, Elain exited the kitchen, and took slow, soft steps towards the stairs. She had already chosen the gown she would wear for dinner. A lavender satiny dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, with hug shoulders, long slit sleeves and a cirde skirt that reached a little under her ankles that flowed when she walked, making her her feel like a real-life fairytale princess. It was her favorite dress as of late. She hadn’t worn it for other people yet, she was waiting for an special occasion. 

This seemed like the right time. 

Considering Az would be here any minute. 

Just thinking about the Shadowsinger brought a wave of unbearable heat cursing through her, warming up her cheeks, her neck, her ears. She needed to learn to control herself, if she wanted whatever was going on between them to remain private. 

Any time she stopped to remember they way Az had looked that one night he came knocking on her window at three in the morning, her whole body shivered, the memory carefully stored in a special place in her heart. It had been the night everything shifted, everything changed, for her. For Azriel. 

No one knew about it. 

No one could. 

Elain had been awake twisting and turning on the sheets, as per usual since their moment at the Winter Solstice, that cursed night that some days, the bad days, she wanted to desperately forget. Forget the way he had touched her and made her light up with so much want, so much need… She had never felt so alive before. Only to end with him pushing her away, such a regretful look in his eyes, telling her that it had been a mistake. But then… there were the good days, those days were she thought about him and hoped, prayed to whatever had interest in hearing her pleas, to have a second chance. To ask him all the questions roaming her head. All the doubts eating at her. 

She never imagined he was feeling the same way. 

But then, as if he were almost as desperate as her, he’d come in the middle of the night, looking like he’d also had been tossing and turning, so many sleepless night catching up to him. She opened the window with her heart on her throat, and he whispered to her to come with him. Only for a moment. He begged with his eyes, a desperation that was so painfully palpable, Elain’s whole chest squeezed at the sight of it. 

Breathless, she took his hand that night. 

It was the first time he took her flying, just for the fun of it. They had made it a habit now. He would knock on her window, she would open it, and he would scoop her in his arms, kiss her brow and marvel at her laughs when he would take off, holding her close to him, showing her the sky. It was those moments, that made Elain feel like she was actually free. 

Elain opened the door to her bedroom, and froze at the threshold, her brown eyes going wide, her traitorous heart beating so fast it reverberated in her ears. 

Azriel brought his index fingers to his lips and it was pure luck she didn't scream when she saw him; sprawled on her bed, boots still on, his wings so big they barely fit the mattress. She licked her lower lip, feet glued to the floor. He looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive, and Elain’s cheeks warmed up. He chuckled, darkly, softly and motioned for her to come forward with his hand, she shook her head like she couldn't believe what he was doing. 

After taking a deep breath, Elain quickly looked over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. She didn’t have time to give a single step, before Azriel got to his feet, and closed the space between them in two exact and calculated steps. 

“You’re insane,” she breathed, lifting her head to look at him in the eyes, he was so tall, it never stoped amazing her, so tall, and so beautiful. Azriel hands went to her cheeks, holding her so gently as if he were scared to hurt her. 

“I missed you,” he simply replied, lifting a shoulder, one of his thumbs caressing her lower lip, his face getting nearer to hers, she could almost taste him. After a couple of weeks meeting in secret, delighting herself with his company, Elain had realized that Azriel liked to tease her. So much. He liked to take things so painfully slow, until she was barely breathing and begging him to touch her, to kiss her, to give her everything. “Just thinking about the fact that I have to sit on that dinner table, unable to touch you for hours, was driving me crazy.” 

Azriel left a phantom kiss on her right cheekbone, then moved to the bridge of her nose. Elain closed her eyes at the contact, savoring the feel of him. Her hands roaming him from his shoulders, down to the muscles of his chest. She loved the way his Illyrian leathers felt under her fingertips. She dreamed of the day she finally would have the opportunity to peel them off of him.

But she couldn’t. They couldn’t. 

Not yet. 

It was too risky, everyone would to know they had been together, their scents would mix, there would be no denying it. And although Azriel was usually cocky and confident when it came to the fact the he most definitely would win a blood duel against Lucien, she couldn't even fathom the idea of Az risking his life in that matter for her. Az kept distributing tiny kisses along her face, like he wanted to pain it all with his lips. It was certainly torture having to wait until they were finally free to fall into the lust consuming their bodies, their souls. But she was completely sure it’d be worth the wait. 

“So you decided to cheat and get a little taste before dinner?” She asked, and he hummed, as he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the right corner of her mouth. So soft, so gentle. 

“Hmm,” he muttered, “I was actually hoping you wanted to skip dinner altogether.” 

“Because that wouldn’t be suspicious.” He kissed the left corner of her mouth now, and a groan left Elain’s throat, Azriel ignored it and moved down to her jaw. “How long have you been here anyway?” 

“About half an hour,” he replied, voice low, no more than a rumble, but she heard it perfectly, felt it everywhere. He kissed right under her earlobe and Elain bit her lower lip hard, tying to conceal the moan escaping her. “You smell so good.” 

She melted against him the the words, reality crashing into her like a hard wave. Remembering where they were, who that house belonged to. 

“Rhys could get home any minute,” she breathed, he groaned at the name of another male leaving her mouth when he was licking up the column of her neck, her hands grasping his uniform as if she needed it to remain standing. Cauldron, he was killing her. 

“I don’t care,” Azriel replied, sucking gently at the sensitive, pale skin, his hands angling her head, exposing her neck just the way he wanted, the way he needed. “Maybe I should just leave a mark right here,” he whispered, and gently kissed right under her jaw. “Everyone can come to their own conclusions.”

“You wouldn’t.” She teased him, somehow, for some reason, the idea sparked something in her, something feral. She wanted him to claim her, to show everyone that she was his and he was hers. 

That they had chosen one another. 

Damn the consequences. 

��“Someday I will.” He told her, making it sound like a threat. He couldn’t hide the smile of surprise when she let out a breathy moan, as if she could just picture the idea in her head and loved it. 

Elain was about to just grab his beautiful face, get on her tippy toes, and steal a long kiss from his lips, when Azriel stepped away from her, so fast she almost lost her balance. A knock on the door had her spine straightening, her heart jumping. 

“El, are you there?” Feyre. It was her sister’s voice, still sleepy from the nap she had been taking with Nyx. 

She turned around, the door was behind her, she had been pressed against the wood by Azriel's solid body. She swallowed hard, running her fingers through her hair, her face, her neck, she could still feel Azriel lips on her skin, the wet strokes of his tongue, the little painless bites. She was definitely flushed. 

She looked over her shoulder, Azriel was nowhere to be seen, but in the corner of the room, right under the door that connected to her dressing room, a little shadow was peaking, sharp like a knife, as if getting ready to attack if she needed it to. 

“Elain?” Feyre knocked again, and Elain forced herself to take one, two long breaths before turning the knob and opening the door. 

“Sorry,” she told her sister. “I was about to change my clothes. They’re covered in food... you know, from cooking and all that.” 

Feyre yawned, her eyes were glassy and her cheeks rosy from sleep, Elain tried to block the view of the inside of her rooms, just to be sure. But Feyre ignored it, putting one of her hands on her sister’s shoulders and going inside, to lay face first on the bed. 

“Dinner smells so good,” Feyre murmured. “I’m so hungry the smell woke me up. Also, Nyx started to cry. He was hungry too.” 

“You had a good nap?” Elain asked, her voice sounded strange even to herself, but Feyre didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

“Yes, I needed it.” After a beat, Feyre sat on the bed and looked at Elain, the relaxed look on her face from the last couple of seconds going away in a blink. “Actually, I came to talk to you about something.” 

Elain took a couple steps towards her sister, sitting beside her on the side of the bed. “What happened?”

“I just spoke with Rhys, mainly to asked him what time he was coming home for dinner, and he mentioned to me Lucien is in the city. He came because he has some reports he need to give Rhys, and …” Feyre grimaced, she looked worried, almost guilty. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, so I told him to not even think about bringing him tonight before asking you.” 

Elain couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t breathe. 

She hated this. Hated that cursed mating bond so much. 

All she wanted was to be free of that male, but it was like he didn’t know when to give up. No matter how many hints she sent his way, or the fact that she made it her mission to stay as far away from him as possible. He wouldn’t budge. 

She couldn’t understand how he could continue to pursue her, knowing that it wouldn’t get him anywhere. Lucien couldn’t be so naive to believe she’d change her mind with a couple of expensive gifts and awkward dinner parties where he didn’t even make the effort to see her, understand her. 

But, even if she wanted to say no, this wasn’t her house. Not really. 

It was her sister’s, and her mate’s. She was living there because they were kind enough to let her. Because they cared about her, yes, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, she wished she could have something that was entirely hers. 

Just hers. 

“Lucien is your friend, I don’t want you to not invite him because of me,” the words tasted wrong on the mouth, and the shadows slowly started gathering in the corners of the room, like steam from a boiling pot. 

“Are you sure?” Feyre’s face changed, glowing, “You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to, I don’t want to ruin your night.” 

“You won’t. It’s fine.” She tried to give her sister a smile. The truth was, at this point, after everything Feyre had done for her and their family, Elain was willing to do, to endure, absolutely anything for her sister. It was the least she could do. 

No sacrifice seemed great enough. Not after everything Feyre had lost, suffered through for them. For her. 

She could be an adult and enjoy one evening with Lucien. Put on a smile, pretend everything was perfect and delicious, and she was happy. Because she was happy. More than ever. She just had to remind herself that once the dinner party was over, and the guests went home, she could return to her little room, and maybe, just maybe, Azriel would be waiting for her. 

And if he was, she’d ask him to take her flying. 

Feyre threw her arms around her sister and kissed her temple. 

“Everyone is getting here in fifteen minutes.” Feyre stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.” 

Elain closed the door as soon as her sister left, and rested her forehead on the cool wood. She felt the spymaster presence at her back, his eyes piercing, his shadows surrounding the four walls of her rooms like he wanted to keep her there, all to himself.

“Did you know he was on the city?” She asked softly, turning around to see him standing right outside her dressing room. 

Azriel shook his head. 

“Rhys ordered me to take care of other business today,” he replied, his voice lethal, scarred hands curling into tight balls, shoulders tense. She approached him, and softly put the pads on her fingers in his hands, willing them to relax, to open up for her and let her in, hold her. 

“It’ll be okay.” 

“I can’t stand it,” he groaned. “I can’t stand the way he looks at you. The smell—“ Azriel took her hands into his, closing his fingers around hers tight, the muscle on his jaw flexing. 

“It’s not easy for me either.” 

“Then let’s not go,” he looked at her like he wanted to whisk her away, show her everything, run and run until no one knew who they were. "Let's go somewhere else, just you and me."

“Az…” His name sounded so charged coming from her lips, like a prayer, a promise, the sweetest of secrets, something she only said when it was the two of them, alone. “We can’t.” 

He let out a long sigh, and rested his chin on top of her head. 

“Don’t ask me to be nice, then,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to.” 

“Good.” 

————————————

this is going to be a 3 part little one shot so enjoy <3

[goforth-ladymidnight]

The Perfect Gift

Pairing: Tamlin x Feyre (Feylin)

Rating: G

Word Count: 5k

Summary: What do you give a High Lord who already has everything?

Read in its entirety below the cut:

Snow was coming, but not to the Spring Lands. The sky beyond the dining hall windows was heavy and gray, but the magic over the Spring Court kept all but the gentlest rains at bay. Then again, the newly reinstated High Lord of Spring had been rather distracted lately, tending to his Court and countryside in the wake of Amarantha’s reign. And it was late enough in the year that it could possibly snow, just a little.

Had it already been three months since their triumphant return from Under the Mountain? Those dark days were like a bad dream, darker than the darkest night of the year, which was fast approaching. Winter Solstice was in less than a week. Even though it was not a Spring holiday, there was much to celebrate. There was much left to do.

The servants had already begun decorating for the grand celebration. Faerie lights twinkled in the evergreen wreaths and garlands adorning the hearths and halls of the manor. The air was filled with the spicy scent of pine, mingling with the perfume of the large bouquets of white roses on display in every room. Crystal vases and bowls sparkled on their beds of delicate white lace, filled with flowers or an assortment of mixed nuts or colorful sugar plums.

Even the dining table looked festive. Gold plates and fine silver gleamed in the light of a half dozen brass candelabras as fine beads of white wax rolled down the tall tapered candles. Fragrant steam rose from savory tureens of herbed, golden broth, wreaths of freshly baked bread, and a large dish of seasoned fingerling potatoes. There was also roast lamb, mincemeat pie, and slabs of sweet and smoked cheeses amidst pots of honey and bowls of fresh fruit. Cut-crystal decanters of white wine stood tall between the platters of food. If anyone was still hungry, the kitchen had prepared a sweet, dark plum cake for dessert, purportedly the High Lord’s favorite as a child. The only thing missing was the High Lord himself.

As Feyre stood beside the table, she took a slow deep breath, willing her wild heartbeat to slow. The lunch hour was growing late, and Lucien had promised to send Tamlin to the dining hall, alone, where Feyre would be waiting for him. It had taken her nearly two weeks of planning to arrange everything. Alis had helped her select the menu, and Lucien had agreed to keep Tamlin busy until the table was set.

Once the room was ready, no one else was permitted into the dining hall. This was no easy task, but it was the only place she could spend with Tamlin alone, at least outside the bedroom. Tamlin gave her as much attention as he could, but it was nearly Solstice, and he was very busy.

Feyre twisted the fingers of her velvet gloves, her eyes darting between the door and the foods she had so carefully chosen. Was it enough? Would he like it? Oh, when was he coming?

Sssoon enough… The tattoo on her left hand seemed to writhe in answer. She frowned and tugged the hem of that glove down further. If a certain High Lord of Night dared to show his face now after months of silence… Ugh. It would be just like him to force her to join him for Winter Solstice, just to torment her and Tamlin… That arrogant prick… Just as she imagined slapping his smug face with the same glove she wore to hide the bargaining tattoo, the doors to the dining hall opened.

She sucked in a sudden breath, then, when a familiar figure stepped through, she straightened up with a glad, grateful smile.

Tamlin glanced around the empty hall with a furrowed brow and slowly stepped inside. “Feyre? What… Where is everyone?”

Feyre took a deep breath and spread her hands wide. “Surprise.”

With a bemused smile, he stepped closer. There were still faint lines where his enchanted mask used to be, but, like the memories Under the Mountain, they were beginning to fade. Even so, they did not detract from his otherworldly beauty. His unbound hair curled softly around his broad shoulders, as warm and golden as his flawless skin and the flecks of amber in his spring green eyes. The tunic he wore was much darker, evergreen edged in gold thread, which was one of the more formal ones he wore to meetings, of which there had been several, lately.

As he came to stand before her, Feyre continued, “I… I asked Lucien to take over your duties for the day.”

Tamlin’s eyebrows raised. “Take over…?” He let out an amazed chuckle and rubbed his chin. “That explains his odd behavior…” he murmured, then asked, “What on earth did you have to promise Lucien in exchange for that?”

She gave him a wincing smile. “Unrestricted access to your wine cellar… for a year.”

“Oh, is that all?”

She twisted the fingers of her gloves as she admitted, “And… no border patrol assignments for a month.”

Not to mention keeping Ianthe away from him for an entire week, she thought, but since Tamlin seemed to value the High Priestess’s counsel, she kept that to herself.

Sss-sss-sss. The tattoo seemed to mock her, but a quick pinch on her wrist seemed to silence it.

If Tamlin noticed, he showed no sign. Instead, he chuckled wryly and rubbed the back of his neck. “That will take some rearranging,” he mused, “but I’ll manage.”

Feyre grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make more work for you. This was supposed to be an early Solstice gift for you…”

“Is that right?”

She blushed, then halfheartedly gestured to the table set for two. “It’s just… You’ve been so busy lately, I thought…” She hugged her arms and mumbled, “Never mind. It was a silly idea.”

Tamlin stepped closer and placed his warm hands on her arms, being careful not to de-puff her puffed sleeves. “It’s not silly,” he insisted. “It was very thoughtful of you to arrange all this.”

“Thoughtful,” she scoffed. “If I were truly thoughtful, I would have known what to give you for Solstice.” She shook her head and shrugged. “But what do you give a High Lord who already has everything?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then looked away as he considered her point. “Well, I… That is… I mean…” He spread his hands and shrugged. “You don’t have to give me anything at all. You went Under the Mountain for me… If anything, I should be showering you in gifts—”

She huffed a laugh and stepped back. “You already have,” she said, gesturing to the blue velvet gown she was wearing. “I have enough gowns to clothe a small town.” She dropped her hands and sighed. “I just… I wanted to give you something because I… I love you,” she said softly.

He smiled sadly. “I love you, too.”

She nodded. “I know you do.” She sighed again, a heavier sigh as she gestured to the table. “We’ll have lunch together, and then you can go back to your usual duties. I won’t keep you.”

“No, please. Keep me. You already have me,” he insisted, touching her arm, then he looked over at the meal she had thoughtfully planned. “You said Lucien agreed to take over my duties for the day, right?”

“For a price, but… yes.”

“Hmm.” Tamlin rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “You know,” he mused, “that means that I have the whole day—we have the whole day—to do whatever we want. And I don’t want to be High Lord anymore.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up.

“In fact,” he went on, “I would rather follow orders instead of give them. So, Feyre Cursebreaker, how would you like to be High Lady for a day?”

She realized her mouth was hanging open, but she managed to find her voice as she pointed to herself. “Me? High Lady?”

“It would only be for a day,” he assured her. “And only if you want to.”

She looked at him askance. “This doesn’t involve any transference of magic, does it?” she asked cautiously.

“No,” he promised. “At least, not unless you plan on putting me out of my misery,” he added with a teasing wink.

She bit back a chuckle. “I think you’re safe.”

“Then you agree?”

She nibbled on her lower lip, considering it. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“No one can know that we’re doing this,” she said firmly. “I don’t think I could handle anyone else calling me High Lady… Not Alis, not Ianthe… If Lucien found out, I would never hear the end of it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling him, or anyone else,” Tamlin promised, placing his hand on his heart and giving her a solemn half-bow. “High Lady.”

She let out a sudden giggle, then pressed her fingers to her lips. “So… what exactly does a High Lady do?” she asked nervously.

“Whatever she wishes,” he said, straightening. “Unlike certain unfortunate emissaries, she has no meetings to attend. No important decisions to make. No duties, whatsoever.”

Her shy smile grew into a grin. “None?”

“None.”

“And you…?”

He waved his hand with a flourish. “I am but your humble servant, my lady,” he said, bowing deeply. When he rose, although he tried to maintain his solemn air, a coy smile touched his lips, and his green eyes sparkled with mischief.

It reminded her of the Tamlin she had fallen in love with, before they went Under the Mountain, when there was time for riding horses and lying beneath singing willows and swimming in pools of starlight… Which gave her an idea…

“Very well, then, my loyal subject,” she said, drawing herself up, which made Tamlin’s eyebrows rise. “My first decree as High Lady shall be… a picnic.”

“A splendid idea, my lady,” he said grandly, which made her grin. As he offered her his hand, he asked, “Where to?”

After a moment’s consideration, she slipped her hand in his calloused palm and declared, “Somewhere I’ve never been. You know the Spring Court best. Surprise me.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know the perfect place.”

He winnowed them there in the blink of an eye. One moment, they were standing in the dining hall, the next they were outdoors, surrounded by falling snow. Except it wasn’t snow, for the air was warm, and the scent was sweet and fragrant. Feyre gasped as she turned around and realized they were standing in the middle of an apple orchard in full bloom.

Falling blossoms drifted past and landed on her hair and shoulders, which made her giggle like a child. The sky was still gray, but it didn’t matter. She felt lighter than she had in a long time. How long had it been since she let herself laugh? Too long, she realized, as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back and let the blossoms fall from her hair and tickle her cheeks.

“You look so beautiful,” Tamlin said in an awed voice.

She opened her eyes to look at him and found herself speechless. Despite his fine dress, he looked right at home among the flowering apple trees, a true prince of the wild. And when he smiled, her heart fluttered like blossoms on the breeze. This was the Fae she had fallen in love with, the one she had gone Under the Mountain for, and she would die for a hundred times over if it meant spending eternity with him.

She found herself blushing under his attentive gaze.

“So do you,” was all she could think to say, even though she meant it. Being Made High Fae had not made her any less tongue-tied. She could only hope that would become easier with time. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, which was why she had come up with this arrangement in the first place. She hoped he liked it. She hoped it would be enough.

He smiled again and nodded. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the blanket spread out at his feet, and it gave her something new to stare at.

It would have taken a dozen servants to pack the feast from the dining hall and transfer it to the blanket underneath the apple trees, but Tamlin had done so in the blink of an eye. There was the dish of potatoes, the bread, all the cheeses, the pies, the roast lamb… He had even poured the wine, or at least his magic had.

“Ohh, it’s perfect,” she breathed, and it was.

A similar picnic in the mortal world would have seen them picking stray blossoms off their food, or awkwardly repositioning themselves around protruding tree roots, or even spilling their wine when they set their goblets down on uneven ground… but this wasn’t the mortal world. This was Prythian.

The lamb stayed warm, the wine stayed cool, and the plum cake tasted like it had been baked with faerie wine, which it had probably had. The combined flavors of steamed fruit and rolled spices burst pleasantly upon her tongue, and the hint of faerie wine gave her a pleasant buzz.

Tamlin was seemingly not immune to its effects, either, for he set his empty plate aside to lay back upon the ground, looking less like a High Lord and more like a human… that is, the faerie equivalent of one. As he tucked his hands beneath his head, he closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I had plum cake,” he said contentedly. “My compliments to Her Ladyship for her most exquisite taste.”

Feeling immensely pleased with herself, Feyre rested her back against the nearest tree and smiled. “I’ve never had plum cake before,” she admitted, picking up her wine to salute him in turn. “My compliments to the High Lord for his taste. What a pity he can’t be here to enjoy it.”

Tamlin opened one eye and smirked at her. “I’ll be sure to save a piece for him when he gets back,” he quipped.

She chuckled and lifted her wine for a sip.

“What about you? What did my High Lady enjoy for Solstice growing up?”

She nearly choked on her wine, then ducked her head in embarrassment. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth on her glove. “Chocolate torte, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Tamlin rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Don’t you know?”

She shrugged. “Sweet treats and fancy dresses were the first thing to go,” she admitted reluctantly, looking away. “You know. After my father…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his bemused smile fade as he remembered her poor, mortal life in the cottage, and she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

“Look, it doesn’t matter now,” she said hastily, trying to distract him. “Today is about you. This is your Solstice gift, remember?”

“I remember,” he said firmly. “I also seem to remember appointing you High Lady, which is why—” He shifted from his side onto his knees in one smooth, fluid motion, “—I want to know how to make today special for you, too.”

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, or perhaps it was the wine. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he insisted. “You’re my High Lady…”

“I don’t want to be your High Lady,” she said irritably, then wished she could take it back when she realized how it sounded, when she saw the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly. “I meant—not your High Lady—I mean, I still want to marry you—not that you’ve asked yet—I-I mean…”

She covered her hot face and groaned. When he didn’t speak, she managed to take a deep breath, then sighed. As she lowered her hand, she looked away so that she wouldn’t be able to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I don’t want to give you orders,” she said softly. “I don’t want to give anyone orders. Please. Take back your title, and let’s just pretend that I didn’t say anything. All right?”

She glanced up in time to see him sit back on his heels and take a slow, deep breath. After a long, painful moment of silence, he nodded. “All right,” he said gruffly, then offered her his hands to help her stand.

The picnic was over, then. So much for her Solstice gift. She set down her wine with a sad sigh, then slipped her hands in his. As she stood, she opened her mouth to apologize and say that she would gladly continue the game, when something cold hit the top of her head, and she could only squawk as it fell across her face and her hair.

“What the…?” She let go of Tamlin’s hands to brush away the cold something, only to find clumps of snow sticking to her gloves and melting in her hair.

A soft, rather sly laugh distracted her from her shock, and she looked up to see Tamlin trying—and failing—to hide his smile.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, mouth twitching. “When I winnowed us here, I didn’t expect the trees around us to be so… low.”

This was the second time today that he had left her standing there with her mouth wide open, and she closed it with a snap. “You winnowed us…?” She looked around at the pale landscape. “Where?”

“The Winter Court, of course,” he said simply, as if they hadn’t been standing in a Spring orchard only a moment ago. “At least, the outskirts,” he added, gesturing to the snowy pines and the mountains behind him. “I didn’t want to alarm Kallias by dropping in to his Court unannounced. Wars have been started for less, you know.”

“You don’t say,” she drawled, then sucked in a quivering breath as she rubbed at her blue velvet sleeves, trying to ward off the sudden chill. She was standing ankle deep in a snow drift, and her breath was visible in the icy air. “And we’re here because…?”

“Oh, forgive me,” he said, flicking his hands and unfurling a heavy cloak that hadn’t been there a moment ago, from somewhere between. As he stepped forward and drew its welcome warmth around her shoulders, he said kindly, “There now. That should help.”

As she gratefully pulled the fur-lined cowl closer to her chin, she sniffed and remarked, “Thank you, but you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.

She looked at him askance.

“Your first—and last—decree as High Lady was to take you somewhere you’d never been. So, here we are. Somewhere you’ve never been.”

Her eyes widened. “I meant in the Spring Court!”

“Did you? You never said.”

She barked a laugh and slowly shook her head. “You’re mad.”

He gave her a grand bow. “You flatter me, lady.”

With a twinge of guilt, she remembered her earlier retort. “I didn’t mean what I said before. About not wanting to be your High Lady…”

He slowly straightened, his smile fading. “I’m afraid it’s too late,” he said quietly.

The icy air seemed to stab her lungs, and her hand froze at her throat.

Before she could reply, he continued, “If you want your title back, you’re going to have to take it from me.”

Her eyebrows rose as he stepped backward in the snow with a slowly growing smirk. As an understanding smile touched her mouth, he turned around and dropped to all fours, changing into his beast form. His golden hair turned to golden fur that then sprouted all over his changing body, and bone-white antlers sprouted from his head. The transformation was almost too quick to follow, but she was High Fae now. His beast form didn’t frighten her anymore; she marveled at the sight of it.

Tamlin took a few bounding leaps into the snow, then shook the flakes of snow free from his fur as he turned to face her. His plumed tail slowly wagged as he dropped his forelegs into a strangely playful bow. She bit back a laugh, for it reminded her of a dog wanting to play fetch.

“Well?” he asked, in his deeper, beastlier voice. “Do you want your title back?”

She slowly nodded. “Yes,” she breathed.

“Then come and get it.”

She hesitated with her gloved hand still at her throat, then, when he didn’t move, she took a slow, deliberate step toward him.

As the snow crunched beneath her boot, he bounded away like a deer in the woods, startling her with his swiftness. She scarcely had time to register his movement before he circled back with a huge, beastly grin. “You’ll never catch me at this rate!” he called out before running away again.

Her laugh carried across the snow as she watched him, then, gathering her courage and her heavy velvet skirt at the same time, she began to give chase.

Her pretty white boots were not made for snow, but the snow was fresh, and she had more strength as a High Fae than she ever did as a human. Still, she stumbled occasionally, but running kept her warm. Tamlin never ran as far away as he did the first time, and he often circled close enough that she could almost reach out and touch his fur… Almost.

Her laughter echoed through the snowy woods each time she came close enough to see the wicked green gleam in his eye, and his beastly grin told her that he was laughing, too. But he would not let himself be caught so easily. A distant part of her wondered if anyone in the Winter Court would notice their game and report back to their High Lord, but aside from a few startled birds, she saw no one, and she was grateful. Not because she was afraid of looking foolish, but because she didn’t want to share Tamlin with anyone else.

After several minutes of this, she paused to catch her breath in the middle of a clearing. She was too winded to call after him, so she dropped to her knees and watched as Tamlin zigzagged through the snow-laden pines, a golden blur in the gray mist. It didn’t take long for him to notice that she was no longer chasing him. He quickly circled back and padded to a standstill at the edge of the clearing.

“Do you give up?” he called out, breathing hard himself. Although his words could have been taken as a challenge, there was a cautious nature to his tone. This was just a game, after all.

She sniffed and wiggled her stiff, frozen nose as she pushed herself to her feet. “Not yet,” she called back, then, straightening up, she launched the snowball she had formed and hidden beneath her cloak. He was fast, but not fast enough. She was High Fae, too, after all. His green eyes widened just before the snowball struck his muzzle and spattered all over his beastly face.

He shook his head, but not in a pained way, then pawed at his muzzle to brush away the rest of the spatter.

That was all the distraction she needed.

“Oof!” he cried as she tackled him, throwing her arms around his furry neck. They fell into a great heap there in the snow, and she would have cried out “Victory!”, but she was laughing too hard.

It took her a moment to realize that he was laying beneath her, unmoving, and his stillness made her smile vanish. She pushed herself off of him, then leaned over him and touched his great furry shoulder. “Tam?” She swallowed hard, then gently shook him and said, “Tamlin… Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t answer, but opened one green eye before suddenly rolling onto his back and pulling her along, pulling her against him and trapping her with his massive paws.

“I’ve been slain,” he moaned as she giggled into his fur. “The High Lord has been slain! Who would have guessed his consort was capable of such treason?”

When she managed to stop laughing, she said, “Treason, indeed,” then lifted her head high enough to look into his eyes. He winked. She smiled and wiped away the last of the snow from his muzzle. “I thought it was rather clever.”

“Indeed, it was,” he agreed, then changed shape as he laid beneath her, shrinking back into his High Fae form. His heavy paws shrank into hands, and his antlers disappeared into his hairline. He was still wearing his green and gold finery, although he looked a little more tousled than before. More than that, he looked… happy. He brushed a melting tendril of hair from her cheek as he smiled up at her and murmured, “High Lady.”

Her breath caught. Unable to speak, she traced his jawline with her fingertips, then bent her head and kissed him. His fingers were welcome warmth as they threaded through her hair at the back of her neck, as he slowly and lingeringly kissed her back.

“Thank you,” she breathed when they parted.

His head fell back into the snow as he sighed, still smiling. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said, then huffed a laugh and touched the side of his nose where the snowball had struck him. “You earned it.”

She bit back a shy laugh. “I didn’t mean that,” she said, reaching up to rub that spot on his cheek. “I meant… Thank you for giving me another chance. For forgiving me at all.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he assured her, covering her hand with his. “I did trick you, after all.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “So, you did. Was it worth it?”

“Without a doubt,” he said firmly, then sat up with her. “I haven’t had this much fun in years. Centuries, in fact.” He brushed off his sleeves and glanced around. “As much as I love Spring, there’s something to be said about getting away from it all, if only for a day.”

“That’s what I wanted for you,” she said eagerly, then blushed when he looked at her curiously. “I… I didn’t think you would agree if I asked you to come away, so… I suppose I tricked you, too.”

“You’ll have to trick me more often, then,” he said, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “The Cauldron knows I needed it.”

She reached out and tucked a stray, wet strand of hair behind his arched, pointed ear, which was beginning to turn red in the cold. “Why Winter?” she asked him. “You could have taken me anywhere in Spring, yet you brought me here. Why?”

“Do you remember that painting you gave me?”

Her brow furrowed. Had he guessed that she had tried—and failed—to paint something for him for Solstice? She hadn’t enjoyed painting since—with a sudden gasp, she remembered. The painting of the frozen woods.

“I couldn’t take you over the Wall,” he explained with a sad smile. “I couldn’t risk you being seen in the mortal lands as High Fae, but… I wanted to show you those snowy woods. So, I brought you here, where I knew you’d be safe, because I wanted to remind you—just as you once reminded me—that you’re not alone.”

Tears pricked her eyes as he continued, “We’ve been through hell and back these last few months. We both have our bad days, even now, but… just like the frost at the edge of the forest, we can’t let them take over. We can’t let them win.”

She swiped away a stray tear and huffed a laugh, if only to keep from crying. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” he said, taking her frigid hands in his. Her thin, velvet gloves were soaked in melting snow, but somehow his hands were as warm as sunshine cracking ice. He bent his head and breathed the warmth of Spring itself onto her hands. “I should have said something sooner, but I thought, with Ianthe there, you’d be all right.”

Feyre tried to hide her grimace. She couldn’t tell him that the High Priestess, who hadn’t even been there Under the Mountain, and who, with her effortless beauty and her ambition and her clever wit, made her feel lonelier than ever. Instead she murmured, “She’s not you.”

He said nothing, but released her hands to cup her neck and kiss her. It was a wonder the snow didn’t melt around them from the heat of his touch alone.

She sighed when they parted, and was glad when his hands didn’t leave her neck. She welcomed his warmth. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it, not when it was always Spring outside.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I couldn’t go to you when you needed me Under the Mountain, and I shouldn’t have continued to let someone else take my place at your side, even if it was temporary.”

Feyre winced at the memory. “I know you’re busy—”

“You’re a part of my Court, too,” he declared. “You shouldn’t have to bribe Lucien into taking over my duties just to see me once in a while. You’re my consort, and I love you.”

She smiled away her tears. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “But… I’m not your consort.”

His soft smile vanished until she reminded him, “I’m your High Lady, remember?”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Come along, then, my lady. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

He pulled away to take her hands and rose to a crouch to help her stand, but she pulled back on his hands and asked, “Where are we going?”

A sly smile touched his mouth. “I was going to take you home and bundle you in furs in front of the fire, and feed you chocolate torte and mulled wine, but… you’re my High Lady. Where would you like to go?”

It was a tempting offer, and one she would gladly accept that evening, but, at the moment, she had something else in mind. “We still have half the day to ourselves,” she reminded him with a smile. “You know Prythian best. Surprise me.”

He grinned. As he helped her to her feet, he said, “I know the perfect place.”

~ The End ~

[elucienweekofficial]

AO3 Collection・Instagram・Twitter・Masterlist

📝Fics:

I Was Enchanted To Meet You by @c-e-d-dreamer

Lead Me Into the Light by @velidewrites

A Blaze in the Dark by @the-lonelybarricade

Sweet Surprise by @tuzna-pesma-snova

Promise Me This is Forever by @starfall-spirit

Ars Amatoria by @fieldofdaisiies

Northern Lights In Our Skies by @kingofsummer93

The Fire Won't Burn Me by @separatist-apologist

Sunshine by @darklove9314-blog

Over & Under by @eudaimonia83

Good Morning Sunshine by @thegloweringcastle

The Honeymooners by @iambutmortal

Cursed, Hexed, Bonded by @thelovelymadone

Love and Light by @readingwritingwatching

you are my life (and you will be my eternity) by @elains

🎨Art:

A Picnic date for the sunshine couple by @cursebrkr

Sunshine by @lib-arts comissioned for @sanktadu

Day Court Elucien by @stickyelectrons

Elucien dancing in the sunlight by @krem-does-stuff

Sunshine comic by @devilsnightz

Elucien blushing by @jmoonjones

Elucien sunbathing by @fiercehildr

Elucien kissing in a field of flowers - comissioned by @amandapearls and artist @/mahpiyaluta_

Elucien sunflower art by @/conebrain_art

Elucien in a garden art by @/foxydraws__

The High Lord and Lady of the Day Court - comissioned by @separatist-apologist and artist @poppypola_

Day Court Elucien by @wittyrejoinder

Elain Portrait by @artbysue

𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙣 artpiece - comissioned by @acourtdelaluna and artist @/giulia_fw.arts

Elucien magic art by @/daria_.arts

Hercules inspired Elucien by @lib-arts

Sunshine by @mei_lfong

🎶Misc:

Sunshine: Elain and Lucien moodboard by @octobers-veryown

Elucien Name Meaning moodboard by @lloorryy

Incorrect Quote by @velidewrites

Elain Archeron, the Lovely Fawn collage by @theflyinvelaris

How Well Do You Know Elucien Quiz by @elucienweekofficial

Sunshine Analysis by @courtofthought

Sunshine Moodboard by @velidewrites

-

If we missed one of your contributions, kindly reach out to one of our event runners!

🎨: mallorydraws

[ewa-jednak-chce-spac]

Congratulations to Darcy x Lizzie shippers

Darcy x Lizzie won with Lucien x Sweet Enchantments human mc in my one true ultimate shipping tournament and advanced to round two!

Lucien x Sweet Enchantments human mc fans, don’t weep, because your ship remains awesome!

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You: Part One

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial lovelies! I'm super excited to share this fic with you all! I'll be posting a new part every day for the remainder of Elucien Week! Now, when I last watched Disney's Enchanted, it was so clear that Elain IS Giselle and Lucien IS Robert (and Cassian is absolutely the himbo prince and Nesta is Idina Menzel), and nothing says Magic, today's prompt, like that movie, right? So, hopefully, everyone agrees and everyone enjoys :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Elain

The music is light and melodic as it floats around her. It twists around her limbs like a warm, summer’s breeze, like sunlight, filling her chest with a blooming warmth that digs its roots deep between her ribs. Elain follows the steps with ease, gliding across the floor and twirling around with each swell of the song.

But it’s the hand at the small of her back, the other one that’s equally warm and steady clasped with her own, that truly draws Elain’s attention. There’s something so familiar yet unfamiliar in the feel of them against her body, in the way they curl around her fingers. Something that settles deep in her veins, that leaves her feeling safe, that has her feeling like home.

She twirls around again, and a face comes swimming into view, and those eyes…

Elain wakes with a quiet gasp, her eyes snapping open. She blinks a few times, her heart still fluttering away in her chest, before her surroundings come back into focus. Sunlight spills in through the open windows and into her cottage, long golden streaks bouncing off the wood, leaving shimmering spotlights across the blankets on her bed. Just outside she can hear the sweet songs of the birds of the forest, ready to start their morning.

“Elain?”

Elain glances to her right and smiles when she finds that Pip has climbed up onto her bed. The chipmunk tilts his head in concern, wide eyes blinking up at her.

“Oh, Pip,” Elain sighs longingly, holding her hands to her chest like she can still feel those hands curled around her fingers. “I had the most wondrous dream. There was a prince and we were dancing to a beautiful melody.”

“A prince?” Pip asks, hopping across the mattress to follow Elain when she gets up from the bed.

“Yes, and he had these eyes…” Elain’s steps pause in the middle of the room, that final image of her dream flashing across her mind like a swirling mist she can’t quite grasp onto. “He was my true love. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find him then. What did he look like?”

Elain hums consideringly, settling her hands on her hips. She tries to think how best to describe her prince, how to paint a perfect picture of everything that he was, but her mind keeps coming up blank. There simply aren’t the right words when it comes to that face, to that feeling that had washed over her so surely and taken up roots between her ribs even still now that she’s awake. He was everything, but that doesn’t really help or answer Pip’s question. But then an idea strikes her.

“We’re going to need some help,” Elain declares, striding over to the window of her cottage.

Cupping her hand to her mouth, Elain leans out the window and sings a tune, the forest around her quick to answer the melody back to her. She steps back just as her forest friends begin to crowd around the cottage and to clamber in through the window. Rabbits and squirrels and deer and bluebirds and foxes all flood into the space, peering up at her with wide eyes and wide smiles, clearly all happy to see her and excited to help. It has light warmth swelling and pitter pattering away between her ribs, so lucky to have so many forest friends.

“Oh, I’m so glad that you all can help,” Elain tells the animals gathered, making sure to smile at each and every one. “We’ll need to gather all the supplies we can to help recreate my true love.”

“Alright alright,” Pip claps his paws together, having climbed up onto Elain’s table. “Let’s get to work, people! We need to build this true love while it’s still ingrained in her subcranium.”

Pip continues to clap his paws together to get everyone moving, but it works, all of Elain’s forest friends jumping into action. The bluebirds fly to grab the fabric near Elain’s spinning wheel while the rabbits push over her dress form. Elain takes the fabric with a quiet thanks, draping it across the shoulders of the dress form like a jacket. She stands back to admire her work and adjusts the fabric until it’s to her liking, but then a nudge against her hand draws her attention. She glances down to find her deer friends, each with a bundle of white wildflowers in their mouth.

“Thank you so much,” Elain tells them, taking the wildflowers and arranging them so they act as trimming along the makeshift jacket she’s created for her prince.

“How’s this, Elain?” the owl asks, place long, autumn leaves on the head of the dress form so they drape like hair along the shoulders.

Elain smiles widely as she admires the color, almost a perfect match for the shade she remembers from her dream. “Just perfect.”

“And these for the eyes?” one of the rabbits questions, holding up two acorns.

Elain gasps quietly, plucking both the acorns from the rabbit’s paws and holding them up. “How did you know? The color practically burns just like his.” She settles the acorns securely in the makeshift face she’s created atop the dress form, stepping back once more and letting out a happy sigh. “There. He’s perfect.”

“Is he finished?” Pip asks. “Let's see this prince then.”

“Now presenting… my one true love,” Elain announces, turning the dress form around so all her forest friends can see. All the animals gathered ooo and ah, and Elain’s smile grows at their reaction. She turns her own attention back to the recreation of her prince, but then her eyes widen and she frowns. “Oh, no. I forgot to give him lips.”

One of the deer tilts its head confusedly. “Does he have to have lips?”

“Of course he does. How else are we meant to share true love’s kiss?” Elain explains gently before spinning back toward her recreated prince and curling her arms around the dress form. “I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss and a prince I’m hoping comes with this. That's what brings ever-aftering so happy.” She twirls around with her prince, a mirror to the way they had danced in her dream, as she continues to sing, “and that's the reason we need lips so much, for lips are the only things that touch. So, to spend a life of endless—”

Elain’s singing stutters to an abruptive stop when she realizes that none of her forest friends are even looking at her anymore. Instead, each of her friends’ gaze is all but glued toward the window of her cottage, each pair of eyes wide and fearful. Some of the rabbits are even pointing frantically behind Elain, toward that very same window.

It has all of the hairs on the back of Elain’s neck standing up, trepidation flooding through her veins like ice water. Swallowing hard, Elain turns around slowly, coming face to face with what appears to be a giant eyeball.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss,” a deep voice rumbles, Elain’s entire cottage seeming to shake with the reverberations.

A troll.

There’s a troll outside of Elain’s cottage and peering in at her. Her heart pounds away even as it lodges itself firmly in her throat. All of her forest friends quickly flee, and Elain frantically turns in place, trying desperately to decide the best way for her to escape. The loud, crashing sound of splintering wood echoes around her and is her only warning before the large, green hand of the troll breaks through the window and wall of her cottage and reaches inside. Elain just barely dances out of the reach of those grasping fingers and runs for the door, clambering out of her cottage and up the tree it’s built into.

She climbs higher and higher amongst the branches, but one glance over her shoulder and she finds the troll following just behind her. She quickens her pace, racing onto another branch, but as she gets closer to the end, she realizes she has nowhere left to go, even worse when the troll climbs onto the very same branch and the combined weight sends the branch dipping dangerously.

That green hand reaches for her again, and Elain lets out an alarmed cry and squeezes her eyes shut, accepting her fate and waiting for those fingers to curl around her, but it never comes. Confused, Elain slowly opens her eyes again and peers over her shoulder. The troll is still there, his hand still half outstretched toward her, but there’s a sword now lodged into the wood of the branch, pinning the troll’s hand in place.

“Fear not, fair maiden,” a voice comes from below. “I have come to rescue you.”

Elain looks toward the ground and finds a prince astride a horse. Her prince. He’s come to rescue her. Elain’s heart flutters, and she tries to offer her prince a smile in thanks, but the branch beneath her gives a terrifying groan, still unsteady beneath the weight of her and the troll. She’s not sure how much longer it will hold them, so with a yelp, Elain jumps for the closest branch of the next tree. Her fingers just barely close around the bark, and relief washes over Elain as the loss of her weight sends the troll flying through the sky in the opposite direction.

The relief is short-lived, though, as Elain’s grip on the tree branch starts to slip. She tries to curl her fingers tighter, tries to pull herself up and more firmly onto the branch, but it seems to be futile.

“Pip,” Elain calls out desperately.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you,” Pip tells her, hopping over to the branch and grabbing at Elain’s fingers with his hands.

But it’s not enough. Despite Pip’s and her own best effort, Elain’s fingers finally slip. She lets out a scream as she goes hurtling toward the ground, her whole body tensing up in anticipation, in fear. And yet, the ground never comes up to meet her. Instead, it’s strong arms that wrap around Elain’s body, holding her secure, holding her safe.

Elain blinks her eyes open in surprise and is greeted by bright, hazel eyes peering down at her. Soft, dark curls fall along the prince’s temples and cheeks to his shoulders, and when their gazes meet, a wide smile pulls its way across the prince’s face until a dimple pops in his left cheek, almost a mirror to the scar running through his right eyebrow.

“Are you alright, fair maiden?” the prince asks.

“I am now,” Elain assures him, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. “And please. Call me Elain.”

“Oh, Elain. We shall be married in the morning,” the prince declares, taking both her hands in his. “You’re the fairest maid I’ve ever met. You were made…”

“To finish your duet.”

~ * * * ~

Prince Cassian was right. They were to be married in the morning, which is how Elain finds herself clambering out of a carriage in front of the Andalasia castle. She barely has time to admire the gorgeous white stone, the vines and flowers curling up and around the turrets, the bright blue waterfall that sends water cascading down the side of one of the walls. Instead, Elain hurriedly smoothes out the white fabric of her dress, rushing up the front steps of the castle.

“Wait up, Elain,” Pip cries out behind her. “We’re not finished with you yet.”

But Elain doesn’t have time. She’s already running terribly late, and she can’t leave Prince Cassian waiting a moment longer. She doesn’t want to wait another moment either. She’s to marry her true love today. A moment she’s been dreaming about for forever. Two of her bluebird friends fly over her, gently placing a tiara into her hair as she continues to hurry forward.

“Oh, thank you so much,” Elain tells them, pushing open the large double doors that lead into the castle.

Elain is just crossing over the bridge, the church in sight just ahead, when an old woman pops up in front of her. Elain lets out a soft cry of surprise, nearing tumbling backwards as her steps stutter to such an abrupt stop. The woman smiles up at Elain, the gesture showing off her crooked teeth, and Elain can see strands of gray hair tucked beneath the hood of the cloak the woman is wearing.

“What a pretty bride,” the woman says, her dark eyes dancing over Elain’s dress.

“That’s very kind of you,” Elain tells her, trying to side step around the woman. “But I really must—”

“No, wait!” the woman exclaims, grabbing onto Elain’s wrist. “I have a wedding gift for you, my dear.”

Elain tries to pull her arm free, tries to find the right words to say to politely explain that she simply does not have time, but it doesn’t seem to deter the old woman. She continues to lead Elain further away, and Elain can do nothing but stare forlornly at the church, at her prince waiting for her there.

“It’s a wishing well,” the old woman explains, leading Elain to a waterfall of glittering water.

“But I’m going to be late,” Elain tries to offer again. “And all my wishes are already coming true.”

“But a wish on your wedding day is the most magical of all,” the old woman argues, continuing to tug at Elain until they’re standing right in front of that sparkling water. “Just close your eyes and make a wish.”

Elain hesitates for a moment, once again glancing over her shoulder and toward the church, but the old woman’s hand curls around her shoulder, nudging her attention back to the wishing well. She supposes there really is no harm in making a wish, and as the woman said, it would be especially magical to make one on her wedding day. This way she could ensure she and Prince Cassian really do have everything they both want. That they really do live happily ever after. So, with a soft sigh, Elain closes her eyes and clasps her hands together. She allows all her warmth, all her happiness and love and positive thoughts to bloom deep in her chest. Allows that feeling to bleed into her veins and flood all the way down to her toes. Allows that feeling to fill her mind with every dream she’s ever had of true love and happily ever after.

“I wish…”

But before Elain can finish speaking, she falls forward, tumbling down and down into the darkness below.

~ * * * ~

Lucien

“You never cared about Gordie the way I do!”

Lucien sighs softly, rubbing his fingers against his temples and the throbbing that’s begun to take up home there. It has him starting to wonder if he should have ever taken this case in the first place. He had sworn to Eris that he could handle it, that it would be a walk in the park. And now they're arguing over hockey trading cards. Already, he can imagine how his brother must be laughing at him.

“Mr. Vanserra?” Lucien looks up at the sound of his name, finding Vassa sticking her head through the door, the redhead offering him a sympathetic smile when their gazes meet. “It’s time.”

With a nod, Lucien turns back to the other lawyer sitting across from him, raising his voice so he can be heard over the still arguing couple. “I have to go pick up my daughter. Continue at nine tomorrow morning?”

Once the other lawyer agrees, Lucien gathers up his papers and files, shoving them all into his portfolio and standing up from the table. He meets Vassa at the door, and she hands over his work briefcase, both of them rushing toward the front doors of the office.

“I can’t believe after all that you still want to get married,” Vassa comments, her eyes flickering back toward the door and the voices still carrying from within the room.

“It’s different with me and Nesta,” Lucien tells her, taking his jacket next and tugging it on. “We understand each other’s strengths and weaknesses. We know we’re building something strong.”

Vassa snorts amusedly. “Are you proposing marriage or a business deal?”

“Yeah, sure. Laugh it up,” Lucien remarks dryly with a roll of his eyes. “But when our marriage is a success because there's no unrealistic expectations, you'll be jealous.”

“You’re just such a romantic,” Vassa quips back sarcastically as Lucien pushes through the glass doors that lead to and from the firm.

“Of course I am.”

~ * * * ~

Thankfully, Willow isn’t the last child still in the aftercare program when Lucien arrives at the school. She smiles widely when she spots him walking through the doors, quickly grabbing her backpack while he signs her out. He hears the jingle of the keychains she keeps on her backpack before a weight crashes into his legs, little hands curling around his knees, and Lucien has to bite back his own smile.

“Daddy. Daddy. Look what I drew today,” Willow tells him excitedly, and Lucien looks down to see her holding up a picture of her in a bright pink princess dress.

“That’s beautiful, but it’s been raining outside, so let’s put this away for now until we get home, okay?”

Willow nods her head and spins around, so Lucien plucks the paper from between her fingers, kneeling down so he can unzip her backpack and tuck the drawing inside. She grabs his hand in hers when he’s finished, and then they’re heading out of the school and toward his car. He helps buckle Willow into her seat before sliding into the driver’s seat, following the familiar roads that will lead them back home.

“So, other than your princess drawing, how was school today?” Lucien asks, glancing back toward Willow in the rearview mirror.

“It was good,” Willow tells him, her eyes glued out the window and the buildings passing them by.

“Tomorrow, Nesta is going to pick you up and take you to school, okay? The two of you can have some grown up girl bonding time.”

Willow frowns at that, tilting her head in an adorable show of confusion. “But I’m only six.”

“I know, but…” Lucien pauses, taking a moment to swallow hard and tighten his grip on the steering wheel. He still hasn't quite figured out the perfect way to tell her yet, the timing never quite right, but now he's running out of time. Perhaps a band-aid approach is the way to go. “But I’m going to ask Nesta to marry me.”

“What?” Willow asks, her voice filled with shock.

“You like her, don’t you?” Lucien continues, pulling the car to a stop at a redlight and keeping his attention on Willow’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “We all get along, and I—”

“Daddy, look! There’s a princess!”

Lucien frowns at being cut off so abruptly, but he turns his head out the window to see what snagged Willow’s attention. He spots a billboard all lit up with a castle on it, big block letters promoting the local casino. And standing in front of the castle is some sort of animatronic princess in a large, puffy, white dress.

“It’s a real princess,” Willow continues excitedly, and before Lucien can correct her, she’s unbuckling herself and flinging the car door open to clamber right out into the street.

“Willow!” Lucien exclaims, throwing the car into park and wrenching his own door open to chase her down. He catches her around the shoulders, pulling her back against him and to a stop. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“But Daddy look,” Willow argues, pointing up toward the billboard.

With a barely contained sigh, Lucien looks back up toward the billboard, but he has to blink a few times to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Because there’s simply no way. It’s no animatronic on that billboard, but an actual woman. Her honeyed curls are wet from the rain where they’re piled atop her head in some sort of elaborate updo, and the large hoop skirt of her dress seems to sway with her movements.

“Hello?” the woman’s voice floats down to him. “Won’t you please let me in. Do you know Cassian?”

“Hey, miss,” Lucien shouts up to her. “Are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, the woman turns around. “Oh, hello, I was just wondering if—”

Before the woman can finish speaking, she loses her footing, wobbling dangerously on the small platform in front of the billboard. In an instant, Lucien rushes forward, holding his arms out like that’s somehow going to help. The woman continues to teeter, the weight of her hoop skirt clearly not helping, before she goes tumbling over the edge with a shout. Lucien’s heart lurches suddenly at the sight of her falling, but luckily, the woman’s hands grab onto the edge.

“Just hang on,” Lucien calls out, eyes darting around for anything that might help.

He spots the ladder that leads up to the billboard, and his attention dances back to the woman, trying to gauge how much time he has to climb up and get to her, but the answer is clearly no time at all. Already, he can see the woman’s grip beginning to slip, the metal platform of the billboard slick from the rain. She’s going to go plummeting to the ground, and Lucien has seconds to try and figure out what he’s going to do.

“Catch her, Daddy!” Willow cries out from behind him, just as the woman finally loses her hold.

Lucien keeps his eyes pinned on the falling woman, rushing to make sure he’s standing just beneath her, his arms outstretched and ready. He gets a mouthful of white, frilly fabric, and then they’re both crashing into the ground. Lucien winces at the pain that flares across his arms, in his knees from where they collided with the pavement, and he splutters around the dress as he shifts until he can finally take in the woman’s face.

He’s greeted by warm, wide brown eyes blinking up at him. Those honeyed curls are a bit of a mess around her face, but her expression is still all soft, pretty angles, a dusting of freckles littered across the apples of her cheeks.

“Thank you,” the woman tells him, offering a kind smile.

“Yeah, sure,” Lucien dismisses with a shrug, clambering back to his feet and helping the woman to hers. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

The woman frowns in confusion at that, tilting her head and sending more hair cascading down her shoulder. “I don’t think they’d hear you from here.”

Lucien blinks a few times. “What?” Before he can finish with that line of questioning, a loud clap of thunder echoes overhead, promising another lashing of rain. “Listen… I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

“Elain.”

“Listen, Elain. We live just around the corner. You can come inside and dry off and then I can order you a car to take you wherever it is you’re trying to go, okay?”

“That’s so very kind of you. Thank you.”

With a nod, Lucien ushers both Elain and Willow back toward the car, making sure his daughter is buckled back in before returning to the driver’s seat. He takes a deep breath as he throws the car back into drive, daring to glance toward the backseat through the rearview mirror. He’s sure this is the craziest—definitely the stupidest—thing he’s ever done. It’s not like him to go around helping strangers, especially in the city, but there’s just something about this Elain. Something in those glittering brown eyes. He just hopes it's a decision he doesn't come to regret.

And besides, he’s only helping to call her a car anyways.

“And what is your name?” Elain asks, her attention entirely on Willow.

“Willow Vanserra. And Daddy’s name is Lucien. Are you a real princess?”

“Not yet, but I will be once I marry Prince Cassian. Today was actually meant to be our wedding day.”

Willow gasps at that, leaning in closer. “What happened?”

“Well, there was this old woman, and she brought me to a wishing well, and I must have looked too far because I fell and fell and then I ended up here.”

“Is that a habit of yours, then?” Lucien teases, pulling into their assigned spot in the parking garage of their building. “Falling off things?”

“Usually, someone catches me,” Elain informs her, her voice almost haughty, as she gets out of the car.

The change in tone takes Lucien by such surprise that he has to press his lips together firmly to bite back a smile. He goes around to the other side of the car, helping Willow out and taking her hand in his, leading all three of them inside and up to their floor.

“But it’s no matter,” Elain continues as they walk down the hallway of their floor. “Because I’m sure that Cassian is already looking for me to take me away from this awful land. And when he finds me, we will finally be wed and share in true love’s kiss.”

Lucien can’t stop the amused snort that tears free. “True love’s kiss?”

“It’s the most powerful thing in the world.”

“Sure it is,” Lucien mutters, unlocking their apartment door and ushering everyone inside. He walks over to their linen closet, grabbing a fresh towel and holding it out toward Elain. “You can dry off, and I’ll call you a car, okay?”

Elain takes the towel with a quiet thanks, using it to press the water from her hair, so Lucien heads for his office. He roots around the papers in his desk drawer until he finds the business card he’s looking for. Diggin his phone out of his pocket, he starts to type in the phone number.

“Daddy, she’s really sleepy,” Willow says, stepping into the doorway to his office.

“What…” Lucien starts before he glances over Willow’s shoulder, noticing Elain now asleep on their sofa. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

Lucien rushes past Willow and back into the living room of their apartment, his frustration beginning to flare at the sleeping woman in their home. This is clearly what he gets for trying to do the right thing, for trying to help.

“But Daddy, you can’t make her leave now. She’s a real princess,” Willow argues, hot on his heels.

“She’s not a real princess,” Lucien informs her, trying to keep his voice calm. “Now, will you please go get ready for bed while I handle this?”

Willow lets out a long, withering sigh, but she stomps off toward her bedroom. Lucien waits until the door clicks shut behind her before turning his attention back to Elain. He finishes dialing the car service and tucks the phone against his shoulder while it rings, reaching out with his hand to try and rouse Elain gently. But instead, Elain merely snuffles quietly and curls deeper into herself as she continues to sleep.

Lucien hates how much that small gesture tugs at his heart strings. He hates how much this woman he’s known less than an hour is already having such an effect on him. He hates how something about her seems to spark deep within his soul, urging him to protect, to help, like some long forgotten ancient beast finally waking from slumber.

With a quiet, resigned huff, Lucien ends the call on his phone and grabs a blanket instead, carefully draping it over Elain’s frame. One night can’t hurt, and in the morning, he’ll get her where she needs to go, and that will be that. That will be the end of whatever this is, and he'll send Elain on her way, never to be seen again. He’s sure of it.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​​ @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk

[separatist-apologist]

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

With Lucien gone, it didn’t take Elain long to slip back into her usual routine. She cleaned up the uneaten food from the night before, privately lamenting the waste. If she’d had known…if she had known, she’d have made nothing at all. She ate some of it after Lucien vanished in the woods without a second look back. Elain didn’t know why the sight of his retreating back made her so uneasy.

She’d heard stories of men who, when they’d gotten what they wanted, left and never returned. That wasn’t Lucien—she knew it wasn’t. And still, Elain’s discomfort remained no matter how many times she ran her thumb over the delicate pearl banded against her finger. 

With the cottage clean, Elain took herself outside to put feed out for the birds and then she’d start dinner. By the time she finished, Lucien would be on his way back and stomping snow all over her freshly washed floors. Elain smiled at the thought, rubbing at her chest in an attempt to ease the ache. 

“Hello!”

A cheerful voice cut through the snowy cold. Elain turned, surprised to see a rather sweet older woman, hunched beneath a cloak…and a basket of apples in hand. Elain had always assumed those apples were coming from Jurian. Her heart swelled when she realized someone from the village had been trekking out all this way just to give her something.

“Oh, hi! Please, let me take that from you.”

“You’re too sweet.” Upon closer inspection, the woman, who was several inches shorter than the already small Elain, had the strangest colored eyes. While the rest of her was lined with age, her eyes were coal black and bright as jewels. Gray hair tumbled around her shoulders, neatly curled and brushed. Her cloak slithered along the ground, fraying at the edges but clearly fine material.

Elain’s unease heightened. A silly thing, given the woman smiling before her with those yellowing teeth didn’t seem capable of harming a fly, let alone Elain.

“Please, come in from the cold,” Elain offered, even though she knew she shouldn’t. It was just…what kind of monster sent a sweet old lady back into the snow after she’d come all this way with a gift? The least Elain could do was let her rest her feet by the fire and make her something to eat.

“I would like that.”

Elain held the door open while the woman hobbled in, favoring one leg over the other. She was harmless, and Elain was just jumpy. Lucien was going to return, they would be married, and everything would be okay. He’d take her away, would help her figure out how to save Nesta from the enchanted sleep she was under. Everything was going to be okay.

He loved her. He loved her and she knew that, so what was she so worried about? Elain hurried forward, gripping the woman by her elbow until she collapsed to the couch.

“Thank you. I’m not as spry as I once was,” she groaned, rubbing slow circles against knees hidden under a jewel green dress. “You’ll understand that someday.”

Elain busied herself in the kitchen, smiling at the thought. “If I’m lucky.”

There was a pause between Elain filling the sink to wash her apples. She’d never seen such perfect fruit. Not one blemish, not a bruise or even a bug. They bobbed in the water, clear when there should have been dirt. 

“You think it's lucky to age?” Elain’s visitor asked, curiosity lacing her voice. “I think it's a curse.”

Considering Elain had narrowly escaped having her heart carved from her body, she nodded. “Yes, I think it would be very lucky to live a long life.”

“We’ll see how you feel when you’re my age.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” Elain said with a smile, plucking an apple from the water to wipe on the front of her apron. “You’ve had a long, lovely life, right?”

“A very long life,” she replied, cocking her head to watch Elain. Unconcerned, Elain bit into the fruit, delighted by the candy-like sweetness that flooded her mouth. For a moment, it was utter bliss. It might have been the best thing she’d ever tasted. Elain turned to the sink, thinking that she’d made tarts for Lucien, who would likely die over the loveliness of the apples.

Elain swallowed thickly, surprised by how coated her throat felt. How sticky her senses had become. Gripping the edge of the sink, Elain forced a breath through her nose. 

“Trouble, darling?”

Elain’s blood ran cold. She knew that voice. Turning, she found the old woman gone—replaced by her stepmother sitting on her little, ragged couch like her surroundings were beneath her. Elain swallowed.

“What—” Talking had become difficult. “What did you do?”

“I should have known not to trust a man. They’re so terribly shallow. Stupid creatures, I find. They only think with…well…I’m sure you know by now, judging by that pretty little ring on your finger. How funny,” she mused, rising from her place beside the fire to watch Elain with bright, clinical interest. Elain was struggling not just to breathe, but to keep her thoughts logical—it felt as if everything was slowing. 

Poison. 

“You ran from one prince straight into the arms of another. How relieved you must have been, knowing you weren’t falling in love with some poor…oh.”

Amarantha’s delight seemed so out of place with the choking sound coming from Elain’s throat. Prince? Lucien wasn’t a prince. Sure, he had good manners but she’d just assumed that came from his close proximity to the palace. 

“He didn’t tell you. Delicious. Oh, darling, don’t look so miserable. Men are notorious liars. Even a Prince of Avalon…or especially a Prince of Avalon. That would be his fathers doing. I just assumed he must have told you, given he was trying to raise an army on your behalf. Poor, pathetic Elain. No one cares about you enough to tell you the truth.”

Elain’s knees buckled. Lucien. Lucien, who’d proposed, who’d promised to help her find Elain, had been trying to gather an army for her? She blinked away a tear Amarantha misread as hurt. It was such a Lucien thing to do, working quietly behind the scenes…likely agonizing over a secret she never would have cared about.

After all, her plan had always been to marry a Prince from Avalon, should everything fail.

Amarantha crouched before Elain on the floor, gripping her chin so tight her nails pricked beneath Elain’s skin. “Are you hoping for death? You should have taken it when I offered. Now I have to punish you and I so hate to see you suffer. Instead of a quick, merciful death, you will suffer just as your sister is.”

Elain slumped further, her body becoming rigid. Her breathing was slowing, vision spotty. Still, she could hear Amarantha’s whispered words, could feel her fingers drawing blood from Elain’s cheeks. 

“I hope you enjoy this enchanted sleep. And I hope you enjoy it more knowing that there is someone who could save you—your true love is a prince, after all, and curses are so terribly specific. And while you wait for him, I want you to remember that I’ve sent him back to his father who will almost certainly kill him before little Lucien can ever reach you. For the rest of your long, immortal life, men will try and break your pretty little spell, and all of them will fail. Your true love will be rotting with the worms. Sleep well, sweet princess.”

Elain shuddered, eyes closing. It was hell to hear Amarantha’s horrible, ugly laugh. Her words bounced around Elain’s skull, doing the opposite of what they’d intended. If Amarantha hadn’t killed Lucien outright—and if she didn’t go back and do it now—Elain knew with absolute certainty that Lucien would find his way back to her. 

Maybe Amarantha had won this round, but she wouldn’t win the war. Nesta was alive, too—and her curse could be broken. They’d find Feyre, they’d return, and together they’d kill her. Elain felt herself smile. It was her last little rebellion before the world around her shuttered into total darkness, leaving her immobilized with nothing but her dreams to keep her company.

Dreams of Lucien.

And of love.

LUCIEN:

“If you’ve come to kill me, you can get in fucking line,” Lucien snarled at his brother, pulling his knife from his boot. Eris laughed, head thrown back with amusement. 

“Kill you? Lucien, we’re brothers. I’ve come to rescue you—”

“By taking me back to father?” Lucien demanded. Behind him, Vassa shifted with curiosity, not nearly as afraid as she ought to be. Eris dropped his hand to hold it in front of him as a sign of surrender. 

“If your queen asks…yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“To what end?”

“You’re my brother and I never hated you,” Eris said in a clipped, almost cold tone. “And Beron is dead, which your ruler doesn’t seem to be aware of. So I’m taking you into my own custody, where you will be safe—”

“I need to get my wife,” Lucien interrupted, ignoring the huff of indignant air from behind him. “And I want you to promise Vassa sanctuary, too.”

“If we leave right now, that’s a possibility. Otherwise I’m taking you with me and she can rot. No offense.”

“None taken,” Vassa said sweetly, offering Eris her middle finger all the same. “After you, King Vanserra.”

Eris muttered something that was distinctly unkind, though Lucien didn’t care. Not when the door was wide open and he was leaving, not staying. It seemed too much to hope for that they wouldn’t have to fight their way out, but in the end, Lucien was given a hand sword and Vassa his hunting knife, and the three butchered their way through the halls until the sleek, onyx floors were slippery with blood. No Amarantha, and no sign of the king, either, which was just as well. Lucien was getting Elain and taking her straight to Avalon.

“With me,” Eris panted, his regal face dotted red from the carnage. “I have horses.”

“I don’t need a horse,” Lucien retorted, taking off for the woods. Snow was falling around him, dotting the landscape with pristine white powder. Behind him, Lucien heard Vassa yell his name with exasperation, but he simply didn’t care. He knew the way and could get there faster on foot.

It was stupid, given night was falling faster than his legs could carry him, and the woods were dangerous in the dark. No one knew that better than Lucien, who’d laid awake on more than one occasion listening to the animals bray and the poachers scream for mercy or help. None of which was available. 

If he’d been smart, he would have gone back, bunked down for the night, and gone back in the morning. He couldn’t let Amarantha finish whatever she’d started. If he gave her any opportunity, he knew he’d lose Elain forever. So Lucien ran, praying to any god that might be listening for swift feet and a clear path through the ankle deep snow. 

The moon was glittering high above the sky, bright despite the moody clouds filtering past, by the time Lucien reached Elain’s front door. He pushed it open, heart thudding loudly in his chest.

“Elain?”

“She’s not here.” Jurian’s gruff voice betrayed his grief, and Elain’s shattered furniture betrayed his rage.

“Where is she?”

“Hidden,” Jurian replied, wiping his eyes covertly. “That bitch came back looking for her and I…she’s not dead. Just asleep.”

“I need to see her,” Lucien breathed, coming closer to his friend. “Please.”

“And if you can’t break whatever curse she’s under? What then?” Jurian demanded. 

“At least I tried. And if I fail, I’ll keep trying. I—”

But Jurian clapped his hand on Lucien’s shoulder, keeping him steady. “If you wake her, you take her far away from this place, prince.”

Jurian had kept that secret when he could have made a fortune betraying Lucien. It had always been unspoken between them, just as Elain’s identity had remained another of Jurian’s secrets. Lucien took a breath, waiting for Jurian to agree to what he’d say next.

“Come with me. With us. She’ll need people she can trust.”

Jurian scoffed. “To Avalon? And do what? Wipe my ass with your gold leaf paper?”

Lucien fought down a smile. “If that's what you want. I don’t care what you do, so long as you keep my wife safe.”

Jurian nodded his head. “Alright. The kings wages are paltry, anyway. I assume your father pays better?”

Lucien did smile a little, then. “Dead. But I’m sure my brother could be persuaded.” “He could not,” panted Eris, his face red from exertion. Beside him, Vassa shoved in, still filthy from the cell. Jurian hesitated for maybe the first time in his life, brown eyes wide with a mix of anger and concern.

“What…what happened to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t sort out,” she replied glibly, blue eyes shining with something Lucien thought he didn’t want to see any more of. Not right now, in this cottage that had once felt like home to him. Amarantha’s singular talent was ruining everything she touched, the utter opposite of Elains.

“Well,” Jurian said, his gruffness returning to his voice even has color rose in his cheeks, “let's see if true love prevails this time.”

Lucien didn’t dare look at his brother, nor did he pay Vassa any mind when she fell into step beside Jurian, who was likely to tell Lucien to go fuck himself if the princess offered him a place in her court.

Assuming she even had a court. For all they knew, Amarantha had swept in and destroyed everything, leaving Vassa a princess without a kingdom. Maybe Eris would give her a place to stay, too. Avalon was mighty—it could not be broken by the small territory of Ellesmere, even if their queen was a witch. 

And there was the matter of Velaris, and their missing prince. If Lucien could find him, they could combine their forces and destroy Amarantha on an even playing field. He could give Elain her crown even if he couldn’t give her anything else.

There was also the possibility that she didn’t even want him. When she learned he’d been lying to her this whole time, Lucien worried she’d give him back his ring and choose a new path—without him. That was a different, more personal sort of hell and one he would accept if he had to.

Jurian took them back toward the palace and the workshop he also lived in. There, just outside glowing in the bright moonlight, lay a coffin made of glass—and Elain lying utterly still just inside.

“Where did you find such a thing?” Eris demanded, not willing to get any closer than he had to. Eris was absurd, in his fine, navy jacket embroidered in real, gold thread and his immaculate white pants. Truly, if any prince here ought to be Elain’s true love, it was his brother.

But Eris was a king, and Lucien supposed that disqualified him. And Elain loved him—or she had, once. Maybe she didn’t anymore, too betrayed by his deceit and disappointed by his inability to protect her when she’d needed it most.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Lord Vanserra.”

Vassa’s giggles punctuated Jurian’s snide response. Lucien tuned them out, walking through the freezing snow toward Elain. She was so impossibly beautiful like this—her porcelain skin unblemished, cheeks rosy from the cold. Ruby red lips were slightly parted, tilted at the corners as though she’d thought of some secret that was amusing only to her. Even her golden brown hair was curled sweetly over her shoulders. She might have been asleep were it not for the lack of breath fogging the glass. 

A memory floated through Lucien’s mind, unbidden. Amarantha’s words into her mirror so long ago. 

Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all? 

So much suffering, all in the name of jealousy. Elain couldn’t help what she was—she couldn’t help the radiating beauty that robbed Lucien of breath and reason. But she could help how kind she was. Her generous spirit, her willingness to care about people and creatures no one else did. Jurian and Vassa were a testament to that, surely.

And himself. She should have stabbed him in the gut for what he’d tried to do and instead…instead his ring was still on her finger, resting softly against her stomach. With reverence, Lucien pushed the glass lid off the coffin and knelt beside it so he was eye level with her.

Please let this work, he prayed silently. 

“I love you,” he breathed, heart fluttering wildly. Lucien pressed his lips to hers, shocked by the firm cold that greeted him. He had no idea how long he was supposed to hold himself here, though kissing a corpse felt so distinctly wrong that his instinct was to jerk back and figure something else out.

Lucien did pull away when he felt her warm breath fan across his face. Elain’s dark lashes fluttered against her cheek, blinking up at him with those sweet, trusting doe eyes. She leaned up, sitting in the cold to glance around her in the dark. 

Lucien couldn’t help his choked laugh, hating the tears that were gathering at the corner of his eyes. Elain cupped his face in her hand, searching his expression.

“Took you long enough,” she breathed. “Prince Lucien.”

Air huffed out of him in a rush, silenced when she kissed him again—with passion and feel and life. From behind him, Jurian mumbled, “Okay, alright, that's enough of that.”

“It’s not enough,” he murmured, thumb stroking soft, cold skin. “It will never be enough.”

“Get me out of here, Lucien.”

Lucien’s grin threatened to split his face. “Whatever you say, princess.”

Six months later:

The heat of Summer, once miserable in Ellesmere, was perfectly pleasant in Avalon. Elain had become accustomed to the coolness emanating from the mountains at the border between Eris’s realm and Velaris which was, to Elain’s understanding, still missing their king. Her own realm was wholly governed by her stepmother, the youthful and beautiful Amarantha that couldn’t claim there wasn’t a contender for the throne she sat on.

Because it belonged Elain, and her husband, Prince Lucien of Avalon. Amarantha had welcomed Elain back, having conquered Scythia and making Vassa an exile of her own home, which only convinced Elain it was better to stay put where she was safe and merely condemn the pretender to her family’s home. 

Not, at least, until she was certain her sisters were safe. Nesta was still missing, though Eris had sent out several soldiers to brave the Illyrian wilds looking for wherever Amarantha had hidden her.

Not one had returned. 

This day, however, Elain had been told to dress well by Eris himself who was frustrating at times, but tolerable. Better than tolerable—he was becoming family. He didn’t have to hide her. Not when Amarantha had used whatever magic on her father to send him to their doorstep, furious and purple with rage over her marriage to Lucien. And Graysen’s kingdom was up in arms over the princess he’d been promised running off with the disgraced, bastard son of another territory.

None of it mattered. Elain put on a buttery yellow dress and swept her hair off her face while servants fussed and primped, turning her back into the only princess Avalon had seen in nearly five centuries. Elain had become much too wild, taking to the woods with Jurian every opportunity she got. He was teaching her to track, and she was teaching him to grow. Already, Elain’s garden was expansive, spreading across the once immaculate lawn while Lucien beat off frustrated groundskeepers desperate to restore the order.

They’d pry Elain’s colony of bees from her cold, dead hands. 

And Lucien’s soft, warm lips, if it ever came back to that. For now, Lucien kept his sword on his belt, one hand resting against the hilt anytime someone so much as raised their voice in her direction. As if she couldn’t handle herself, given his brothers had begun covertly showing her to use a dagger.

Just in case, they said. 

“What is all the fuss today? Did Eris get a new tunic he wants to show us?”

Lucien, waiting in the expansive, well-lit hall, smiled brightly. “No, nothing like that.”

“A new crown, then. Like last month when that diplomat brought him the ruby one? He preened like a peacock for days.”

“I think that was for the benefit of the man's scullery maid, between you and I—”

“She was not a scullery maid and I wish you would stop calling her that. She is his daughter who is clearly being treated poorly because his wife is jealous.”

“He introduced her to us as their traveling maid—”

“She had his eyes—”

“I don’t want to argue with you. Eris wanted her attention and I don’t think he got it. This has nothing to do with my brother for once and everything to do with my wife.”

Pleasure curled through her at the possessive lilt in his voice. Elain would never be tired of hearing him refer to her as his wife. Especially not when he looked at her with those smoldering eyes that promised he’d pay her much closer attention just the second they were alone. 

“What have I done this time? Is it the sunflowers? Because I refuse to cull them—”

The doors the throne room were pulled open by two guards dressed in the red and white uniform of Avalon, revealing a sight Elain had never expected to see. There, in the middle of the room, stood Feyre Archeron. Her hair was shorter than Elain remembered, cut just to her shoulders. Her eyes, though, were just as blue and starry as Elain recalled, and when she halted, drinking in the sight of this adult woman, Feyre’s face cracked into a relieved smile.

“So it's true, then,” Feyre breathed.

“You’re alive.”

Elain hadn’t truly believed Feyre was. Surely Amarantha couldn’t be so sloppy as to leave two of them standing among the living. Nesta, too, was alive somewhere. Elain took a step, and then another, laughing at first before she dissolved into tears. Feyre, too, met her in the middle of the open room, flinging her arms around Elain.

“Where were you?” Elain asked, burying her face in the pretty, purple dress her sister wore. Behind her, a tall, muscular man with inky black hair watched the pair with open curiosity. His black and silver tunic was cut closely to his body, and a matching crown of stars sat casually against his brow. Violet-blue eyes tracked her sister and though he wore no weapon Elain could see, she guessed it was hidden somewhere on his person. 

“It’s a long story,” Feyre said with a sweet laugh. “I’ll tell you everything just as soon as I can. I’ve come to beg your king for a favor.”

Eris, sitting on his throne, arched his brow. “I’ve already told you—I’m no longer a prince.”

“But your brothers are. You have three, which is more than any other province has,” Feyre turned, wiping her eyes quickly on his sleeve.

Eris opened his mouth to deny her, causing Elain to step beside her sister. Arms crossed over her chest, she asked, “You’d tell her no?”

Eris blanched. “I…merely question the wisdom of traipsing through the Illryian wilderness with three of my brothers all to try and wake a princess who is rumored to be guarded by a fucking dragon.”

“Don’t take that language,” Elain snapped, though she turned again to Feyre. “You’ve found Nesta?”

“Yes. Well…Rhys has. His brother was with her right before she was cursed and has been trying to get through her. She’s guarded by more than a dragon. A great forest of brambles blocks the way to her. He cuts it down every day, and every evening it grows back twice as thick.”

“But he’s still there?” Elain questioned. Why doesn’t he wake her, then? 

“If he’s anything, hes a bastard prince,” Rhys chimed in, looking toward Lucien. “But without the crown.

“So just a bastard, then?” Eris asked in that silky voice of his. It was tempting to throw the woman from before in his face—the girl with the blonde hair and the soft, sad green eyes. Would Eris be so disparaging if it were her trapped behind brambles? Would it matter, then? 

Though, perhaps it would—Eris was still here on his throne, the picture of a bored prince and that girl had likely gone home to scrubbing floors and dodging boots. “I am being asked an awful lot of my neighbors who have done very little for me.”

“My circumstances were complicated,” Rhys gritted out.

“Oh, so I’ve heard. Living as a thief, all these years, were you? Did true love turn you around—”

“Eris!” Elain snapped. Lucien’s fingers ghosted over her elbow, steadying her when all she wanted was to march up the marble steps of that dais and strangle Eris until he agreed. “We’re family. That includes Nesta. And a witch marching into neighboring kingdoms is bad for you, too. One day she’ll have an army to outmatch yours.”

“And I’ll stand by you with my own,” Rhys added, straightening his spine the way another king might, “if you agree to do this for my wife. And if you don't...well...I have her frying pan at the ready. She can be quite persuasive with it, isn't that right, darling? ”

Wife.

Elain had missed the silver and blue ring sitting on her sisters finger. A prince turned thief seemed exactly the sort of man Elain could imagine for Feyre, who, admittedly, she barely knew anymore. There was no mistaking the shining love between them, though. And if this is what it took to get Nesta back, Elain didn’t care how it came about. After all, she’d fallen in love with a prince turned huntsman, hadn’t she? 

“Fine,” Eris gritted out, looking only at Elain. “But you will remain exactly where you are. I won’t risk you.”

She expected that, though it was obnoxious all the same. All eyes fell on her again, and the softly rounded stomach just barely peeking beneath the fabric of her dress. Lucien, too, seemed to relax when he realized Elain would remain in Avalon, guarded and protected.

“Fine. So long as you give the man trying to rescue my sister whatever she needs with minimal insults.”

Eris considered this before nodding. “I’ll see it done, princess.”

There were a million things Elain needed to say—questions she had, words left unspoken for far too long. All of it would wait until Nesta was returned to them, and Amarantha was dead once and for all. Feyre was already moving out of the room, Rhys at her side. A promise was made to talk before they left, of which Elain intended to uphold. 

But for the moment, she was alone again with Lucien, standing on the balcony overlooking her garden. “The nightmare is almost over.”

Elain nodded, elbows braced on the marble banister. Far beneath her, summer blooms swayed against a jasmine scented breeze. “It hasn’t been a nightmare for a long time. I feel selfish admitting that, but…”

But Lucien chasing her into the woods was still the best thing that had ever happened to her. Lucien pressed a kiss to her temple. “Eris will send soldiers and my brothers. Nesta will be safe. Feyre has promised her sanctuary in Velaris, too.”

“Is it enough? Avalon and Velaris—”

“And Illyria, if what Rhys says is true. Bastard prince or not, it seems whoever this man is, he’s able to unite the warring tribes. And if Vassa and Jurian could get a foothold back in Scythia and unite her fractured court…yes, I think it would be more than enough.”

“Then do whatever it takes,” Elain told him, turning to face her husband fully. “I don’t want our baby growing up in a world where Amarantha draws breath.”

Lucien smiled, threading his fingers through her hair so he might bring her closer. “Shall I bring you her heart in a box?”

It was disgusting. Horrifically cruel, the sort of thing only a monster would demand. And yet Elain knew Lucien would do it if she wanted—with pleasure, given the emboldened look on his face.

“Yes. I think I would like that a lot.”

“Consider it done, princess.”

Leaning up on her tiptoes, Elain pressed a kiss to his mouth. “You’ll stay with me, too?”

“You couldn’t pay me any sum of money to venture into Illyria. I’ll leave that to my brothers and whoever this foolish man is.”

Elain took a breath. “So long as my family is nearly free.”

“We are so close, Elain.”

Elain inclined her head, brushing her fingers over the trio of scars running down his face. “You and I have been free since we found each other. I trust that above all else.”

Lucien smiled in return. “Oh, I am well aware.”

It would have been a lie to say they lived happily ever after from that first moment. Elain knew there would be more to come—danger and magic, all threatening to burst the shimmering bubble they’d created for themselves.

But for a moment, right then, it certainly felt happy.

It was the start of forever.

[maimedaffair]

@g1rlmyth ▐ lucien + feyre ↳  [ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 ] : lucien hears feyre calling his name while asleep.

he's always been a light sleeper. one must be , especially as someone who feared his own family. it didn't seem to matter how small &* inconsequential lucien made himself ; his brothers &* father never let him slip by. no matter that he did not care for a title or seek any power within their court. even now , far from the autumn court all together , he still feels the need to wake at a moments notice.

so it's no surprise that the second he hears feyre's voice , lucien is awake. no beat of hesitation is given as his eyes open &* seek her out. ❛ feyre ------   ❜ lithe frame sits up , propped up on one hand. ❛   are you alright ? what's wrong ? ❜ his voice is groggy with sleep , but his enchanted eye whirs with life as he focuses on her. no physical harm has befallen her. pointed ears zone out , listening in to the manor. no sounds of distress ; utter silence , in fact. brows knit then , gaze narrowing just a bit. was tamlin not home ? ODD. it coils worry in his gut , but he forces himself to focus back on her.

( he won't think too much about the two most pressing options -- that tamlin hadn't sent for him if something was wrong , or that he was left to keep watch over feyre but not woken up. both don't settle well with the emissary. both give the impression of urgency. )

❛   your dreams , then ? ❜ a swallow works his throat as he sits up properly , sheets falling to expose more of himself than he would normally show around her. ❛ what do you need ?   ❜ there's concern in his voice as it softens. he worries for her , more than he's probably ever admit. he doesn't have much to offer other than his attention ----- well ... ❛ i have some sweets stashed away in here. bit of a sweet tooth. you're welcome to them , if it would ease your mind.   ❜