Chapter Text
For everything Elain had heard of Autumn Court’s cruelty, it’s rigor and brutality, it was truly a beautiful court. Lucien had wanted to walk a little before they made it to the Autumn Palace, otherwise known as Needle Manor, wanted to get his bearings and breathe in a little of that old autumn air before he had to face his brothers.
It was the first time Lucien had stepped foot in Autumn since the night Jesminda had been murdered, her death catalysing a high-speed chase throughout the central city which resulted in the death of two of his brothers. So much blood spilled, and no one to be better off for it. The minute he had winnowed himself and Elain over that border it all came back to him. That smell in the air of browning leaves and distant fires. It was like no time had passed at all.
Elain stayed quiet as they toddled along, the only noise being the dry leaves crunching under their feet. She didn’t say anything, but at some point, she slipped her hand into his and Lucien felt his chest tighten. It was so easy to feel like no time had passed in this place, but it had. Things were different now, he was different. He was an emissary for the God-dammed Night Court, acquaintances with Rhysand, he lived with humans – he had a mate.
The path they were walking on was the one he had ran all those years ago. Panting bare foot and half-naked as he shot through the night, Eris’ dogs snapping at his ankles, plummeting towards Spring, to Tamlin, the closest thing he had ever had to a friend. As if she knew, Elain squeezed his hand twice.
He looked down to her. She was wearing her gown of didache, her hair was loose but regal, a few strands held away from her face by purple flowers which he recognised as hailing from the Night Court. She may have renounced her place in Rhysand’s court, but Beron and his brood didn’t need to know that. She was perfect, she was playing a role, she was so like him.
It wasn’t too long before they started to near the main city of Ivern, at the base of the hill Needle Manor sat on. As they grew close, Lucien pulled the hood of his cloak to cover his ruby hair and mangled eye. He too was dressed to perfection, each item of clothing chosen with precision. Everything meant something, even down to his leather belt holding his sword. He had on a pristine white shirt, the paleness of which could only be achieved through great stress, showing his position of wealth. His waistcoat was deep navy, a colour that didn’t hail to any court, but with the silver embroidery work one couldn’t help see it and think of the night sky, hence the Night Court, through which he was protected. His trousers were from his days of Spring, deep brown and every inch had a hoop to display a knife. On his right leg alone Lucien had placed three daggers of varying sizes. His hair, loose and flowing around his shoulders and down his back. In Autumn, Lucien had never been allowed to grow his hair too long, choppy layers to his shoulders were as far as he could push it. Every inch of his hair was a year in exile, a medal of his freedom. His cloak, green, the colour of spring, but human made showing his new connections in this new world. His jacket grey, his boots black, his autumn sword hung from his right hip, a lithe Illyrian blade Rhysand had gifted him last winter solstice on his left.
This was the life of an emissary. Everything, every piece of clothing, every word said, every glance, must be thought through. It was all to be done on purpose. You had to laugh at the right jokes, eat the right food, compliment the right person. It was a game; a game Lucien was damn good at.
They had only just made it to Ivern’s main street when he felt Elain still next to him.
“Are you okay?” He spoke softly, but with enough force that he could be heard over the bustling crowds around them. Elain tucked her arm into the crook of his with one hand and with the other pulled her purple cloak tighter around her shoulders, she was looking all around her, her lips parted slightly.
“I didn’t expect this,” she said plainly after a moment, smiling at him, the first genuine smile of hers he had seen in a few days.
“What?” He chuckled as they began walking again. Elain’s eyes turned back to roving the street.
“It’s so busy!”
Lucien couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Just because Autumn is old fashioned in its traditions, does not mean it’s not a strong court. Ivern was the first true city in Prythian, fuelled by the coal mines in the north. Autumn was the first court to do many things. The first court to build a bridge for example, over the River Dee in the East.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t expect any of this,” Elain smiled at a young male busking in the street, playing a familiar Autumn carol on his bagpipes. They stopped for a moment to observe. “What’s that instrument?”
Lucien grinned. “That, my dear lass, is the piob mhor, otherwise known as the bagpipes.”
Elain turned to him, squeezing his arm. “Is that a bit of an accent coming out of you Lucien?”
Lucien merely smiled and shook his head as the moved on, not before placing a handful of coins in the young males open case. “It used to be much stronger.”
“Oh, my Mother, how am I only now finding out you used to have an accent!” Elain squeezed his arm again, a beautiful pearl of laughter bubbling from her lips.
“Just wait till you hear my brothers speak, you’ll probably only make out one word per sentence.”
The two bustled along the main street, chatting about this and that. Elain peered into the windows of the shops as she went. Ivern was so different from Velaris, while the city of the Night Court was full of small businesses and families with their cooky shops and homemade recipes, Ivern was bold in its wealth. Each shop had a certain finesse to it, with large glass windows, gold lettering, shopping assistants with pristine uniforms and glittering smiles. She also noticed how practically everyone on the street and in the shops were High Fae, in fact, Elain had not seen a lesser fae yet.
Lucien pulled them to the side to try some street food. The way he spoke to the vendor with such familiarity made Elain’s heart stutter.
“No not that one, this one here,” Lucien corrected the vendor, making sure that Elain got the best one. “Yeah, yeah, and could you give me a little pot of sauce. Yeah, thanks. Okay, let’s try.”
“What is it?” Elain asked as Lucien handed her a warm brown ball of batter about the size of a flower bulb.
“Why would I tell you that? No, you have to guess. Here dip it in this.” He held out a small pot of white sauce which Elain dipped her ball into before taking a bite. Fish was the first thing she tasted, soft and falling apart in her mouth and then the tartness of the sauce, the crunch of the pickles which were hiding in the cream.
“Oh Mother,” Elain sighed as she dipped her ball back in the sauce and took another bite.
“Good right?” Lucien grinned through a mouthful.
“Let’s go back and get more,” Elain pushed, after hers disappeared a little too quickly.
Lucien shook his head, swallowing before he placed the sauce pot in a nearby bin. “We’ll be having a dinner tonight with the family, and while the company will be sour the food will be exquisite.”
“Whatever you say,” Elain smiled up at him, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Without thought Lucien clasped her hands between his and sent several waves of warmth through her. Elain’s eyes smiled and her mouth parted as she looked up at him.
Gods, he would never get over that look. Never had someone looked at him like he was so…special.
Soon the main street ran out from underneath them, and after admiring the central statue of the mother wyvern in central square, Lucien knew it was time to head to Needle Manor, named after the unusual conifers that swarmed the grounds, a spot of green in all this Autumn gold.
As the began the ascent away from Ivern and up towards Needle Manor, both Lucien and Elain shed their cloaks and sent them to the shadows where Nuala was lurking with the rest of their belongings.
Like a mountain, Needle Manor arose before them, a deep red stain in the middle of all that green. Up and up, they went until there was nowhere else to go. The wooden doors loomed in front of them, two balls of orange faelight guarding the entrance.
“You ready?” Elain whispered to Lucien, squeezing his hand. He looked to her, something distant in his eye. Without saying a word, he combed a few fingers through her hair and repositioned the purple flowers at her crown. He looked her over, again and again and again. What he was looking for she did not know.
“Autumn come, thy will be done,” he muttered as a response before turning to the door, straightening his shoulders, preparing for war. “…forgive us our trespasses….as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
***
“Lord Lucien Vanserra.”
A male with freckled skin and thin brown hair welcomed the pair as they entered the foyer of the home. He was wearing a plain shirt waistcoat and jacket, but on his lower half he was wearing a tartan skirt that reached just below his knees. Elain would’ve stared longer at the fashion garment, if her eyes weren’t roving the inside of the home, which thus far was mostly red and mostly what she had expected.
“Lord Duncan,” Lucien nodded. Elain could see the change in him already, he stood taller, nodded more curtly. That sly grin of his nowhere to be seen. “Please allow me to introduce you to my mate, Lady Elain Archeron, Kingslayer.”
The male bowed deeply to Elain, though his eyes didn’t change, didn’t look impressed or in any way pleased at Elain’s presence. To that Elain merely stared at him. If Lucien was changing when he came here, becoming steelier and stronger, then so would she.
“Forgive us, we did not expect this addition,” Lord Duncan continued in that same, monotonous voice, though Elain could hear his accent strongly now.
“No matter. I’m sure you’ll take the steps required to ensure my mate is comfortable.” Lord Duncan merely nodded at Lucien before turning and striding down the foyer.
“Dinner will begin in half an hour in the main hall, the others have already gathered there for drinks,” Duncan continued as Lucien and Elain strode behind him. Elain took this time to observe her surroundings a bit closer.
On the walls hung regal portraits of males, their pointed ears sticking through their short crops of hair. Each male was wearing a variation of tartan, some of them sporting the skirt Duncan was wearing, no doubt a ceremonial dress. There were tall wooden doors that interspersed these paintings and on either side of these doorways were guards, armed to the teeth and holding up silver battle axes larger than Elain. The right side of their faces were coloured with a red paint – war paint.
“Tomorrow there will be an itinerary for you sent to your quarters. For now, food, wine, and company.” Duncan led them to end of the hall where another large set of wooden doors loomed with guards either side. These guards moved in unison, snapping their feet together and turning sharply before placing a hand on each doorknob.
This was it. On the other side of that door lay Lucien’s family, his mother, his brothers, and God knows who else.
Sensing her concern Lucien tugged on the bond and Elain allowed her eyes to flicker to him. He was looking down at her, and to her surprise after a moment of seriousness, he flashed her a cheeky grin and a wink before the doors swung open and his mask fell back into place.
Duncan moved to side for them to pass, but not before speaking once more.
“Welcome home Lucien.”
***
The dining room was an extension of the same themes already seen in the house. With paintings on the walls, red carpeting, and wood. Though in here, several glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminated by small balls of orange faelight.
The room was silent, and Elain was sure it hadn’t been a moment ago. In front of her there were around ten people. Some possessed that same fiery red hair Lucien had, and so Elain supposed these were his brothers or cousins. Some were old, some young. Some wore tartan, some wore clothes more familiar to those that Lucien wore. There were no women.
For several moments no one did anything. No one spoke, no one moved, and then a male close to the pair took two strides forward.
“Little Lucy…fancy seeing you here.” The male’s head was shaved, and he wore clothes that looked more akin to battle gear that dinner wear. On each hip hung a gleaming golden axe, engraved with an emblem with a red gemstone at the centre.
“Ruairidh,” Lucien merely stated back. The male was sporting a sickening grin, he was short, but built like Cassian and had enough scars on his hands for Elain to suppose he was quick to anger. As though called by her staring, the male’s eyes snapped to hers. He observed her for a moment, his eyes taking in every bit of her appearance from head to toe.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“I’m sure you know who this is Ruairidh, or have you taken one too many blows to the head?” Lucien rolled his eyes, the perfect image of confidence and boredom. Ruairidh glowered in response, though this was cut short when a familiar male slapped him on the shoulder as he passed him.
“Play nice Ruairidh. We don’t want to scare away someone as beautiful as Lady Elain of the Night Court.”
This new male took the two steps up to Elain, his eyes cold, his lips pressed into a smirk. Bending low, the male bowed before taking Elain’s hand and pressing his lips onto the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Lord Eris,” Elain nodded. His responding grin was nothing short of terrifying.
“I wasn’t sure you’d remember, Lady.”
Elain let nothing display on her face. “It would be a challenge to forget one such as yourself, Eris.”
Ruairidh had advanced during the exchange.
“Lucien’s mate,” he said plainly, something menacing glittering his eye. Elain could hear it now, the accent that doused every word from his mouth. This was a man of autumn, born and raised and incredibly proud of his home turf. Of its brutality no doubt.
Ruairidh grinned and followed in his brother’s suit, taking Elain’s delicate palm in his large, ruined one and pressed his chaffed lips on the back of it for a moment too long.
Lucien cleared his throat and Elain didn’t see the look her mate threw at his brother, but it was enough for that glitter in Ruairidh eyes to go out, and for him to take a step back.
Eris, to Elain’s mighty surprise, offered her his arm. Bringing herself a little taller she walked down a few steps and snaked her hand through it.
“I’ll introduce you to the rest later but first, let’s get you a drink.”
***
It hadn’t taken long for the room of people to get back to their discussions after Lucien and Elain’s entrance. By the time Eris had brought her a flute of champagne that looked more expensive than anything Elain had ever owned, noise had once more gathered around them.
“I did not realise my brother would be treating us with your presence,” Eris drawled casually, sporting that all too familiar confidence and cunning smile.
Elain glanced to where her mate was now talking to what seemed like an ancient fae, curled over a walking stick with thin, gold hair, a blanket of tartan wrapped around his shoulders.
“When he invited me, I found I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to see my mate’s home Court.” Elain sipped her champagne, aware of not just Eris’ eyes tracking her every move.
“A shame we’re all re-joined for such an awful reason,” Eris supposed non-committedly.
“Truly,” Elain blinked at him.
Eris seemed to take a moment of assessing her, weighing up the female he saw in front of him now to the one he had seen those few times before. Seen and never heard.
“I fear you’ve gone under my radar Lady Elain. All those times in Hewn City and I never noticed you.”
Elain tilted her head and smiled a little. “Black does nothing for my complexion.”
Eris’s eyes swept over her, whether they were assessing or predatory she couldn’t tell. “Well, I see you now.”
Another sip of her champagne. “You know what I think?”
“Please tell.”
“I think the moment you found out who I was, and who I was mated with, you researched everything you could about me.” Elain didn’t doubt it. In her mind she saw Eris having some file in his office labelled ‘Lucien’s Mate’. Ammunition against his youngest brother should he ever need it.
Eris’ eyes darkened, but his smile was still genuine. “Just excited is all, the first of my brothers to have a mate, one can’t pay enough attention to something as grand as that.” He coughed and turned to the room. “Shall I introduce you to some people.”
People, according to Eris, were not his brothers. She spoke to the Grand General of the Autumn Armies, the Champion of the business district in Ivern and a man who seemed in no way important until Eris whispered in her hear that he was Lord Beron’s closest friend. Each man had seemed interested in her but there was no love in that interest, only disgust. As though they were looking at some failed experiment that while fascinating, was an abomination of humanity. Elain had never been so aware that she was not truly fae. Not truly human either.
Lucien, perhaps sensing her weaning strength appeared at her side and whisked her away for another drink before dinner began. In the corner of the room, he stood with his back to the room, allowing his mask to drop.
He didn’t dare speak on account of the others hearing him, but his face was a question – are you okay?
Elain smiled and gave an imperceptible nod.
“It seems you’ve met the whole lot,” he kept his voice level, regal.
“And yet I’ve spoken to none of your brothers.”
Elain didn’t quite know why she was so desperate to speak to the handful of red heads littered throughout the room. Perhaps it was that she’d been expected to be confronted with them the moment she stepped foot inside Needle Manor and yet she’d been here half an hour and none, beside Eris, had approached her.
“Tell me about them,” she said, glancing around the room. Trying to guess which red heads were Lucien’s brothers and which were just, there.
Lucien swallowed thickly before turning. He scanned the room and then nodded to a male on the other side of the table in deep discussion with Duncan who stood, silently, a tray of drinks in hand. “Cormac, second eldest after Eris.”
This male was skinnier than anyone else to the room, his clothes hanging off him and a sickly pallor to his skin. Even his hair was a pale gingery colour that seemed closer to blonde. His pale eyebrows seemed permanently etched in a frown and his eyes were dark, two black irises that conveyed no emotion from within.
“He was Eris’s right-hand man for a while, until he got too cocky. Made a bid for the throne when he was young and stupid, and no one’s trusted him ever since. From what I know he spends his days as an emissary, working in other courts far away from home. Over there, that’s Travis. No one seems to know anything about him: what he does in the day, what he cares about, what he did for the war effort. This is the first time I’ve seen him in many years.”
Travis was the only one already seated at the table, talking to no one, and swirling his glass of wine on the table. His hair was short at the sides but long on the top and slicked back with a few strands falling into his face. He had a strong jaw and a wicked scar cleaved onto his neck that disappeared into the collar of his shirt. He was still wearing a thick winter jacket. Elain didn’t miss how his eyes kept flickering from his glass to her, his eyes dark, but inquisitive.
“You’ve already met Ruairidh,” Lucien took a sip, not even looking to his last brother who was laughing raucously with three other males who were all dressed as though war was coming any moment now.
“He’s the youngest except for me…” Lucien hesitated, his eyes turning dark and haunted, his lips parting as he paused on the next sentence. “He had a twin, Bradach, but he died some time ago. So did my other brother, Angus. They were the most brutal of all my brothers, quick to anger and violence, a lifestyle that took them to an early grave.”
Eris, Cormac, Travis, Ruairidh and Lucien. The five remaining Vanserra sons. Elain didn’t allow her gaze to linger on any of them for too long, but she allowed her senses to pick up on them, keeping tabs on where they were in the room without having to look.
“Which one should I go talk to?” She smiled up at him, making it seem like she were asking him something about the weather rather than a daring proposition.
“None of them dear,” Lucien smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Don’t be silly Lucien, none of them can lay a finger on me without starting a war. The worst they can do is whatever spews out of their mouths, and I can handle that.” Lucien’s expression didn’t budge, and reaching for the bond within, she attempted to reassure him. Lowering her voice, she murmured, “I won’t allow for your brothers to see me as some weak, cowering mate of yours that can’t handle herself. I won’t follow you around like a lost pup. I refuse.”
Lucien’s gaze softened ever so slightly, and after biting his tongue for what felt like several moment he nodded.
It was futile though, as at that moment Duncan tapped a champagne flute with a knife and announced.
“Dinner is served.”
***
There was a seating system in place, nothing like the Night Court where anyone could sit wherever they felt like it. Here there were sat upon ranking which meant that all the Vanserra sons were sat together at the head of the table, Elain seated between the Lucien and Travis, third eldest and the silent male who’d been seated the entire time.
Eris had taken a seat at the head of the table, Cormac to his left, Travis to his right. Next to Travis was Elain, then Lucien. Next to Corman and facing Elain, Ruadiridh. Everyone else slotted into the positions behind them.
Conversation at the other end of the table was full of life but here, it was quiet. Eris looked down at the other two eldest brothers with disgust. While Lucien seemed to be restraining himself from having one hand touching Elain at all times. Ruadiridh on the other hand was laughing animatedly, sloshing his ale out of his tankard and onto the fine tablecloth.
At some point his ale sloshed directly onto Cormac’s plate ruining his fresh salmon and lemon grass. The male seemed to still into something icy.
“Never learnt how to behave did you Ruadiridh,” Cormac hissed. His voice was boyish, and it added to the overall discomfort Elain felt when looking at him and his discoloured skin.
“And you never learnt how to have a laugh,” Ruadiridh grinned back, but there was nothing pleasant about it.
Cormac speared his salmon on a fork and turned it over and over. “I suppose your lack of personal maturity can only be expected of someone who stands so very far from the throne.”
The laughter dropped out of Ruadiridh face entirely. Lucien shifted, leaning back in his chair looking bored as he snaked his arm around the back of Elain’s chair. Elain could only sip her drink and watch.
“The throne is still all you can talk about. I thought you’ve learned your lesson all those years ago,” Ruadiridh probed earning a short snarl from the elder Vanserra.
“Now boys,” Eris cooed. “We have company.”
Cormac’s furious eyes snapped from his brother directly to Elain and she hated the shiver that ran the length of her spine.
“Ah yes, our banished brother’s half-breed mate.”
Lucien didn’t snarl but rather every fireplace in the room flared to life. Even Eris’ seemed to be controlling some anger as he turned to the second eldest.
“It would do you well Cormac, to remember exactly on what terms you last left this court.” Cormac’s eyes flickered, but Eris continued. “Besides, it’s Elain here who is called Kingslayer, for kill the King of Hybern she did. It might also do you well to think of everything Elain saved for us on that day.”
Elain didn’t know what Eris alluding to, but Cormac seemed to shrink back into himself. His fingers going back to spear his ale-covered salmon over and over.
“You stabbed him in the throat eh lass?” Ruadiridh goaded, his attention now on her too. “I wouldn’t think a wee thing such as yourself weren't capable of killing a man.”
Elain tried to sound as neutral as possible as she said, “He was not any man.”
“No,” Ruadiridh continued, eyes inquisitive now. “He was the King of Hybern, and we all know what he did to you.”
The memory of the cauldron whispered through her bones and then was gone again, like a soft wind. Out of everyone’s reactions, it was Travis', the quiet brooding male with the marred neck whom she noticed. He was staring at her, his entire head pointed at her as he drank and drank and drank her in.
Then Lucien was leaning forward with as much predatory grace as a sphinx.
“You never cared to pick on anyone your own size, Ruadiridh. Does it make you feel good, only picking fights you just might win.” The male in front of her opened his mouth but Lucien silenced him with a raised palm. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say how you picked a fight with me. But we all know how that ended up.”
Elain stole a glance at her mate and saw a male she didn't recognise. This was an Autumnal son. Wicked, wise, and going in for the kill.
“It ended up with you fleeing to another Court for fifty years,” Ruadiridh glowered.
“I’m not talking about that,” Lucien said softly, tilting his head. “I’m talking about your twin. Gutted and beheaded like a cheap prisoner.”
Ruadiridh’s fist slammed into the table, his entire tankard of ale now spilling into Cormac’s plate, in response streaks of gold embers sizzled through his hair but he said nothing.
“You dare speak of Bradach to me?” His twin. His dead twin. Dead at the hands of…Lucien?
“Elain managed to kill the King of Hybern, and yet Bradach couldn’t even kill me, your lowly, pathetic, younger brother,” Lucien hissed. Ruadiridh was quite literally smoking from his anger, glints of red fire, not orange but deep crimson fire was licking through his fingers.
“Boys,” Eris commanded. Just one word but there was enough power behind it that all the brothers stilled. “Enough.” There was no humour in his tone anymore. No playful glint in his eye. Just the eldest brother, the next in line to the throne, rumbling an inch of his power into the room.
Ruadiridh struggled to reign it in, those crimson flames still licking his hands. Lucien merely leant back in his chair, his arm going back around Elain’s own and drank from his glass.
Spearing another piece of salmon into her mouth, Elain still felt eyes on her. Looking to her left Travis was still staring at her, she stared back.
Closer now she could see the silent brother in more detail. She could see that his hair was so dark it was closer to brown than red, and through the few gelled strands that fell into his face, she saw his gold eyes, glinting as though they were made of pure metal. He seemed to be constraining himself as he looked at her, his mouth screwing up on itself. And then he looked away, pushing away his untouched meal and drinking from his goblet of wine.
As Elain looked back to her mate, his eyes glowering at each of his brothers daring them to say a word against her, she wondered exactly what kind of trap they'd just walked into.