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Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3| Read on AO3

Elain knew she’d gotten Ayla into some trouble. For a month, her friend had been locked away in her family's chambers and when she returned, Elain noticed she winced every time she sat down.

You’re making a mess of everything, she thought morosely when Ayla wouldn’t make eye contact with her at all. Arina had retreated back into the library, leaving Elain to return to her overrun garden. She’d begun sketching it out crudely in a journal, trying to map out where things would go so she wasn’t planting blind.

Elain’s garden was the only place she felt true peace anymore. Spending time around Lucien was beginning to feel unbearable—something hot built in her throat if they were around each other too long, spilling into angry words that she couldn’t take back. Elain didn’t know why she couldn’t just be nicer or why the sight of him frustrated her the way it did.

Lucien had given her another gift just that morning—a pretty set of pearl combs she’d thanked him for before tossing them into a drawer that was increasingly becoming dedicated to the things he purchased for her. Lucien was trying, in his way. Everything he gave her was thoughtful and generous—Elain loved the simple elegance of pearls set into silver combs.

They weren’t good for gardening, at any rate—that was what she told herself as she tied a scarf around her head and headed out, prepared for another long day of ripping out weeds until she couldn’t take the seeping cold. She wasn’t alone today. There, hanging around the gates, stood Tanwen.

“Come to help?” she asked, certain he wasn’t there for any particular reason.

“Why not,” he replied, opening the iron for her before following just behind. “What do you need from me?”

“You could rip up that tree?” she suggested, pointing toward a sapling that was more weed than anything. “Or loosen up the soil with your magic?”

“Why not both?” he replied with a lopsided smile. For a while they worked in silence, digging up a pile of weeds they tossed in the center of the garden alongside all Elain’s ruined rocks. It was nice to have Tanwen there, if only to provide a little muscle when she didn’t want to exert herself so much.

“So,” Tanwen began when the skies began to darken and a gloomy fog started to roll over the hillside from the cursed forest. “Have you seen Ayla?”

It took Elain a moment to absorb his words. “I see her, but I don’t speak to her. I think she’s angry with me.”

“Ah,” Tanwen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should take these to the stables, if you’ll…excuse me.”

Elain watched him go, hair blowing in a vicious wind. Was he asking because he’d been the one to carry her in, or because he wanted to hear more about her? Elain couldn’t be sure. It was wrong to meddle when she’d already been the cause of Ayla’s suffering and yet…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed later that night, greeting her husband sitting in a chair in the bedroom, book in hand. His eyes found her nails, caked with dirt and cracked again. Lucien’s mouth drew into a deep frown, though he said nothing.

Smart, she praised silently.

“Wife,” he replied, as if reminding her of exactly what she was to him. Elain knew they were on borrowed time—at some point she was going to have to get over herself and have sex with him. How long, she wondered? Another month, perhaps? Two? Lucien didn’t want her unwilling, but Elain couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she went to him gladly, either.

“We never had a celebration,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed once she was done with her hands.

“Why would we?” he replied, turning the page of his book without looking at her.

“Why wouldn’t we? Everyone else gets one.”

Lucien glanced up. “You want to celebrate wedded bliss?” he questioned.

Truthfully, no. It would require the two of them to be together all night, touching and dancing and smiling. Elain took a breath. “Yes, I want that. Will you ask your mother to organize it?”

Lucien stared long and hard, as if he could read her thoughts simply by willing it. Elain was careful to leave herself casual, though it did no good.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” she replied, heart picking up speed. “I just…think it’s strange we haven’t.”

Lucien took a breath. “Does this mean I can expect you to crawl into bed with me that night?”

“I get in bed with you every night,” she snapped, immediately annoyed. Elain didn’t bother mentioning that they were getting a little too accustomed to sleeping beside each other. She’d woken in the middle of the night to find Lucien’s arm flung over her stomach as he drooled into a pillow.

“You keep your night clothes on.”

They were in dangerous territory. “What are you demanding of me?”

Lucien ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m demanding nothing. You’re the one who wants to celebrate our marriage and I…” And he was simply a male. He wanted the right to touch her and perhaps considered this a good negotiation point.

“Don’t host it, then,” Elain said, turning back to the bathroom as a means to escape him. She slammed the door behind her, back against the wood as she listened for his response.

“Cauldron boil me,” he mumbled, but Lucien did nothing else. Even after Elain took a long bath, hoping he might find some other way to amuse himself, but when she came out, hair freshly braided and mostly dried, Lucien was already in bed. He seemed asleep, back facing her as it rose and fell in a steady, fluid motion. He’d pulled his hair out of the strap he’d been wearing, allowing it to cascade over his shoulders and Elain considered, not for the first time, what it might be like to let him touch her. To be curtained with the waterfall of auburn hair, to feel the muscles of his back shift as he moved…

Touch him, a little voice whispered. Elain panicked, drawing her fingers into a fist before sliding them under her body to keep her from doing so. What was wrong with her? The urge had come from nowhere, the instinct to run her finger down the length of his spine so overwhelming that Elain’s hands shook from the effort it took not to touch him.

It was his closeness, she decided as she settled into bed. His male presence and her instinctual response. Nothing more. Still, it took Elain a long time to sleep as a familiar vision crowded behind her vision.

Go away, she demanded. She didn’t want another image of Lucien’s naked form writhing atop her as her mind forced her to contend with what might be if she just gave in. He didn’t want her and Elain would be damned if she made the first move. Or second…or hundredth, actually. She woke a little before him, dressed herself, and made her way down to breakfast before Lucien could speak to her at all.

So she was surprised when the Lady of Autumn came to her, face beaming with joy. “I heard you wanted a celebration,” she said in that sweet voice of hers. The voices in the room fell to a near whisper as everyone listened in, the excitement in the room palpable.

“I would,” Elain said, wanting so badly to be the daughter The Lady of Autumn—Amera—wanted her to be. She saw the way Amera fawned over Arina, who allowed it with glowing cheeks and shiny eyes. Elain bet Arina let Amera throw her a party the morning after, even if she spent the night torturing Eris with a knife.

Elain didn’t want to think about the implications there.

Amera clapped pale, delicate hands together. “Oh, how lovely. It’ll take a bit of time to put together…would you like to help?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed, forgetting why she wanted to do this in the first place. Her own mother could be cold, calculated and careful. There had never been much warmth even for her favorites, and Elain often felt intimidated around her mother. Amera exuded the kind of warmth she’d often wished for as a child. If Amera had asked her to commit a murder, Elain was certain she would have picked up a sword and marched beneath the Lady of Autumn’s banner.

Not that Elain knew how to use a weapon. Perhaps Tanwen could teach her.

Or your husband.

“Should we get started?” Amera asked.

Elain couldn’t suppress her grin. “Nothing would delight me more.”

LUCIEN:

“How do you stand it?” Lucien demanded, interrupting Eris and Cadmus in their private parlor.

“Looking at you?” Eris replied dryly, eyes flicking up from his cards. “I manage.”

Lucien growled, earning a laugh from Conall across the room. He sat on a sofa, the picture of bored nobility while Tanwen tossed a knife up in the air. They were hiding from Beron, who had woken up in a foul mood. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for his sons.

Better to make themselves scarce and wait for the storm to pass.

“You’re very funny,” Lucien said flatly, pulling up a chair to sit with his brothers. “I mean with mother. How do you stand her fawning over Arina?”

Eris’s brows knit together. “I rather like it.”

Of fucking course he did.

“Gets her out of your hair, does it?” Tanwen taunted, clearly bored and looking for sport.

“Her mother is dead,” Eris snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. It hadn’t been more than a year since the bond had snapped and Lucien didn’t think Eris would ever stop chafing beneath it. Even a whisper of insult toward Arina was enough to set his teeth to snapping.

“Elain is planning a celebration,” Lucien informed his brothers, sinking further into his chair as he swiped a decanter of whiskey from the ornately carved table. “All mother speaks of is how sweet and lovely Elain is.”

“She is sweet,” Connall goaded. “If she were my—”

“That’s enough!” Eris barked, unwilling to mop up blood. “She would never be your wife because that would require you to be a male with honor…which you are decidedly not.”

Tanwen chuckled as Cadmus only nodded, eyes flicking from Eris to a scowling Connall. Would Cadmus break them up? That was his usual role in moments like these.

“I don’t have a wife because Elain and Arina electrocuted the only good option left to us. How is little Ayla doing these days?”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered to talk to his brothers at all.

“She’s well,” was all Eris said, laying his cards down with a triumphant smile. Lucien, having the benefit of standing behind Cadmus, cracked a half smile knowing that Eris was outmatched. A scowl darkened Eris’s face as Cadmus chuckled, pulling coins toward his already sizable pile.

No one could outsmart Cadmus in a game of cards.

“If you’re so bothered by your wife, why not remove her from court?” Cadmus finally said, glancing over his shoulder. “Send her to the Mountain Palace, or the Seaside Palace, if you must. Send some of the ladies from court to keep her company.”

The room had suddenly become frosty, the temperature dropping by several degrees. Lucien could feel all of his brothers glaring at him, their disapproval plain. She’d won them over just as surely as she’d stolen his mother and Lucien was jealous. Elain had simply come in and charmed everyone while he’d been trying to win the approval of his family presumably from the day he’d been born.

His brothers acted as if they knew something about him he did not—he was kept just out of reach, tolerated but not one of them. They shared some secret language Lucien did not speak. It didn’t help that Lucien was also a century younger than his next oldest brother, and Eris was nearly three centuries old by the time Lucien had been a baby. They’d watched him grow up, but in his memories, they were all grown.

Why was it so hard for him and so easy for Elain?

“Enjoy yourself, little Lucien,” Connall said in that easy, flippant way of his. “If mother likes Elain, it means you’ve found yourself a keeper. From Spring, no less.”

“It’s just…”

Not what he wanted. Every eye in the room fell back to their hands, refusing to look at him. They knew, though. Even after Eris had sent Jesminda away, even after she’d told him to leave her alone, he was still holding out some sliver of hope that he was going to wake up one morning and it would be Jesminda's dark hair splayed out on the pillow.

Even after everything, he still wanted her.

Lucien knew he was a fool.

“Go to bed, Lucien,” Eris said, rising from his chair. “Go fuck your wife until you can think of nothing and no one else. And if that doesn’t work, take a mistress to amuse yourself.”

“Leave Elain alone,” Tanwen added, a sharp edge to his voice. When Lucien looked around, he found his brothers all looking at him again, their eyes matching Tanwen’s tone.

Right.

She was one of them, but he was not. Lucien strode from the room, determined not to take Eris’s advice. Cadmus’ held promise, though. What if he sent her away after the celebration? Eris would never agree to let Arina join her, but Ayla would likely be allowed. Hells, Elain could hand pick the ladies she wanted to accompany her. And if she picked up with some sentry, well. Lucien didn’t care.

I’ll kill any male who touches her—

Lucien exhaled with frustration, making his way back to his bedchambers where he found Elain seated at a table staring at several different color swatches. She looked up when he walked into the room and without thinking, offered him a pretty half smile.

“Come help me,” she said as Lucien stood there agape. Was Elain willingly asking him to sit in her company? She typically darted off anytime he walked into a room. Lucien walked to her, waiting for the spell to shatter and her to realize it was him and not one of the brothers she preferred.

“What do you need help with?”

“These different shades of pink,” she said, a frown tugging the corners of her pretty mouth. “I hate them all.”

“So do I,” Lucien admitted, drinking in the rosy, spring shades. “What is your theme?”

Elain’s cheeks heated. “Old meets new.”

Spring meets Autumn, he supposed. Elain fidgeted with one of the squares of cloth, unable to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps something darker?” he offered. “More maroon than pink?”

“I thought the same thing,” Elain admitted, setting the little square back on the table. “But your mother has this vision of pink and silver and I don’t want to disappoint her.

“Trust me when I say you’ll disappoint her far more if you let her dress you in something you don’t like.”

“She’s been so nice,” Elain admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. “She’s like my mother if…”

Lucien held his breath, waiting for Elain to finish.

“Nevermind,” she said with a sigh, gathering up her swatches. “I—”

“No,” he breathed, strangely desperate. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” she said, but Lucien wasn’t going to be deterred. He’d take anything, any little piece of information that would give him a more solid footing with the stranger he called a wife. They’d been married for nearly two weeks and Lucien knew practically nothing about her. Elain didn’t give up her secrets easily and in her defense, Lucien hadn’t tried to make conversation with her, either.

“Tell me anyway.”

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” she said, bracing herself against the table. Lucien scooted closer as Elain lifted herself atop it, legs swinging sweetly. He wanted to get on his knees, wanted to slide his hand up her slim calves and—

“No. So you may as well just tell me,” he said, flashing her what he hoped was a charming grin.

“Your mother is like my mother if she was warm,” Elain managed, eyes latching on a painting across the room.

“Your mother is unkind?”

“No, not unkind, just…” Elain bit her bottom lip again. “Spring is a lot like a vipers nest, and you have to think like one if you want to survive. My mother is queen of the vipers, I suppose. She wasn’t cruel, but…we all had our parts to play, clearly.”

“Why did you go first?” Lucien asked, giving voice to the question that had plagued him since she’d first been sent to him. “Why not your older sister?”

Elain sighed. “The High Lord delays the match. He’s angling for Feyre, but the humiliation of spurning Nesta would ruin all of us. I think mother wanted to see me gone just in case he decided to spit in the face of tradition.”

“Tamlin loves tradition,” Lucien said softly. “If he promised to marry Nesta, he will.”

Elain nodded, though it was clear she didn’t agree. Whatever was going on over there, Elain certainly knew it better. Still, it was nice to have some context to the marriage. Elain had agreed, even though she didn’t want to, to ensure her sister's futures, too. There was something strangely lovely about it.

Or maybe it was just the insight that Lucien appreciated. He didn’t understand Elain at all, especially knowing her father likely would have intervened if she’d begged. Sometimes, Lucien imagined that Elain had come simply to torment him, even if deep down he knew that wasn’t true.

She’d come because she loved her family. That made it a little harder to dislike her. Would Lucien have done the same for his brothers? He genuinely couldn’t say, though he suspected he wouldn’t have. Not that it mattered—males weren’t held to the same standards as females. If Lucien had ruined his engagement, Elain would have been tainted in the process but he would have come out unscathed.

“If you want, I can talk to mother,” Lucien offered, wanting to do something for Elain that wasn’t half apology. He felt earnest—hopeful, even. “Soften the blow.”

Elain offered him a half smile that made her even more beautiful than usual. Lucien was terrified of the day she gave him a full smile, wholly directed at him. Would he survive it? Lucien wasn’t sure he’d survive any of this because Elain was his mate, and he had the terrible feeling that if he got to know her, he’d like her.

It was a constant war between not wanting her at all and wanting her so badly it made his teeth ache. It was going to be like this for his entire life. Lucien understood why so many gave in to the bond. A not small part of him wanted to. Wanted to throw himself at her feet and demand to know why she hadn’t told him if she felt it, too. And another part wanted…well. Wanted to know if she’d like her if he didn’t have that thread tugging in his chest. His heart pounded out a steady, consistent beat: mine, mine, mine.

“I can do it,” she said, rising from her chair while stretching out her neck. “I don’t want her to think I don’t respect her.”

“She wouldn’t think that,” Lucien assured her, though he appreciated Elain was willing to have a personally uncomfortable conversation.

“All the same,” Elain said blithely, eyes still dancing even when her mouth had flattened into a neutral expression. She was so fucking pretty.

“Well. Tell me the colors so I don’t embarrass you,” he said, hoping, once again, he was coming off as charming and not demanding. Elain glanced over her shoulder, a curl ghosting over her cheek.

“Whatever you say.”

She turned for the bedroom, leaving Lucien to trail helplessly behind her.

ELAIN:

If everything went according to plan, Tanwen would ask Ayla to dance. They’d look at each other. Maybe even speak, assuming Tanwen could move both his feet and lips at the same time. Maybe they’d kiss, if the night went well, and Tanwen would realize he was madly in love with Ayla and Elain could spend the rest of her time arranging their marriage to take her mind off her own.

The Lady of Autumn had gone all out—the ballroom was packed with people from a myriad of courts, including her own. She’d seen Nesta floating around in a gown made of spun silver—a match for the blue of her sharp eyes. If Nesta was there, Feyre was, too, likely exploring some hidden area of the palace she shouldn’t be in. Elain had seen a few Day Court courtiers flock to Arina, their eyes lined with kohl, dressed in bright, breezy linens that seemed strangely out of place around Arina.

Elain had taken Lucien’s advice, told his mother she didn’t like the rose color that had been chosen and ended up in a blood red gown that she never would have chosen for herself, once upon a time. When Amera presented it to Elain, setting the silk gown gently on the bed, Elain’s heart had thrummed.

Feyre would have worn it. Nesta, too. Her sisters were bolder, less afraid of making a statement. She wanted to be the kind of female who wore things like that, though. It was modest enough, with the off-shoulder sleeves that revealed freckled skin and delicate collarbones without even a hint of cleavage. The bodice was tight, the sides embroidered in gold flowers that made it seem as if her waist was pulled in smaller, creating the illusion of real curves.

She’d pulled her hair off her face with the pearl combs Lucien had given her as a show of good faith given how nice he’d been over the last few days. Not friendly, exactly, but nicer than he’d been since they’d met. He was looking at her when he spoke to her, which felt like a major improvement.

She hadn’t seen him yet, though the night was still early—plenty of time for Lucien to embarrass her yet.

Floating through the throngs of people, the smell of sticky pastries and wine in the air, Elain tried to find Ayla. Her friend had sworn she’d be there, as had Tanwen after a lot of cajoling and pleading.

Who will dance with me? she’d asked, making her eyes big and round. Tanwen, unused to being manipulated by a female, had folded almost immediately though he’d grumbled that he didn’t dance. Not with her, perhaps—but someone else? Elain didn’t believe he was above courting entirely given the rumors she’d heard floating around.

The Vanserra’s had a reputation and if Elain had to guess, she’d bet she was one of the few people left that had no idea what it was like to be underneath one.

“There you are,” Lucien’s warm voice murmured as his fingers brushed the tops of her shoulder. Elain turned and immediately wished she hadn’t. Lucien had asked what color she was wearing and Elain had said red and yet somehow, he’d managed to coordinate his jacket to the exact shade of her dress.

Fuck him, she thought privately as she took in the well-tailored fabric fitted to his broad, muscular chest. His boots gleamed beneath the faelights, cut up to his knees before giving way to black pants that showed off powerful thighs. He wore a gold band around his ring finger and he’d half braided his hair off his face much like Elain had done with the combs. He looked…he looked good.

Beautiful, even, in a roguish kind of way.

“Were you looking for me?” Elain asked, noting that Lucien was looking at her much like she’d just done. His eyes darkened, scent sharpening and oh. This wasn’t a good time for him to realize he was sexually attracted to her.

Lucien cleared his throat, eyes returning to her face. “It’s our celebration, I figured we ought to be seen together. Happy,” he added with a frown.

Elain couldn’t help her laugh. The whole thing was absurd. “Well, you’re truly selling it.”

Lucien blinked. “Are you going to tell me what this is in service of, now?”

“You don’t believe I’m so incandescently happy?” Elain teased, gaze snagging on the High Lord. She hadn’t expected Beron Vanserra to come, but there he was, arm linked with his wife and brown eyes bright as he listened to her speak. Elain was terrified of Beron and his shows of temper, his violence, and the bruises Elain often caught on Amera’s body when her sleeves slid up her wrists.

And yet here, he was the picture of adoration. Was it possible to love someone you hated? Elain turned, catching her husband also watching with a disdainful expression on his face. He didn’t bother hiding it, and Beron didn’t notice. Elain had heard Beron was preoccupied with Eris and Cadmus, but paid little attention to Connall and Tanwen and practically none at all to Lucien. To Elain, that seemed like a best case scenario, but maybe Lucien resented his fathers disinterest.

Or maybe he resented the way Beron terrorized his family.

She’d never asked, determined not to make it her business.

Lucien rolled his eyes, returning to their conversation as his fingers skimmed down her spine. He’d been touching her more often—absent gestures she wasn’t certain he was even aware he did. Every time his skin met hers, Elain’s whole body ignited with interest, which prompted her to try, desperately, to avoid his touch. What would Lucien do if he ever caught a whiff of her changing scent?

Elain knew she was on borrowed time, that eventually there would be questions about what they did when they were alone. The expectation of children would begin to arise and Elain would have to bow to the pressure and at least try. It had taken her own parents nearly five decades to conceive Nesta and Elain expected it would take her just as long, even if she and Lucien put themselves on a strict schedule.

What was worse was the thought that she might enjoy it. The vision persisted, lingering in her mind as it taunted.

You could be happy if you made different choices.

Lucien's fingers stilled at the small of her back, as though he realized how far he’d drifted and knew he was in danger.

“Tell me the truth,” Lucien murmured, leading the two of them through the throngs of people dancing to soft music played by musicians seated in elegant chairs. Cool air blew in from the open windows and some brave souls donned cloaks before sneaking out toward the garden for a moment alone.

Elain would bet that's where Feyre was.

“We deserve a little celebration, Lucien,” she said, turning abruptly for the garden just to see what her sister was doing. The last thing she needed was for Eris to find Feyre poking through something and start an international incident like that one time Feyre had been permitted to join their father in Winter.

“Elain—”

“Why does it bother you?” she asked without malice, letting him trail after her as they made their way into the dark. A pillar half hid a couple furiously kissing, the smell of salt and desire half choking Elain. Lucien coughed, for all the good it did—the pair broke apart to look at them before deciding they didn’t care if they had an audience. Elain scurried toward the grounds when the male dropped to his knees, head ducking beneath a skirt. Behind her, Lucien muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, though it sounded disapproving.

“What if I wanted to help whatever scheme you’re currently working through?” he responded, jogging up beside her. “Did that occur to you?”

Elain’s steps slowed. It hadn’t. “I’m trying to set up your brother.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Which one?”

“Tanwen.”

He laughed, which annoyed her. “What?”

“Tanwen? Elain, if you want to set him up, you need to hide her in the woods for him to find.”

“He said he’d dance,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced off with Lucien. The grass was damp, the wet bleeding through the soft fabric of her shoes. Unlike Lucien who had layers beneath his jacket, Elain merely had the thin fabric of her gown. Lucien looked warm, and some part of her wanted to close the distance between them and fold herself against his body.

“Did you use your feminine wiles on him? Poor Tanwen,” Lucien teased, poking her in the stomach.

Elain scented something strange just as she was about to retort—sea salt and citrus, wholly out of place in the Autumn wood. Lucien, too, caught the scent of it, his eyes flicking up over Elain’s head as one hand came out to half pull her against his body. She’d been right—Lucien was warm.

A moment later, Feyre Archeron appeared looking dazed and pale. Elain’s sister had merely stepped out of a rip in the world, trailing star-flecked shadows behind her as she went. There was no one with her—just Feyre, who could apparently winnow. Elain had never known that.

“Are you okay?” Elain asked when Feyre passed. Her sister started, eyes bright like the moon.

“Of course,” she said, her tone strangely breathless. “I was…lost.”

“Lost.” Lucien repeated, his tone rich with disbelief. “Where were you going?”

“I…out,” Feyre finally said, practically floating away from them. Both Elain and Lucien watched and she suspected if she’d turned to look at him, they’d be wearing matching expressions of confusion.

“That…was strange,” Lucien finally said, releasing Elain from his grip. She took a step away on instinct, desperate for a breath of air not tainted by the soft, masculine scent of him. “Is she always like that?”

Elain wanted to assure him that Feyre wasn’t, but… “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. It was pretty par for the course for Feyre to slip off and keep secrets about her magic. If Feyre could winnow and hadn’t told anyone, it was for a reason. Elain certainly wasn’t going to divulge that information.

“Come on,” Lucien murmured, and she swore when she looked at him, a faint glow emanating off the edges of his skin. She blinked and it was gone, fading to a memory she couldn’t quite recall. Had she seen it? Or had she merely imagined it?

“You’re shivering,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t move, reaching for her once again. He couldn’t keep touching her—he was wearing down her resolve. One of these days Lucien might put his hands on her and she’d thank him for it.

Something in her wanted to make him work harder, even if it was inevitable. She wanted to like him, at least, before he took her clothes off her. And more than that, Elain wanted Lucien to like her, too. She was certain he didn’t—not really. What she found gazing back at her when she looked at him was merely acceptance. He’d made his peace with this marriage, something he should have done the moment he found himself standing at the priestesses altar, and was ready to get on with things.

Elain followed Lucien back into the bright, dizzying warmth, eyes scanning the room for both her sisters and Tanwen. She found Ayla, dressed in rich burgundy chatting with a male whose name escaped her. She saw Connall leaned against a pillar holding court while a semi-circle of females laughed at something undoubtedly stupid he’d said.

Cadmus and Eris patrolled the edges of the room, talking among themselves even as Eris’s eyes continued to slide to his mate, giggling with some of the females that routinely came to Ayla’s card games.

But no Tanwen. Lucien must have realized it, too, because his fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Told you.” It was the wrong thing to say to her right then. His touch, combined with her own confusing mix of emotions, caused a rush of anger to flood through her. Elain’s attraction to him, the closeness of his body, the way she swore she saw him looking at her at times—all of it was too much.

“That was uncalled for,” she hissed, grateful when he didn’t follow behind her. Elain didn’t turn to look at him, either.

She knew he was watching.

She could feel it.

LUCIEN:

“You’re an asshole,” Lucien began, snatching the weapon from his brothers hand before Tanwen could take a swing. Tanwen turned, brows raised.

“For what?”

“You told Elain you’d dance with her,” Lucien reminded him, almost telling his brother the truth of the matter. Lucien very much doubted Elain would be forgiving if she learned he’d messed up her little plan—even if Lucien thought it was ridiculous.

Tanwen blew out a breath. “I don’t dance.”

“It was one dance.”

“You dance with her,” Tanwen retorted, reaching for the axe but Lucien held it just out of reach. They were matched for height and likely matched in strength, though Lucien knew from experience that if Tanwen wanted to hurt him, it would be relatively easy for him to do so. In his youth, he’d tried to take on all his brothers to disastrous results. Besides, if he limped back into the house with a bruised eye and busted lip, Elain would know that he’d been meddling to help her.

It might make her like him a little better…and Lucien didn’t want her to know he was trying as hard as he was. He couldn’t explain it—call it petulance, call it his own inner angst, but Lucien wanted Elain to simply wake up one day desperate and needy from the bond and court him a little, too.

“You made a promise,” Lucien pressed, tossing the axe to the damp, leafy ground beside his brother.

“I fucking hate that shit,” Tanwen snapped, running a hand over his messy hair. “The people, the noise, I—” he took a breath. “I tried, alright? But someone tried to talk to me and I couldn’t do it. If you want me to make it up to your wife, though—”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Lucien warned, temper flaring. Lucien was coming to the realization that he likely couldn’t spend another month sleeping in the same bed as his mate without touching her. He toyed with the idea of creating some kind of bargain between them in which he was allowed to have her in the evenings and she could do whatever she liked with the rest of her time. But Lucien’s treacherous mind betrayed him, conjuring images of her taking a lover and he became restless and angry all over again. In his mind, Lucien was allowed to have her however he wanted her, but ultimately bore no responsibility toward her as he figured out his own feelings.

To make matters worse, every time he pictured Elain, his guilty thoughts bled Jesminda into the image until Lucien was frustrated with himself—Jesminda had told him to move on. Move on. It was taking too long, the heartbreak making a fool out of him. How did people get over it? Did they ever?

Or maybe you’re scared you’ll move on and be fine, a traitor's voice whispered in his mind. Maybe you’re afraid you’d be happy if you let yourself.

“Shut up,” he mumbled under his breath.

Tawnen glanced at Lucien, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry if I upset Elain,” Tanwen conceded, though he didn’t look too shamed. “I’ll make it up to her.” Lucien doubted it, though, given his wife was very much trying to set Tanwen up. He trusted she’d find some new little scheme to put them back in the same room. Begrudgingly, he had to admit the thought of Elain trying to set Tanwen up amused him, if only because Tanwen was the most oblivious of the bunch. If he had his way, he’d abandon court entirely for some cottage in the woods and live entirely off the land. Tanwen would have thrived as governor of the rural counties of Autumn, though that post belonged to Connall, technically.

Beron sent Tanwen to their biggest port city and forced him to oversee the people there, knowing Tanwen hated the politics just as he knew counting crops bored Connall to tears. It wasn’t about learning anything, either. He simply liked making his sons suffer for his amusement. Lucien wasn’t allowed any leadership positions—Beron said he didn’t have enough cities, though Lucien knew that Beron simply didn’t like him and did not want to nurture any potential High Lord qualities in Lucien that might unseat Eris or Cadmus.

Lucien left Tanwen to his weapons, meandering even when he knew where he was going. He wanted the pretense of stumbling upon her, of seeing her with her hair tied off her face with a pink bandana, hands buried in soil. Lucien found her dressed in a rich purple, hem pooled around her knees as she plunged a little trowel into the earth.

She wore his gloves. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight of them, once tossed carelessly in a drawer along with everything else. She’d worn his combs the night before, his gloves today…Lucien took a breath. Elain was softening. Maybe he could bend a little, too. Pushing open the gate, Lucien made his way toward her.

“Planting?” he asked, noting the bed of weeds had been cleared out of the space. It must have taken her hours to do it.

Elain glanced up, a bead of sweat sliding down her brow. He wanted to taste it. “Your brothers helped clear this place out,” she said sweetly, rising up to sit on her heels. “It’s made things go faster.”

“What are you planting?”

“Here? Aster,” she said, showing him the little trays of budding plants she’d clearly been growing herself. “I’ve mapped it all out. Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming close enough their knees brushed when he lowered himself to the ground. Elain pulled out a little journal and a rolled up piece of paper that she spread out for him.

Lucien recognized Cadmus’ work, sketched out beside Elain’s looping, pretty handwriting.

“Your brother painted it for me,” Elain admitted, running her fingers over the pretty watercolors that graced the page. I showed him my layout and he put it together.

“We should frame this when you’re finished,” Lucien murmured, thinking it really was lovely.

Elain’s eyes were bright. “Really?”

He didn’t like that creeping hope in her voice—her belief that he wasn’t a kind male, and didn’t care about her at all. It wasn’t true, though Lucien knew he’d done very little to disabuse her of the notion.

“Of course,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light and nonchalant. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Elain tucked a curl behind her ear. “It’s just a garden, it’s not as if—”

“It’s important,” Lucien interrupted, tone gentle but firm. “Beautiful, too.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, eyes slipping back to the ground. “That’s…thank you, Lucien.”

“Can I help?” he asked, deciding to push his luck. What did it hurt, he reasoned, to try and get to know his wife? His mate?

Biting her bottom lip, Elain nodded. “That would be nice.”

“I saw Tanwen this morning,” Lucien said, adopting a lighter, more gossipy tone. Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Did you tell him he ruined my night?” Elain demanded with a grin. “Winston occupied nearly all of Ayla’s time.”

“Winston,” Lucien grumbled, though in truth he had no issue with the lord. Winston was perfectly polite, in a bland kind of way. He was the kind of male Ayla could boss around and dominate, which wasn’t the worst position to be in given how Autumn viewed females. It was the closest thing to autonomy Ayla could hope for.

“Right?” Elain agreed, taking one of the little plants from him to nestle it gently in the dirt. “He’s so…”

“Agreed,” Lucien replied, heart thudding in his throat. “Could I offer you some advice?”

“Please,” she replied, eyes darting to him again. The urge to push her into the dirt and cover her mouth with his own reared through him with an intensity so hot that Lucien could feel his cock stir in his pants.

Calm yourself, he ordered.

“Consider an activity that Tanwen is interested in.”

“Like what?”

“What is the game you, Arina, and Ayla are always organizing on the lawn?”

“It’s a bit like tag, but less rough,” Elain admitted, cheeks flushing again.

“So why not a larger game?” Lucien suggested, mind racing with possibilities. “Or, perhaps something more akin to hide and seek. That could be romantic.”

Elain’s brows raised. “You’re quite clever.”

He grinned. “I’ll take the compliment.”

“How would we ensure we get them alone?”

“Easy enough. You and I will hide somewhere together—somewhere only I know,” Lucien added, his heart picking up again. He knew the exact tree he’d put her in, ancient and hollowed out by a High Lords son long since dead. Lucien had spent years hiding there as a child, reading and writing and otherwise daydreaming about more interesting adventures. With Elain, the space would feel smaller…perhaps he’d take the opportunity to truly touch her. Run his knuckles over her cheek, his nose along the curve of her neck.

“And Arina?”

Lucien snorted. “Eris won’t be able to help himself.”

Elain wrinkled her nose, scrunching the little freckles adorably. “Ew.”

“And Tanwen considers himself an expert tracker. Finding Ayla will be easiest, because she won’t be masked by another male's scent. And maybe, once they’re alone…”

Elain clapped her hands in front of her chest, giving him an excuse to look at the soft swell of her breasts. Elain was far too appealing, mate or not, and Lucien had the sinking suspicion he’d want her even without the cord currently wrapped around his throat.

Squashing his guilt, Lucien took a breath.

Unaware of his inner torment, Elain offered him a smile. “Okay. I like this plan—give me a few days to put it together so it seems natural and not too suspicious.”

“Naturally.”

“And you’ll join?”

“Nothing would amuse me more than to see Tanwen fall prey to the very court scheming he loathes.”

“You make it sound so sinister. I merely want him to find happiness,” she said, unaware that Ayla was the kind of female Tanwen had made a habit of ignoring. He could see her with Cadmus, perhaps, if Cadmus ever deigned to smile or have a moment of fun. Connall was too busy fucking his way through Prythian to ever consider a wife and truthfully, was likely to make someone very unhappy given how little he thought of commitment.

“And you think Ayla is his happiness?” Lucien questioned.

Elain only shrugged. “Maybe. It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Lucien began digging out Elain’s next chalk mark as she carefully replanted, not willing to look at her. “I suppose not,” he murmured, feeling as if she were speaking to him as well. You’re not trying at all, he swore her voice accused which wasn’t true. He’d given her gifts, hadn’t he? He was sitting outside despite the biting chill, hands without gloves, dirt gathering beneath his nails.

Lucien wondered if she couldn’t sense his hesitation, his indecision. What did she feel? He was desperate to know. Experimentally, he pulled on the bond just to see what she’d do. Elain’s brow furrowed, hand flying to her chest to rub.

“Are you well?” he asked. Tell me you feel what I feel.

“I may have strained myself,” she admitted, hand falling to her lap. “Or perhaps I’m coming down with something.”

Lucien bit back his sigh. She felt it, but didn’t realize what was happening. Perhaps that was a blessing, then. He wondered if the snapping had felt different for her, or had been masked by her other emotions, lost to the swirl of fear and anxiety. How did he tell her without upsetting her? Could he?

“You should take it easier,” he murmured, unsure how she’d even go about doing that. “Rest more.”

Elain bit her bottom lips, gaze far away. “I feel like all I do is rest. I garden, I go about with my friends, I eat, I sleep. Hardly exerting.” Interesting. “What would you like to be doing, then?”

She considered this, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Travel?”

Lucien’s whole body tightened. Was that it? His disbelief must have shown on his face because she quickly added, “I heard the continent had tulip fields as big as a sea.”

“I’ve never seen them,” he admitted, mind racing, “I’d like to, though.”

“Maybe we could go?” she suggested.

Lucien resisted the urge to crush her against him. “Whatever you like.”

It was a start.

#elucien #im a day late and i fear this is terribly uninteresting #a filler episode before we get to the touching

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