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Elain stood next to a large fern in the sitting room of the House of Wind watching Lucien and his band of exiles chat with Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle. Her grip on her wine glass tightened as she wondered just how long High Fae could go without breathing. Elain certainly couldn’t remember the last time she had taken a breath since she saw Lucien stride into the room. It was new, this hyper awareness of their mating bond. Until yesterday, she had never experienced that intense, instinctual tug that seemed to haunt her mate. She had only recently begun to settle into her new body; the strength, the heightened senses, even the pointed ears she nearly cut off once in a midnight moment of rage. Elain no longer avoided or covered mirrors and stopped styling her hair in ways that hid the tips of those damned ears. Some nights she would take a glass of wine up to her room and stare in the mirror for hours at her strange, new features. The softness was gone from her face, from her entire being, it felt like. Everything about her felt sharper, sleeker, shaped into something she barely recognized.
Elain wondered if this growing acceptance of her Fae body was the reason why she began to feel the mating bond more acutely. At first it had been so easy to overlook and ignore. The trauma of her kidnapping and the cauldron re-making her, then the confusion and fog brought on by her visions. After the war, a hollowness swept in, punctuated only by moments of such grief and anger she could almost feel sanity slipping away from her. Lucien would walk in the room and the sight of his red hair and concerned eyes would make her want to scream. She wanted Greyson and her mortal life, not this strange, scarred male. Elain was not stupid or oblivious, she caught the glimpses of utter longing on his face, felt him swallow the instinctive possessiveness when he saw Azriel comfort her, befriend her. It was frightening. This whole foreign, magical world was terrifying. It had turned her into a murderess within months. The fact the King of Hybern deserved to die didn’t stop Elain from remembering the feel of Truth-teller sliding through his neck or how it easy it had felt in the end to kill someone. Most days the hollowness would creep over her until she felt like she was floating above her body, watching this strange changling cook her friends meals, laugh at their jokes, and tend to their gardens.
Then one day, for no particular reason she could point to, Elain found herself wanting to stay a moment longer whenever Lucien would come to visit. She stopped bolting out of the room and hiding in the kitchen or garden. But by then, Lucien had stopped, too. He was still polite and courteous to her, gentle always, but he stopped bringing her gifts on holidays or birthdays, stopped trying to engage her in conversation. They became polite strangers. It was what Elain had wanted for so long, that she was caught off guard at how much it stung when he walked past her one day without acknowledging her.
The previous day, Lucien had stopped by the townhouse to let Feyre know that he, Vassa, and Jurian had arrived safely. Elain crept out of her room and stood quietly at the top of the stairs, listening to their conversation. They discussed the Spring Court border, human-fae relations, and Vassa’s ongoing struggle with her captor. She was turning to go back to her room, when their conversation took on more hushed tones.
“How is she?” Lucien asked.
“She has her bad days, but I think Elain is doing much better. I’m not quite sure where she is at the moment, actually. She’s been spending quite a bit of time with Madja and at the library, learning about herbs and plants specific to each court.” Elain could hear the smile in Feyre’s voice while she spoke. She had been so happy when Elain had expressed interest in creating a medicinal garden for the Velaris’s healers.
“That’s wonderful, I’m glad she’s creating a home here for herself.” Lucien responded. Elain wondered if Feyre could feel the sadness that radiated off of him the way that she could.
“I’ve been thinking about that offer you and Rhysand made the last time I was here; to try and build better relations with the mortal kingdoms farther to the east. I talked it over with Jurian and Vassa and we all agreed to accept.”
Feyre sounded surprised, “Are you sure? You’ll be gone a long time, a year if everything goes well, longer if it doesn’t.”
“I’m sure, it’s an important alliance and,” Lucien hesitated, “I think some distance would be for the best. She clearly wants nothing to do with me.”
The air seemed to go right out of Elain’s lungs. A year. A full year of never seeing him. Maybe longer. She should be relieved but all she could feel instead was a rising sense of panic. Elain didn’t hear the rest of their conversation as she breathed through the dizziness. She was down the stairs before she realized her feet had moved. Lucien was nearing the front door, he must have heard her, must have sensed her, but didn’t turn around. It was suddenly unbearable, this polite disinterest.
“A year?” she breathed out.
Lucien stopped, and slowly turned to face her, startled. For the first time since she had known him, Elain looked at him. Really, truly looked at him. And it ripped her heart in two, how beautiful he was. His coppery hair was swept back into a casual braid. Elain’s eyes traced the planes of his face, those high cheekbones and full lips. A moment before, she had felt like a flock of birds were beating in her chest, but the moment she locked eyes with him, all that panic fell away and a calmness slid down her spine. Why had she never looked him in the eyes before? They were extraordinary. Elain could make out the intricate carvings on the gold one, she clenched her fists with the sudden urge to trace the scar that blossomed around it. His other eye, a russet color, was utterly fixed on her. Elain felt herself taking another step toward him. Lucien stayed preternaturally still, as though she was a fawn that could be startled off at any moment, those eyes drinking her in. She took another step, and another, until she was just a few feet from him. The closest they had been since those first days after she was turned. In that moment, Elain felt their mating bond for the first time, truly felt it deep within her. It was like a young shoot, a fragile vine, just beginning to grow. She didn’t know what to say to him, where to even begin, she wasn’t even entirely sure she knew what she wanted, let alone what exactly she was feeling. Just as Lucien opened his mouth to say something, the front door to the townhouse burst open and Cassian and Mor blazed through, laughing. The spell was quickly broken and Elain lost her nerve and allowed herself to be swept away to kitchen with them. When she looked back for Lucien, he had gone.
Feyre came over to where Elain was standing by the fern and offered her a full glass of wine. She had witnessed their moment by the front door the day before and had noticed her sister staring at Lucien, lost in thought.
“You can just talk to him, you know. Say hello.” Feyre sipped from her own wine glass and smiled as Elain turned to face her.
Elain was at a loss for words, how could she just say hello to him after years of silence and disinterest? What would they even talk about?
She was startled and ashamed at the realization that she knew almost nothing about him.
Elain turned her gaze back to Lucien as she took a sip from her wine. He was sitting on a couch next to Vassa. They were turned towards each other, Lucien had one arm stretched out on the back of the couch, listening as Vassa talked animatedly about something. A roiling wave of jealousy crashed through her as she watched a fond smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling as he softly laughed. A low snarl erupted from her throat as Vassa patted Lucien’s knee.
Feyre started coughing loudly next to her. Elain let out a gasp and turned beet red. She turned more towards her sister and took a longer sip of wine, trying to re-orient herself. She felt her Feyre’s eye boring into her and swallowed deeply before looking up at her.
“Just talk to him, Elain. He’s a good male.”
Elain found it hard to keep her eyes on Feyre, to not look at him. “He’s leaving, though. And I don’t even know him. You’ve seen us, he barely even looks at me anymore.”
“He was trying to be respectful, Elain, even if it broke his heart. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him, decide what you both want.
A mating bond is a powerful thing, it can withstand a rocky start. And as for him leaving,” a grin spread across Feyre’s face, “I am the High Lady of the Night Court, I can be fickle about what I decide to do with my emissaries.”
Elain turned back to gaze at Lucien. She searched inside herself for their bond, that small, weak vine. In her mind’s eye, she gently placed her hands on it; fresh leaves and flowers blooming where she touched. She felt it begin to fill the hollowness that had plagued her. Elain took a deep breath and tugged. Her eyes widened as she saw Lucien gasp and snap his head in her direction. She didn’t look away, and gave another small tug, to let him know it was not an accident. Lucien unceremoniously got up from the couch and walked towards her, never taking his eyes off her. They missed the look shared between Vassa and Feyre. Lucien’s tall, strong frame came to a stop a mere foot from her. Elain breathed in his scent, letting it steady her.
“Hello, Lucien,” she murmured.
“Hello, Elain.”