Chapter Text
There were many things Elain had to be grateful for—her physical health, her family, and a roof over her head.
Despite all that had happened to her in the years since she’d been Made, she chose instead to focus on the positives. Even if there were more than enough negatives to tip the scales in their favour, Elain was determined to look on the bright side.
But after what she would only refer to as ‘the incident’ on the townhouse sofa, she was especially grateful to have been spared from further visions.
They were few and far between anyway, but the last one had been… unsettling… in more ways than one.
And before she knew it, her next evening with Azriel, scheduled for exactly a week later, rolled around. Thankfully, even the darkest clouds had a silver lining, as it was promptly cancelled by him just an hour before it was due to take place.
Elain was grateful for that, too, because she hadn’t prepared a single thing.
She had planned to feign a sudden migraine rather than call it off directly. She had hoped he would appear at the door, and she’d wince her way through an apology, and with any luck, he’d high-tail it back to the House of Wind. What she’d have to do to get out of the next one, she wasn’t sure, but with Starfall coming up, she’d have no choice but to face him anyway.
As with most difficult things Elain had to deal with, she would cross the bridge when she got to it. Avoidance had become her speciality lately, and what worked for one male should work for the other—perfumes aside.
Further to that, admitting the reason why she didn’t want to see Azriel this week wasn't important. Even if she took longer than was polite, Elain was an adult and could make her own decisions. ‘The incident’ had absolutely nothing to do with it.
To give the appearance of someone trying to endure a migraine, Elain shut every curtain in the townhouse. It pained her to do so, as it was such a beautifully sunny day. Golden sun rays beamed through the big bay window of the living room, warming the chair she’d planted herself in before she snuffed them out.
Ordinarily, she’d be outside tending to her garden, basking in the heat on her skin, getting her hands dirty pulling up weeds and pruning her bushes. But for the sake of her ruse, she could spend one gloriously sunny day in darkness. She had an eternity of them ahead of her anyway.
To pass the hours until Azriel’s set arrival time, Elain sat in a large maroon velvet armchair by the window, situated far away from the sofa where ‘the incident’ had occurred. She’d found a collection of poems written by a Spring Court bard a thousand years ago on the shelf, and happily got lost in those as she waited.
As sunset approached, she got up to place the book of poems back on the shelf, when a wash of cold darkness brushed over her hand, causing her to jolt backwards at the sudden sensation.
One of his shadows.
Surprised to see one of them here—because she rarely saw them at all when they were alone—Elain watched as it snaked down the shelf and landed on the low side table. As quickly as it arrived, it turned into a spiral suspended in mid-air and dropped a small folded note, before disappearing into nothingness.
Elain stared at the note, knowing exactly who it was from.
It was small, which meant the note would be short. To the point, no uncertainty.
A single sheet folded in half, her initials were written in bold, capital letters—all sharp edges and angles.
E.A.
She almost didn’t want to look at it, but he knew they were meant to meet tonight just as she did. If it were regarding something serious, he’d have come in person or sent one of the twins.
Shaking off her inability to approach things head-on, Elain carefully took the note in her hands and opened it. No wax seal, no formal letterhead, no… well, anything.
On a scrap of paper in the hurried scrawl of someone who clearly wasn’t used to keeping a paper trail, he’d written:
Elain,
Can we reschedule dinner? Rhys needs me in Illyria for a few days.
Same time next week?
Elain only blinked at the note, unsure how to decode how she felt.
She expected to feel some disappointment. And to an extent, she did, but only because he’d beaten her to cancelling their dinner.
There was no plummet of her stomach, no cold prickle over her skin. It surprised her, the relief. She felt more at ease than anything. It was a new, strange feeling to be so utterly grateful to have one’s plans cancelled. The old Elain would have been thoroughly let down.
Folding the note back over itself, Elain tossed the note into the hearth and lit it, watching the flames devour every scrap of evidence, forcing the paper to curl in on itself, the edges glowing as it succumbed to the fire. Traced every ember as it rose and fell away from the centre, back down towards the wood kindling below.
Why she was so transfixed by it, she didn’t know. The sight of fire had never elicited anything in her before, but she felt something shift inside her.
Not the bond around her rib, which had been suspiciously quiet since ‘the incident’, but something in her heart. A heaviness like expectation. A lightness like relief.
Forcing herself to make sure every single shred of it was gone, she pushed whatever feeling she had down into the very pits of her soul. It was pointless to wonder why her first instinct was to burn it, because she already knew.
He may not have signed it, but anyone in the Inner Circle would know it was from Azriel. To keep it would expose their entanglement to anyone who found it.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Days later, Elain stood in front of the full-length mirror of her bedroom at the River House, straightening out the skirts of her pale green gown ahead of the Starfall celebration.
Watching the spirits cascade through the sky like sparks, the phenomenon had quickly become one of her favourite holidays—mainly because she enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the balcony gathering. Familiar faces to see and plenty of new people to talk to. It wasn’t a ballroom to dazzle as she’d done in the past, but it was as close as she would let herself get these days. Big crowds were too overwhelming, but events like Starfall bridged the gap. A party without the pressure.
Except for the two pressure points that would likely be in attendance. Even though she had been avoiding him, Elain could handle seeing Azriel.
She could not handle seeing Lucien. Could not handle meeting him again, knowing what she knew now.
The bond flared in anticipation, signalling his arrival in Velaris. It purred in knowing he was close, though not as forcefully as it had been before—almost as if in quiet contentment—as that heartbeat she could never quite drown out got louder.
How would she ever be able to look at him?
She felt bad enough that she’d gone so far with Azriel without at least letting him know how she felt. Especially as she now realised it had largely been for nought.
But the crux of her guilt lay in knowing she had thought of him to get her through it.
And the time alone on the sofa after that.
And all the times alone after that. Every night this week.
He remained a constant in her mind, even more so in the days since. A thorn that wouldn’t un-prick itself or a vine that couldn’t be wrangled.
On top of that, her vision of the two of them still burned in her mind. Where was that place of warm, gentle breezes and infinite sunshine? Why were they there? Why were they together?
He’d said he loved her. And she had said it back.
It felt inconceivable.
Not because she thought he was unlovable—she wasn’t cruel—she simply had no idea how they could possibly get to that place. Physically. Emotionally. How would they even start?
A knock at her bedroom door startled her from her daydreaming. “Come in,” she called.
Reverently cradling her swollen bump, Feyre walked in wearing a stunning navy gown that clung to her figure, shimmering with every movement.
“We’re all set to go now, are you ready?” she asked, smiling softly, looking every inch a High Lady of the Night Court.
Having mastered it in the years since living here, Elain plastered on a big, bright smile and nodded enthusiastically.
The sooner she got there, the sooner it would be over.
To her unending relief, Rhys had been the one to fly her up to the balcony. Every minute without something to steady her feet felt like another minute closer to vomiting up the contents of her lunch. She would never get used to the sensation, she thought; always feeling like she was going to fall. Gripping onto his arms and clenching her jaw hard enough to crack her teeth did nothing to stabilise her already strained nervous system.
Once she’d adjusted to the height, she quickly scanned the crowd to see who had already arrived. Mor and Cassian stood by the railing, each with a glass of wine in hand and dressed in their usual formal attire. Mor wore a gown in her signature stand-out blood red, while Cassian looked rather dapper. No Azriel…yet. Or, oddly enough, Nesta.
No sign of Lucien either.
The thought of him made the bond stir again, as if a small pebble had been dropped in its depthless waters. She willed it to still. Just because he was in the city didn’t mean he would be here. He might not turn up at all, and she would only have to dodge Azriel. Easier said than done for someone who dwelled in shadows, but if he didn’t seek her out, she wouldn’t either.
She took a glass of pink sparkling wine from a server’s tray with a hushed “Yes, please”, bidding them to stay so she could quickly down the first before moving on to the second.
The sweet fizz tickled the back of her throat, quenching her thirst and settling some of her nerves. If the female judged her, she didn’t show it and gladly took the empty glass before moving on to another guest.
“I see I’m not the only one looking to get this party started,” a sultry voice sounded from behind her.
She whirled to see Helion Spell-Cleaver, High Lord of Day, standing in his fine white chiton, draped across a broad, muscular shoulder, leaving as much of his sun-kissed skin as he possibly could on show.
Curtseying low before him, she murmured, “High Lord.” She inclined her head, too, only for his hearty chuckle to answer her.
“Lovely to see you again,” he said, gesturing for her to rise. “Though I am glad I caught you without your shadow,” he said. His handsome face lightened, giving her a wry grin.
She raised her brows in surprise. “I’m sorry?” she asked, confused as to whom he meant.
His answering laugh took her by surprise—something about it felt familiar. In fact, a lot of things about Helion felt familiar. Something in his eyes or smile made her feel like she’d seen it somewhere else before. The answer lay just at her periphery, as if sitting on her shoulder, she simply couldn’t turn to meet it.
“Rhysand is so protective of you that one of those handsome Illyrians is always lingering around you,” he said, with a nod to Cassian behind her.
“Ah,” she said, understanding him now. “He seems more interested in my elder sister these days.”
“Pity,” Helion said with a roll of his golden eyes. “I take it Azriel is less… pre-occupied?”
Resisting the urge to scoff, Elain could hardly say he was, but she certainly wasn’t going to allude to any connection with him. Perhaps Helion could do her a favour and whisk him off his feet.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, taking a sip of her drink and savouring its fruity taste. “But you’ll probably have to get in line behind half of Velaris.”
Helion laughed so loudly that people actually turned their heads to them. Elain only stared at the High Lord, unsure why it was so funny.
“Oh, Elain, you are a tonic. Where have you been hiding?”
She giggled and suddenly felt a little more at ease. Maybe she could get back to her old party-loving self again.
“I’m still adjusting to all this,” she admitted. With eternity now ahead of her, she was simply trying to take one day at a time. Even if she had a million of them left to go. And maybe even more thereafter.
“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through,” he said, his tone taking on an earnestness she really hadn’t expected of him. Nesta had mentioned that Helion was an outrageous flirt, but she hadn’t anticipated this. He sounded genuinely empathetic to her. “But I’d like to.”
Brows raised, part-surprise, part-curiosity, Elain asked, “In what way?”
Helion’s gaze softened a little, and Elain braced herself for what he might say.
“I understand the Cauldron made you a Seer, yes?” he asked quietly, his handsome features shifting from that of a revelling High Lord to a curious scholar.
She swallowed, unsure how to answer.
Likely sensing her unease, he assured her, “Fear not, dear. Rhys told me in confidence, I would never betray it.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering what it said about her that her immediate reaction to knowing Rhys had been discussing something about her personal life without her present again was frustration. “I—”
“I would like to interview you,” he cut off before she could question it further. “There hasn’t been a known Seer in Prythian in over a millennium, and I’d appreciate the chance to understand your power, and maybe even help you control it.”
A millennium? She internalised her wince. No pressure, then.
“Control it?” she asked, her voice a strange, tangled mix of hope and worry. “How?”
He smiled softly, again reminding her of someone she knew but just couldn’t place. “That, I cannot answer.” He took a sip of his drink. “But I believe we can try if we work together.”
Elain considered it.
“You don’t need to decide now,” he said, his deep voice full of assurance, “but you are welcome to visit me in Salome any time.”
“And why would she do that?” A voice she knew cut in from behind her, making her jump.
Azriel. Silent as a serpent in the night.
Helion didn’t even flinch. “Shadowsinger,” he drawled. “You look…” His gaze roved over Azriel’s body, drinking him in like a cold glass of water. “Ravishing.”
Azriel’s brow furrowed, unfazed. “Why are you inviting Elain to Day?”
“Am I not permitted to go?” Elain asked, softening her tone despite her annoyance.
“I was under the impression Lady Archeron is free to go where she pleases,” Helion said simply. “Is she not? Have I misunderstood?”
It looked as though Azriel was about to argue back, so Elain beat him to it. “I will consider your offer, Helion,” she said simply, making sure she held the High Lord’s gaze. “May I write to you?”
“You can do anything you’d like to me,” he said with a wink, sending a chill down her spine that she could only describe as weird. Azriel only clenched his jaw, tight. With a wink to him, too, Helion wished them both a happy Starfall and returned to the mingling guests.
Keeping his eyes on the High Lord until he fully departed the conversation, Azriel asked gruffly, “What does he want from you?”
Elain rebuffed him, already annoyed at his line of questioning. “Ask Rhys, since he loves to talk about me behind my back so much.”
His face didn’t give away how he felt, but a twitch of his wings certainly did. “Elain,” he warned. “Don’t talk—”
“Don’t what?” she interrupted, allowing her voice to sharpen. “Disparage your busybody High Lord?”
“You know what I mean,” he said, and Elain didn’t miss the knife edge of his voice.
In an instant, his kind hazel eyes had darkened to a shade she didn’t recognise, masking his entire face in shadows. That sweet smile, nowhere to be seen. What remained was the dreaded and feared Spymaster of the Night Court. Nothing of her friend.
“Az!” Cassian’s voice boomed from the other side of the balcony. “Get over here!”
“Not now,” Azriel murmured, eyes darting away from her. “Find me later—after Starfall.”
Elain folded her arms, not content to leave this unfinished.
“There won’t be a later,” she said through her teeth, not loud enough for others, but clear enough that he would hear her. She hadn’t planned on doing this here and now, but she was used to deadheading something that had lost all signs of life. “Not anymore.”
He looked puzzled, brows furrowed. Did she really have to spell it out for him?
“I don’t think we should see each other in secret anymore,” she said, fingers clutching around herself tightly. His imposing figure suddenly made her feel small.
His eyes widened, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You want to tell people?”
Gods spare her. How could a five-hundred-year-old spy be so obtuse?
“No,” she said sternly, “I think we should stop entirely.”
“You want to end things?” He kept his face utterly neutral. No sign of disappointment or relief, even as Elain’s own of the latter filled her chest.
She nodded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. I just don’t think we fit, she omitted.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Elain’s eyes shuttered. If she couldn’t admit to herself, she sure as hell wasn’t admitting it to him.
“I don’t want to talk about this here,” she said, painting on a smile when another guest brushed past them.
And just as she uttered it, every sense went alight in the space of a heartbeat.
Lucien.
He was close by, on a low floor of the House of Wind, she guessed. He had to be—since his cinnamon and sun-warmed cedar scent permeated every pore, and the sound of his heartbeat drowned out the murmur of the gathered guests, and something deep in her belly stirred with anticipation.
Yes, he was here, alright.
The bond preened in her torso like a slumbering cat. He’s close, it seemed to say. Go to him.
Any moment now, he’d walk out of the reception room and onto the balcony. Likely wearing one of those fine tailored jackets—would he wear Night Court black? She hoped not. Spring green or Autumn maroon suited him better.
Not that she cared what he wore. Or how good he looked in it.
Shifting uncomfortably on her feet, she ignored the goading bond and returned her focus to Azriel. A curl of his upper lip told her he’d made up his own mind.
“Suit yourself,” was all he said dismissively, his voice gravelly with distaste. He pivoted to finally acknowledge Cassian’s attention and walked across the space, leaving Elain standing alone by the food table. Suit yourself.
With those two words, any attraction Elain had for Azriel fizzled out like a spent firework.
A ragged exhale did little to steady her. What had she expected, truly? This was a desirable outcome, by all measures—a vast improvement on him abruptly leaving her and calling her a mistake. A better alternative than him making a scene.
But again, she struggled to feel anything but sweet relief. Relief that at least her curiosity about him had been met. Relief that he didn’t make things harder. Whether she could salvage their friendship was another matter, and one she had no intention of dealing with tonight.
Instead, Elain stared out into the city of Velaris, taking a moment of calm for herself. She would re-enter the throng of people soon—maybe ask for a stiffer kind of drink than sparkling wine—but for a few minutes, she simply scanned the vast cityscape below the House of Wind, breathed in the cool, soon-to-be spring air, and let her nervous system recalibrate.
Naturally, fate had other plans.
After a few minutes, she turned her head unwittingly, just to observe the crowd, when Lucien appeared at the wide-open balcony doors.
The thread inside her chest had gradually tightened with every minute, anticipating his arrival like a dog waiting for its master to return. It was a buzzy, warm feeling.
As ever, his eyes found her first, scanning her over in keen assessment.
As ever, she wanted to look away, wanted to shield herself from him.
But she didn’t this time.
She held it for a long moment, studying his fine figure in Spring Court green: a calming sage waistcoat—a similar shade to her silk chiffon gown—and a loose ruffled shirt, the bright cream colour contrasting perfectly against the hint of tanned skin on his collarbone. His hair looked slightly dampened. Freshly washed, in his Velaris apartment, most likely. He looked good. Really good.
Then, the memory of her vision, of ‘the incident’, flashed in her mind. Of her nails digging into the hot, hard flesh of his forearm, carving herself into him, marking her territory. Of her head lying against his chest as he thrusted into her from behind—over and over and over again. Of his lips grazing against her skin as he told her he loved her.
That made her look away first, snuffing out the images like doused flames.
She felt a pulse of disappointment through the bond, the one feeling he only ever let slip, every time their gazes met and fell away. She knew it wasn’t intentional—it felt too raw to be deliberate, too brief to be cruel.
If he wanted to punish her, it would have lingered like a predator watching its prey.
But it was punishment enough. A reminder of how whatever her vision was had to have been some kind of ridiculous daydream.
Proof of how it could never come to pass.
After weaving between bodies in various states of drunkenness, plenty of tight smiles and small talk—careful to avoid Lucien and Azriel—Elain found herself chatting to Varian, of all people. A friendly male, Elain thought. Stoic. How he managed to fall for Amren—who terrified her—she didn’t know, but he kept looking for her eyes from across the balcony.
“Varian?” she asked, as his gaze drifted from hers one too many times as she relayed her thoughts on the restoration of Velaris’ public gardens. “Am I keeping you from someone?”
The Summer Court general smirked in answer. “Sorry,” he murmured. “We’re playing a game of not speaking to each other.”
That made her draw breath as she sipped, lightly choking on her fourth glass of wine. “A game?”
Varian chuckled, his brown eyes brightening up in delight. “We try to avoid each other at social gatherings, and whoever breaks first loses.”
She scrunched her brows. “Loses what?” Elain asked with an uneasy laugh. She turned to see Amren talking to Nesta, who must have arrived in the last few minutes. Her elder sister looked good, Elain thought. Even if it was yet another relationship she had to try to recoup before it completely fell apart. Again, a task for another time.
When she turned back to Varian, he’d cocked a brow at her, as if she should already know why two people in an established relationship would avoid each other at events.
“Amren and I like to keep things interesting, if you know what I mean,” Varian said coolly, sipping on what Elain believed to be whiskey. “And who doesn’t like a little fun?”
Ah, she realised. “Well,” she said, realising she didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever they were playing for. “I hope you get the result you want,” she said.
Varian snorted and made to retort, when Elain heard a bellowing laugh from across the balcony.
Lucien’s laugh.
She swung round to find him talking to a Winter Court female, who laughed along with him. Even from where she stood, Elain could see something twinkle in her pale blue eyes, framed by ice-white lashes and glittering lids.
Watching Lucien continue to be so animated at whatever anecdote the female was telling felt like a flint striking in Elain’s chest. With every bubbling giggle she answered with, she felt another strike to the stone around her heart.
And another.
And another.
And when she saw her put a slim, manicured hand on his forearm, it ignited.
Ignited with every shimmer of the silver sparkling material of the sleeve hooked around her finger—a stark contrast to the warm ivory of his shirt.
Flared with the curl of fingers around skin that did not belong to her.
Her feet moved before her mind could comprehend it, taking another glass from a bewildered waiter.
She wanted to know what the female said that was so hilarious. Nothing more.
As the laughter died down, Elain’s voice sounded in the silence—mouth again moving before her mind had time to catch up.
“What’s so funny?” she asked curtly.
She flicked her gaze to Lucien, his mismatched eyes finding her with a bemused expression on his face. As if he wondered why she was here, or if he was trying to believe that she was.
“Lady,” he said, straightening himself, eyes darting to the small group gathered. “I was just—”
“Laughing at her story,” she said bluntly, before turning to the Winter Court female, tall and slender in the glittering icy-blue gown. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“Hana Frost,” the female replied, “Winter’s emissary to the Solar Courts.” She surveyed Elain with a look that made her blood turn to ice. Save for the heat in her cheeks.
Emissary. They were colleagues.
“Ah,” she said, her voice cracking under the pressure of her own stupidity. “I see.”
Chancing a look at Lucien, she noticed a distinct lack of amusement. She had seconds to recover herself.
“You wanted to hear my story, yes?” Hana asked.
“Oh, well,” Elain stammered, “I believe I have missed the punchline,” she said, trying to recoup some dignity. “It’s alri—”
“No, no,” Hana said, placatingly. “You should hear it, it’s awfully good.”
Wincing as Hana cleared her throat, Elain didn’t dare look at Lucien. If he felt anything, he kept it to himself, but she could sense the weight of his gaze on her. A sensation she had no right knowing so well.
“I was just telling my dear friend Lucien here about our mutual friend from Dawn—an ambassador to the Continent—who is currently on the search for a female he met at a masquerade. He was so charmed by her that he practically offered to marry her on the spot!”
She continued, white brows high in amusement, “But—and get this—the female simply doesn’t exist! He was so inebriated that he hallucinated an entire evening of conversing, dining, and bedding her!”
Hana animatedly recounted the anecdote, though upon hearing the story again, the gathered crowd didn’t appear so enthused. Elain could only stand to endure it. She didn’t need to look at Lucien to know he wasn’t impressed.
“The entire congregation saw him talking to a statue in the Winter Palace gardens, but he won’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.”
Elain’s weak chuckle was the only sound among the small audience, who obviously already knew about this Dawn ambassador with a penchant for statues. This was mortifying.
Hana eyed Lucien, then turned, her ice-blue eyes narrowing on Elain. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?” Her voice teeming with an artificial sweetness Elain knew all too well. The kind of feminine tactics displayed on both sides of the Wall.
Despite it, Elain was struck dumb, shocked at her own actions. “Yes, thank you,” she said quietly, averting her eyes from Hana’s. From Lucien’s.
Unwilling to withstand the awkwardness of her own making, Elain spun in place and walked away, keen to put as much distance between herself and the imbecile version of her that she didn’t recognise.
It was a harmless, friendly touch and nothing more. And what right did she have to worry about Lucien and other females? He could obviously do as he pleased, with whoever pleased him. That would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Knowing she wouldn’t have to be the one to make the decision. Knowing he had moved on.
Skin prickling tight with anxiety—a feeling she’d gotten too familiar with since becoming fae—she found herself in a quiet drawing room down the hall, close enough to hear the murmur of the party outside, but empty of any guests.
There happened to be an open window, with a charming little box of blooming orange magnolias. Perhaps she could just stay here and see the stars fall on her own. No one would miss her up there, not with Feyre and Rhys in their happy little bubble, and Nesta finally finding her feet again.
Staying still was better. Staying hidden was easier.
The couplet sounded in her mind like a mantra, in the hope she would one day believe it.
Bracing her hands on the windowsill, peeking over the ledge, Elain took a deep breath to clear her head, only to sense a presence behind her. Scent it, too.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Lucien asked, far enough away that she knew he hadn’t stepped into the room. Even in his frustration, she knew he wouldn’t dare to step any closer.
Elain swallowed, wondering what she could say, how she could explain being so unnecessarily thorny. His heartbeat had quickened, too, in anger? Anticipation?
“I wanted to hear her story,” Elain said, keeping her eye on the starlit sky above her. “It sounded funny.”
From the slight movement behind her, Elain could tell he’d shuffled on his feet. ‘The incident’ still lingered in her mind, and his sun-warmed cedar and cinnamon scent was so damn potent in this small room. Distractingly so.
She refused to look at him, even if she ached to.
“Bullshit,” Lucien scoffed. “Tell me the real reason.”
Stunned by the coarse language, Elain whipped her head round to face him. She shouldn’t have been, as the version of Lucien from ‘the incident’ had no issue uttering filthy words into her ear. And that version of her had no issue hearing it.
Folding her arms, she bit back, “I won’t dignify that with a response.”
He looked oddly charmed by that, brows rising in curiosity.
Elain felt emboldened to repeat herself. “I told you I wanted to hear the story.”
“You’re a pretty liar,” Lucien said coolly, shaking his head. “That’s a surprise.”
How much had he drunk tonight? Where was the concerned male always asking her if she’d eaten or if she needed anything? Where was the male who oftentimes strained to get words out around her? Who in mercy’s sake was this?
And why did she like it?
“Emissary Frost tells the same story at every event, every party. We laugh because Winter is a notoriously stiff trade partner, and part of diplomacy is making people feel like they’re well-liked.”
“I see,” Elain murmured, wondering why he was telling her that. She understood, of course, having known many socialites in the mortal realm who tried too hard to be popular. “It didn’t seem that way to me,” she said, rubbing her hand along her upper arm in a soothing motion, keeping both wrapped tightly around herself.
“And how did it seem, my lady?” he asked, no reservation or hesitation in his voice. None of the tentative male who’d lingered in silence, and the way he said ‘lady’, with such surety, sent a warm shock down her spine.
He was more sure-footed than she’d ever seen him. At least in reality. The vision version of him, on the other hand…
“You seemed quite taken with her,” she replied, distancing her thoughts from that vision, pointing her chin upwards. “She’s very pretty.”
“She is,” he said simply, the words a cold spike to her chest; a bitter sensation in her mouth.
Elain nodded and averted her gaze from him. He was a stranger, for gods’ sake. Why did she care if he found other females attractive? Even the bond, that infernal thing, was stone still. Shouldn’t it be howling in fury at knowing he found another female desirable?
“Nowhere near as lovely as you, though.”
That woke it up.
She snapped her head up to face him fully, as a warmth bled into her chest.
His face showed no hint of deceit. Even in darkness, he found a way to look sunlit, as if it somehow came from within him.
“You seem surprised to hear that,” he said coolly. “Like you don’t already know it.”
Elain did know she was pretty; she’d been told so all her life. There was always a catch, of course—beautiful but banal, sweet but vapid. Pretty enough to marry a rich lord and give him lovely babies.
But why did hearing it from him make her knees wobble?
He braved a step forward, over the threshold and into the small room.
Touch him. Smell him. Taste him.
And for a brief moment, she almost gave in to it. Almost took a step closer to test her resolve even further. Indulge the instinct. Give in to the temptation.
It would have been easy, too, with the way his broad shoulders shifted slightly beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. His scent, just a little more potent in proximity. His lips, so pink and full and begging to be bitten.
But she didn’t. Somehow, despite the way her blood thrummed in her veins, echoing the tune of his heartbeat, she resisted. Just.
She still hadn’t voiced a response, either—rendered speechless by his words, his tone, his oddly relaxed demeanour. By him.
“You are beautiful,” he said at last, breaking the tension in the room like a bough at its limit, making her heart thump wildly in her chest. “But I am certain there is more than meets the eye when it comes to you.”
Her breathing came thicker and faster as he took another step closer.
“Why would you think that?” she asked, her voice unsteady, even as she refused to yield. “How do you know?”
His gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering there for a moment before sliding back up to her eyes.
“I can’t answer that, my lady,” he admitted. “Though I hope to, one day.”
Silence lingered, and Elain had no idea how to fill it.
Why couldn’t she say something to him without it feeling like a life-altering decision? Bond or no bond, he was just a person, wasn’t he?
But then she studied him, took in every inch of the face that had haunted every waking moment, every dream, since she first laid eyes on him in that throne room. A complete unknown to her, in every way, while also being the person her soul called out to in the middle of the night. A murky, depthless mystery that she could not solve.
The person. Not just a person.
The room suddenly felt far too hot. Like a heatwave washing over her bare skin, a flush that started in her chest had bloomed onto her cheeks; blood rushing to the surface like a tidal wave commanding her forward.
The memory of that Autumn Court wine slipped back into her senses. Rich, earthy and sweet on her tongue. Would he taste the same? Or better?
The vision flashed in her mind again. She could feel her own love, desire and above all, safety, in his arms.
You could have it, a calm, loving, coaxing voice called in the back of her mind. You could have him all to yourself.
He is yours, and you are his, it sang through her mind.
Mine. All mine.
“Why did you come here tonight?” she asked him, quickly—hands still clasping each other behind her back to mask their shaking. She hoped he couldn’t sense—or gods forbid, scent—where her mind had wandered to. She had to clench her thighs together to keep herself from trembling. To retain the throbbing heat between them.
He shrugged, not indicating whether he could if he did. “I like parties,” he said simply. “Spring doesn’t have much to celebrate these days, so holidays come and go without fuss.”
He sounded disappointed, and Elain supposed he had every right to be.
“Would you normally celebrate Starfall in Spring?” she asked quietly, finding herself suddenly curious.
“Not Starfall,” he replied, running a broad hand along the soft velvet of the armchair he stood beside. “We call it Nynsar, the Day of Seeds and Flowers.”
Elain’s ears pricked up at that. “Really?”
“Hmm,” he hummed in confirmation. “In years gone by, we’d celebrate the end of the planting season.”
Perched on the arm with his arms folded, looking almost wistful, he continued, “We used to throw a great feast at the manor, hand out the first flowers of the year to the younglings; music, dancing—that sort of thing.”
How wonderful, Elain thought. As much as she loved Starfall, being among the flowers, surrounded by nature in all its glory, sounded just as enticing.
“It sounds lovely,” she offered.
“It was,” he said, that wistfulness showing in his voice.
“But it’s not happening this year?”
He shook his head, dejected. “No, sadly. It hasn’t for a while,” he said. “Not since… well.”
Since everything went to Hel, he didn’t need to say. Elain wasn’t privy to anything the Inner Circle dealt with, but she could deduce that all was not well in Spring, despite his efforts.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. It was all she could think to say.
He frowned. “It’s hardly your fault.”
That, she knew, but she felt compelled to say it anyway. One way or another, she felt it all led back to her. Her petulance and inability to support Feyre and her family. Growing silly flowers because vegetables wouldn’t take in that barren land by their old cottage. Trying to create a bright spot of life and beauty in that cold, dark forest.
“Even so, I imagine it must be hard to try and keep it all together,” she said, biting back the cold guilt that racked her spine.
A deep breath answered her. “All part of the job, my lady,” followed—his tone low, knowing.
One might usually say such a thing lightly, shrugging off their responsibilities as if they meant nothing. But she could tell he meant every word.
“It shouldn’t have to be,” she said softly.
He smiled then, a gentle curve, showing the ghost of a dimple on his carved, lightly stubbled cheek. The sight of it did something odd to her chest. It might even be the first genuine grin he’d ever thrown her way.
And it was lovely.
“Perhaps,” he said, “but what’s done is done.”
The silence returned. Filled with quiet acceptance instead of empty awkwardness. Maybe even companionable.
He sighed, “I didn’t mean to upset you, before… with Hana. It wasn’t my intention, and I’m glad you’re alright.”
Elain looked down at her feet, pained at the reminder of her silly behaviour. “It’s okay, if anything, I overreacted.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he said, in a way that made Elain wonder if she could ever brave telling him about Azriel. Would he want to know? Would he understand? It was over now, so there was no reason to, but the guilt nagged at her anyway.
She wondered if the bond would drive him mad, like it had done to her at just the mildest provocation—perhaps even more so. Part of her didn’t want to find out. But another part of her—a petty, untamed flame inside—wanted to see how he’d react. If that striking, courtly veneer housed a wild beast.
When she looked back up at him, he nodded, as if in recognition that there was little more to say. He’d made sure she was fine, and to her surprise, she’d had an honest-to-gods conversation with him. And rather than it being something to endure, she found it to be, well, rather enlightening. Pleasant, even.
When he turned around to leave, Elain considered letting it end there. Putting up that wall again and giving him no choice but to leave.
But she took a half-step forward and stopped him.
“Wait,” she said, halting him in his tracks, not quite ready to see the back of him, for the last time in gods knew how long. “I wanted to ask you something.”
He turned, blinking, the surprise in his features obvious. “Anything,” he breathed.
“What’s your favourite flower?”
Of all the questions she could have possibly asked, that’s what she chose? Mother, spare her. His very proximity had rendered her ability to think straight non-existent, apparently.
Expecting ridicule, Lucien only huffed a light laugh, almost in relief, eliciting a warm feeling throughout her entire body. “Sunflowers, my lady. Ever since I was a child. They’re my mother’s favourite too.”
Sunflowers.
It made all the sense in the world—so much so that she could even picture him in a sunflower grove. The tallest of them not even reaching his shoulders, all of them turning to follow him as they would for the sun itself.
“Sunflowers,” she repeated. “Helianthus annuus.” She let a small smile bloom on her face, knowing he watched every micro-expression.
He returned it, a quiet respect hanging in the air between them. A boundary crossed, yes, but more like a layer of ice had thawed between them.
“And yours?” he asked, his voice tinted with hope.
“Tulips,” she said, remembering how badly she wanted to see the tulip fields on the Continent. Still did.
“Tulipa gesneriana,” he replied, the term rolling off his tongue without missing a beat.
Elain didn’t hide her impressed surprise. “You know the binomial name?”
Lucien looked mightily pleased with himself, and she couldn’t even blame him. She smiled again and mused, just for a moment, if there was more to him than met the eye, too?
Sensing her wonder, Lucien said, voice dropping back to an octave that made her feel acutely aware of how her own body responded to him, “For you, my lady, I’m an open book. If there’s anything you wish to know about me, you need only ask.”
His gaze took her in, like he knew it might be his only chance to do so unimpeded for quite some time. Oddly enough, she found herself doing the same.
He turned then, inclining his head in farewell.
“Happy Starfall, Elain,” he said, sketching a bow at the threshold of the doorway.
Then, he glanced at the wall beside the door. It was drenched in shadow, and even from his profile, Elain watched as a knowing smile appeared on his lips.
“You too, Shadowsinger,” he finished, disinterest lacing each syllable as he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked swiftly out the door.
Elain felt her eyes widen in her head, dread curling in her stomach, and hot, furious embarrassment colouring her cheeks, as Azriel emerged from the shadows.