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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year ago

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Ars Amatoria | ch. X

Elucien AU word count: 2,9k words warnings: none

masterlist

“Of course, yes, and in exchange you will be provided with an army of a good amount of men. I will station them in camps around the city, in order for them be ready whenever needed.” Rhysand raises a brow, but Lucien gives his head a small shake, his expression solemn. “Thank you, we really appreciate that. But I would suggest to station them a little further up. Near the city of Pistoia. It is safer there and won’t draw any unnecessary attention to us. You know, I don’t want people thinking we are getting an army ready even though this is exactly what we are doing.” Lucien chuckles a little and also Elain releases a small laugh as she watches her husband with big eyes, listening to everything he says. But she quickly clamps her mouth shut and exchanges a look with Feyre. Her sister’s gaze speaks volumes — oh, you actually like your husband, huh?

And well, yes, she does. But it is too soon to tell if she likes him in a friendly way or if this is the start of falling in love with him. At the back of her mind she has a faint inkling that it might be the latter, but she quickly brushes these thoughts away. It is too early for this.

As the evening passes and night arrives, the business talks also come to an end. Feyre wants to talk alone to her sister for a little bit, hence why Rhysand offers to bring their baby son to bed and also show Lucien to his and Elain’s shared room. Lucien bows at the waist when he leaves, flashing Elain a quick, but warm smile. Then he is gone, out of the room, but Elain still keeps looking at the door he has vanished through.

“He is quite easy on the eyes.” Elain, with her eyes wide open in silent surprise, whips her head around to her sister. “Don’t let that your husband know that you think so,” she blurts out and laughs.

Feyre only chuckles a little mischievously and then guides her older sister over to the sofa in front of the fire place. They sit down together, Feyre turns her torso a little so she can take her older sister’s hands into hers.

“But now seriously…how are you doing? How is the marriage for you?” A warm, sympathetic smile is on her face. “I am sorry we couldn’t be there for the wedding, but with our little son it isn’t so easy.”

Elain shakes her head a little, and smiles. “Don’t worry. It is fine. The wedding was rather small anyway.” She inhales, closes her eyes for a moment and then blinks them open again.

“Actually I am doing really alright. Of course, I was devastated when I found out I had to wed. A man I did not know who lived so far away. But I think I am alright with it. I miss Venice, I miss my old life, but Lucien is a good man.” And she always has to remind herself of that. Lucien is a good man, and he is her husband. She is lucky to have him as her husband.

“He seems like a good man. And he seems smart. Very intelligent," Feyre hums, nothing but kindness on her face.

A smile tugs the corner of Elain’s lips upwards and a little giggle slips through her lips. “I think he is very smart. He always talks in a such a smart way. And he reads.”

They talk a little about Florence as well — Elain’s new home and a city Feyre has not yet visited, but would love to see at one point. Elain promises to invite her as soon as possible which Feyre happily accepts, but adds that they will have to see how it works out with their son. They two sisters also talk about Nyx as it was Elain’s first time seeing him, he was only born a few weeks ago. He keeps his parents up most nights, but both parents are more than happy about him. “Have you talked about children already, or is this too early into your marriage?”

“We haven’t talked about children yet.” Elain presses her lips in a thin line, not looking away form her sister. “Makes sense, it only comes later. Or it just happens. We were always careful, but then, apparently we were not.” Feyre releases a warm laugh and folds a hand over her belly.

“But don’t worry, there are ways with which you can prevent getting pregnant.” Feyre squeezes Elain’s hand, the one she is still holding. Yes, Elain thinks, for example, by not sleeping in the same bed.

“Thank you.” Elain doesn’t even really know what she is thanking her younger sister for, but the answer seems to fit.

“How are you? Does Rhysand have to work a lot?” Feyre tells her that he indeed does, but that it is alright, and they can deal with it and still spend a lot of time together. When both sisters start yawning, Feyre also guides Elain to her and Lucien’s shared room, kissing the top of her sister’s head to tell her good bye. Elain waves at her before she slips through the door and—

Lucien is not here. Where is he? Elain takes two steps into the room and hears her name being called, soft and gentle. “Elain?” Her husband’s voice comes from the bathroom which is adjoint to the bedroom, the door to their bedroom wide open. “I am back.” Elain answers, standing in the middle of the room, frozen in place when she hears water splash…against a tub wall.

“I am in the bath.” Well, I guessed so, Elain thinks to herself, still not moving, her feet somehow rooted to the ground. Her heart is beating a little faster, as something in her belly warms.

“I am done in a few minutes, then you can bath. I asked if they could bring you buckets of hot water for when you return."

He did…? Oh god! Elain folds her hand over her mouth when a silly and bright grin breaks out on her face. He did!

“Thank you!” she shouts into the bathroom, waddles over to the bed and flops onto it. She is still !grinning when she leans against the headboard, crosses her legs at the ankle and—

Good God in heaven above!

Tendrils of steam rise from the bathtub Lucien is sitting his head tilted backward, eyes peacefully shut. His strong arms are braced on the edges of the tub, his long and wet auburn hair draping over the side. The flickering candlelight casts dancing shadows upon the beige walls, catching Elain's eye. And oh, holy Mother! Who in their right mind would position a mirror in the corner of the bathroom, offering a view of the bath from the bed?

Elain’s cheeks heat up, but she can’t tear her eyes away, not even as her breathing turns a little slower, heavier. His strong shoulders are nothing but sculpted muscles and she nearly finds herself gaping. Through his shirts and jackets she has never seen his muscles that well, but now…now her eyes nearly fall out of the sockets. His shoulders are broad, solid and powerful and…God, he flexes them when he shifts a little in the tub and a few droplets of water trail down his tanned skin. Elain only gets the confirmation once again that her husband is indeed one of the Roman Gods, powerful and beautiful. She tilts her head a little, mesmerised by something as simple as shoulders. Even the muscles in his arms ripple a little when he moves once again.

He could easily pick her up.

Elain is slightly irritated about herself. Did she just really think that? Well, he definitely could pick her up. Lift her into his arms. Carry her around. Sit her onto the bed. Throw her onto the bed.

And, oh Lord!

What was this thought? Where did this come from? Elain is a bit, well actually very much, shocked about herself. About her thoughts. She has never had such thoughts before. It feels like someone pulled a lever in her mind, some reckless and bold lever, that makes her want and desire things. And that certain someone is… Lucien Vanserra.

And this certain someone also peeks an eye open. Elain remains captivated by his broad shoulders, completely unaware that through the mirror the view from the bathtub also grants a glimpse of the bed. Lucien stifles a chuckle, his lips forming a lazy smirk as he watches his wife shamelessly stare at him.

“Enjoying the sight, my lovely wife?” Lucien cocks a brow, a smile of pure amusement playing on his lips. “Maybe you could ask Jurian to paint me like that. Something for you to look at whenever you want to.”

Elain’s eyes that have already been wide before, go even bigger now. Startled, she hastily averts her gaze, pulling her legs up and burying her face in her knees.

“That was joke, my lady. Don’t worry. I find this quite—“ “Amusing?” Elain huffs, not sure if he even hears her muffled voice. Her face is still pressed into her kneecaps.

“Lovely, was the word I wanted to say. No one has ever looked at me like that.” Lucien hums and curls his hands around the edge of the tub. “But now—I actually don’t mind, but this is about you. I am getting out of the bath and I am very much naked.”

Elain understands the unspoken part, but she is not looking at him anymore anyway. And although, she is suddenly intrigued…no, not going to happen.

Only when she hears footsteps, does she lift her head a little, peeking at Lucien who stands in the middle of the room, dressed in thin cotton pants and well, nothing else.

An involuntary sigh parts her lips when her eyes fall onto…onto the chest of an actual god. There is no chance that in his former life Lucien wasn’t one of the Gods the ancient Romans believed in.

His chest is nothing but sculpted, solid muscles — each muscle, meticulously carved but he also has soft edges and he is just…breathtaking.

Finally, Elain musters the courage to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sparkling brightly. A dryness settles in her throat, robbing her of words. Her cheeks and ears still feel terribly hot but she manages to hold the eye-contact.

“I am sorry,” she whispers but Lucien shakes his head. “Don’t ever apologise for something like that. Never, for something like that. There is no reason for you to apologise.”

Elain furrows her brows, and shakes her head, her hands curling around her knees. “I was ogling you. Shamelessly staring at your exposed skin.”

Lucien walks up the bed, grinning cheekily. “Is it so bad for a wife to stare at her husband?” He raises his brows in a silent challenge and Elain can only laugh at him. She smacks her hands onto the mattress next to her and just laughs loudly and freely and from the bottom of her heart. “If you put it like that, I guess not,” she says and realises how much easier it is for her now to speak to Lucien. She can just talk to him, he listens, he tells her things and makes her laugh. She can also be, and that is something she has only realised when talking to Feyre, herself. Lucien did not know her two weeks ago. He had no expectations and she never had to pretend to be someone she is actually not. With him, it feels like she can start anew and show this side of her that society has never really seen before. With him she can be herself. She can be Elain, because he does not judge her, he lets her be herself. And that is an incredible feeling.

Lucien grins at her again, his eyes trailing over her face, before he drums his hands onto the bed frame. And then he makes that sort of noise you make when you suddenly remember something, his finger lifting.

“Before I forget," he starts. "We need to talk about what I couldn’t finish earlier.” Lucien’s expression is solemn all of a sudden and he surrounds the bed. Taking a seat on the bed, he deliberately leaves a considerable gap between himself and Elain. His wife is irritated for a moment about what he wants to talk about, her brows raised in a silent question. But then awareness dawns on her and a small kernel of sadness takes root in her chest once again. She has nearly forgotten, but now that she is reminded, her happiness fades a little.

“You brother’s lover?” she asks in silent voice. She moves into a crossed-leg position, a pillow place on her lap where her arms rest on. She looks at Lucien, a hint of unease and uncertainty filling her stomach.

Lucien bows his head and before he can stop himself, his hand clasps Elain’s and he squeezes it. “You don’t need to worry. Never. I will never have a lover next to you.”

Elain looks at their hands and decides to believe him. For this moment, she will believe him. She lifts her gaze and meets his. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that. It is my duty as your husband to be loyal to you, no matter if this marriage was arranged or not.” He gives her hand another squeeze before moving it back and sitting up straighter, his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Now to my brother….” For a moment Lucien leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, not quite sure where to start. Nobody but him and his brother know about his lover, about Eris’ preferences. But Lucien knows he can tell Elain, that he can trust her with it even though this is a huge step and they have only known each other for a short time.

“Why would he do this? Have a lover?” Elain finds herself asking before Lucien can continue. “Is he so heartless?”

Lucien shakes his head vehemently. “My brother is many things but he is not heartless.”

Lucien releases a breath, long and deep. “My brother is a good man, but…his fate has taken a special turn for him.” Lucien's eyes search Elain’s.

“You have to promise to not tell anyone.” Elain shakes her head and honestly asks, “Who would I tell? I barely know anyone.”

“You can’t even tell our mother. Nor Jurian, as you know him. No one can know, you understand?”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Elain clamps her lips shut as she grows nervous. Whom could Eris Vanserra love that was so bad no one could know? Not even their mother. “My brother is in love with a man.”

Elain’s eyes widen, as she gasps. Now she knows why no one can know. The state forbids it. So does the church. And the Vanserra family is quite religious from what she has gathered. “I really don’t care that he loves him, I mean…I don’t really like the man he loves, but I don’t care that he loves a man, you know?” There is sad smile on Lucien’s face and he exhales loudly.

“Who is he?” Elain finds herself asking, curiosity sparking in her mind. She actually would have thought she would be scandalised, to find out something like this. The church considers this sort of love and relationship, between two people of the same sex, a sin and she is very surprised about herself that she actually does not care. She cares more about the fact that Eris betrays his wife, but she does not at all care that he prefers men. It is his life and his life only.

“Azriel Ardinghelli.”

She knows him. Has seen him at their wedding. “He is the Mars to your Venus in Jurian’s painting.”

Elain smiles as it now all makes more sense and she has a better understanding of everything.

“Thank you for telling me, Lucien. It means a lot…your trust I mean.” “You are my wife, my lady. Of course, I trust you. And it is a very good feeling to have someone to trust like this.”

Their eyes remain locked, unable to tear away from one another's gaze. Seated on the bed, they simply sit, captivated by eyes of the other while the lowering sun lets its last strays fall into the room.

“Now.” Lucien smacks his hands onto his thighs as he lifts himself up. He looks at the wall behind Elain for a moment. “I think we should sleep. Get some proper rest. I will claim the couch, the bed is all yours.”

He is about to stand up when Elain stops him with a loud, “No!”

Lucien turns to her, his brows raised. “We are married, Lucien. I think we can share a bed.” Her voice is steady, does not tremble and so is the eye-contact she holds with Lucien. “I will hop into the bathtub, but then…” Elain pauses. “Please, share this bed with me, just like married people do.”

~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#elucien #elucien au #elain x lucien #acotar #acotar elucien #acosf

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year ago

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Ars Amatoria | ch. XIII

Elucien AU word count: 3,5k words warnings: none

masterlist

“His brother truly has a very good gut feeling.” Azriel Ardinghelli leans back against the wall of the carriage. Night has already settled over the landscape, the inside of the carriage is dark, one can barely see the other. “Knew something was off. You were taking too long.”

Azriel folds his hands, leans forward a little, forearms braced on his knees. “There was no sign of your carriage driver. We caught the horse. But the driver…no idea where he went. They either took him with them, which would make no sense or he ran and escaped.” Azriel pauses, averting his gaze for a moment, his face covered in shadows. “Or he willingly left with them and was part of the conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy?” Elain asks, a tinge of panic in her high-pitched voice. Her eyes widen and her body goes rigid which makes Lucien next to her stir. She wraps her arm tighter around him, his cheek still pressed against her shoulder.

She can barely make out the movement, but Azriel Ardinghelli bows his head. “Yes. The Vanserras have a lot enemies. They are the most important and influential bankers that there are in Italy. Many people envy them, want what they have. We—I am almost sure this was a conspiracy.”

“Could it have been Hybern?” The question just darts out of Elain, she can’t stop herself, but it is the most obvious option.

Azriel shrugs his shoulders, this movement only visible through the small stray of moonlight that falls into the carriage. “Possibly. But I’ve noticed nothing. And I have people who keep an eye on everything that happens in the city.” Like a spy, Elain thinks, and nods her head at him. Lucien next to her feels cold. Azriel’s coat is draped over him. His breathing is more steady now and he can also sit upright again. Elain's heart is now calmer, sadly beating in her chest, but at least the panic and terror are gone.

“You are Venus in Jurian’s painting, Madonnna Medici.” And you are my brother-in-law’s secret lover, Elain wants to say, but stops herself, knowing the carriage driver will very likely hear them and actually she is not supposed to know.

“Yes,” she answers. “And you are Mars.” Elain smiles polity, thankful for the little distraction this conversation offers her.

“I am,” Azriel answers and leans back again. “How did you and Jurian meet?” Azriel, who is normally not one to talk so much, knows he has to do this for her, too keep her distracted as otherwise her mind would start spiralling again. Just like when he found her and Lucien and she was on the verge of going crazy, wailing and crying. She panicked and barely let Azriel pick up Lucien, seeing him as an enemy as well. Her vision had been to blurry with tears, her eyes too swollen to recognise Azriel immediately and she lost it. She has thrown her fists at him, punched him, also very close to his very private parts, has thrashed her hands out, until she realised who is he is.

Now everything is better — at least a little bit. Elain feels safer, more secure, and just awaits their return to Florence so a medicus can finally look over Lucien, can finally really tend to his wound. It is all going to be good, Elain tells herself as she draws in a deep breath.

“Jurian approached me on one of his visits to Venice. He asked if he could paint me and after I had asked my father for his permission he painted me in our family home. The painting he made was called La Primavera, which I love as spring is my favourite season.” Elain smiles a little to herself, her cheeks warming. She still can’t quite believe that he wanted to paint her, and still does so. “A day before he left he came to our house again, asking for the permission to make some sketches again. Those would then be transferred to a bigger canvas and the final piece with you on it would then be called Venus and Mars.”

Azriel smiles in response. “He is painting you again, isn’t he?”

When Elain shifts a little on the bench, Lucien moves as well, groaning lightly when a sharp pain courses through his belly. Elain holds him tightly, providing him with a sense of safety.

With a tinge of sheepishness in her voice, Elain says, “Yes. He wants to paint the birth of Venus, he said. But we have only done half of my face so far.” Azriel hums deep in his throat, nodding his head, but Elain can only barely see that due to the darkness inside the carriage.

Lucien next to her groans whenever the path is a little bumpier and the carriage wiggles. Elain holds his hand so tightly her knuckles turn white. But she needs him to know that she is there for him, that she keeps him safe, that she protects him. He needs to know this.

She turns her head a little and rests her cheek against the top of his head. “Just stay with me, we will soon be back and then all is good,” she whispers, closing her eyes for a moment to draw in the scent of his hair. Despite the blood and dirt, he still smells so much like himself — forest, wood fires, nature. The corners of her mouth move up a little and form a small, sad smile. “It is all going to be good, I know this, my husband.”

She inhales once again, and opens her eyes. Azriel has nearly fully vanished into the shadows of the carriage, his whole figure barely noticeable.

“Why did you come to find us?” Elain finds herself asking in a hushed voice. She is not entirely sure why she asks, but she wonders why Eris had not sent any people who work for him, his soldiers, or sentries or another carriage driver.

Azriel turns his head back to her, but she can’t make out his expression. It is too dark in the carriage and as they are now going down another path, the moon is no longer facing the window of the carriage.

“Who else should have come to save you?”

It is not quite an answer, Elain thinks and furrows her brows. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know anyone here, safe for a few people. But soldiers, for example.”

“There is not a lot people you can trust these days, but I guess Eris—Messer Vanserra trusts me.” Of course, he does, Elain wants to say. She wants Azriel to know that she knows about them and not having him to feel uncomfortable. But she can’t. She does not know if Lucien would want it that she lets them know she knows as well. It is better to keep calm for now, talk to Lucien one day, and only if he is alright with it, share it with them.

“But it has not always been like that, has it?”

"What?" Azriel asks, his tone solemn. Elain can hear the unspoken part of his question— is she asking about Eris trusting Azriel?

But she is not. She is talking about the whole situation in Florence. "The situation between the banks." She presses her lips in a thin line, waiting for his answer. She is truly interested how someone who is not part of the feud and not part of either bank views the situation.

“I am only 28 years old, Madonna, I can’t really say much about the past. But the feud, the feud between the Vanserra and the Hybern bank has been going on for decades. They have always been rivals.” Azriel releases something like a long-suffering male breath and rests his head against the wall behind him. “It is all very complicated and deep rooted and now that the Pope is ill, will only get more complicated.”

“Why?” Elain shudders a little, it is cool, yes, but mostly she shudders because of the uncertainty the future and then new issue Azriel is addressing. What does the Pope's health condition now have to do with it?

“Because the new Pope will mostly likely be a person stemming from the Hybern family.”

“Why?” Elain finds herself asking again, feeling a little silly for asking so much and always the same question.

A little chuckle escapes Azriel. “ You are quite a curious one, Madonna,” he says in his deep voice and pauses for a moment. “Because they are influential and have good relationships to the papal state. And the Vanserra family for example has no one to send there. Someone who could become the next pope.”

This makes sense. Well, if Eris and Ianthe had a son, they would have someone. Or if Elain and Lucien did so in the future… But would she really want this for her child. To be sent away at a young age, stealing his choice of maybe wanting family? She knows, she could never do that.

After quite a long time on the road, Elain finally releases a breath of relief. They are shielded from the outside world and Lucien is safe next to her, the carriage somehow creates a cocoon of security, with Azriel as its guard and that brings her comfort. The sound of the horses' rhythmic hooves against the dusty road create a soothing symphony, almost like a lullaby that makes Elain's lids feel heavy. She yawns, leaning her head against Lucien’s.

The only thing that occasionally interrupts the peaceful silence is the creaking of the carriage's wheels. And outside the world transformes into nothing but cool darkness, like a veil being placed over the whole landscape.

✢ ✢ ✢

“What happened?” Eris demands, his voice loud, hollowing through half of the city. Dressed in only his night robe, he rushes out of the family home, his hair disheveled, deep circles under his eyes. Azriel assists Lucien, providing guidance as he exits the carriage. Elain is immediately at his side as well, lifting his arm over her shoulders to also hold him up. The younger Vanserra brother’s lids are heavy, his breaths ragged, his posture slumping.

“Your gut feeling did not fool you, Er— Messer Vanserra.” Azriel tips his chin. “They were attacked. Found them shortly after Bologna.” Eris walks up to Lucien’s other side, taking him from Elain.

He extends his arm that is not holding Lucien up and brushes his hand over Elain’s head. A small smile appears on his face when he says, "Are you alright, cara?"

Tears well up in Elain's eyes at his sympathy. She shakes her head, then nods. "I am. But Lucien isn't! He's injured, badly!" Elain's voice trembles with a mixture of dread and panic, and Eris immediately understands the urgency of the situation.

“Azriel, you need to inform the medica. I can carry Lucien alone from here on, I have Elain after all. Please get us the medica!”

Azriel understands, and without saying another word, hands Lucien to Elain. Lucien groans, but something about Elain touching him, comforts him. She is there, has not for one second not been there for him. She did not leave him alone, despite him telling her to. She is his wife and she would never leave his side.

Elain and Eris assist Lucien as they enter the house, carefully guiding him towards the library, which offers the closest available couch. With great caution, they lower Lucien onto said couch, ensuring that no further pain is caused. Elain is shivering, her entire body shaking like a leaf caught in a gust of wind. Sensing her distress, Eris quickly retrieves a blanket and drapes it around her shoulders, before embracing her protectively in his strong arms. Elain continues to weep silently, her tears soaking into his chest. Eris asks in a soft voice, "What happened? Can you recall anything? Did you see anyone?”

Elain's voice quivers as she replies, "No... I was knocked unconscious. Even if I had seen someone, I wouldn't have recognised them. But I heard someone... someone who believed we were dead.”

Eris, his body tense with understanding and concern, releases a low hum. His posture is rigid, every fiber of his body on high alert.

They medica needs nearly an hour to arrive. It makes sense, Azriel had to run there first and alert the medica who was probably asleep already, and then the medica had to come here. In the meantime brother and wife have managed to help Lucien out of his shirt and have provided the necessities for the medica — a basin with water, fresh clothes and towels and some small bowls for mixing herbs and medication.

Eris leans against the back of the couch, watching the medica, Madja, as she slowly peels back the fabric and stockings Elain has wrapped around Lucien's torso. Her eyes sparkle with silent admiration as she does so.

“You are quite a smart girl, Madonna Vanserra,” the medica comments as Elain crouches down next to couch and clasps Lucien’s hand in both of hers.

It feels like time stands still. Madja, bathed in the soft glow of the oil lamps Eris has brought closer to the couch, meticulously studies Lucien's belly and the wound. With careful hands and coordinated movements, the medica cleans the wound, removing dirt and debris, as well as blood and pus and the small splinters of wood that are still stuck in his skin. When all is clean, Madja observes the wound. A metallic tang fills Elaine’s senses and she realises that she has been biting down on her lower lip a little too hard. She swallows thickly, watching the shallow rises of Lucien’s chest. The rise and fall is slow, but steady.

From a well-worn leather satchel, Madja retrieves a number of tools and small bottles. Elain knows that Madja’s touch, almost like a soft caress, conveys reassurance and care to Lucien — she takes her time, she knows what she is doing, and she will heal him. She pours the liquid of a small, green-ish bottle onto Lucien’s belly, then dabs it dry with a small cloth. Madja puts cream onto the wound, and then with both Eris and Elain’s help, them holding Lucien up again, she wraps a cotton bandage around Lucien’s middle. The youngest Vanserra brother lets it all, occasionally groaning and yelping, but displaying bravery as he endures it all. Even as Eris and Elain assist him to his bedroom later on, he does not complain about the pain. Instead, he only releases muted sounds of distress, followed by a deep sigh of relief when his body hits the soft mattress of his bed.

“Anything special happened here?” he groans, his lids closing. Eris wipes his hand down his face, beads of sweat caught in his eye brows. He ponders, not sure if he should tell Lucien. He does not want to put him in more distress, but he opts for telling him. Lucien has a right to know.

“Jacobo is running for Gonfaloniere,” Eris informs his brother matter-of-factly and Elain can almost hear how Lucien’s blood chills. She doesn’t really know much about politics, but she knows that this is not good. Really not good.

“And Ianthe is back.”

“Fuck,” Lucien breathes and a sharp pain erupts in Elain’s heart. It troubles Elain, that Ianthe, who is Eris' wife and Lucien’s sister-in-law, would be talked about in such a vulgar manner. Yes, maybe they don’t love each other, but that is still not the reaction one would expect someone to have about their sister-in-law.

Eris only huffs in answer, straightens his sleeping robe and drums his hands onto the lower bed frame. “I will head back to bed now. There is a lot to do tomorrow. Call when you need something.” Lucien dips his chin and thank his brother who leaves the room a moment later. The door is snugly shut and silence falls over the couple in the room. But Lucien shits a little, turning to his wife.

“Stay with me.” He looks up Elain, his lids heavy, his head rolling to the side.

“Of course,” Elain answers, her voice soft with affection. She blows out the single candle on Lucien’s bedside table, surrounds the bed and carefully climbs onto it. She hesitates for a long moment, not sure is she should move closer or keep some distance between them. She opts for the former, and rests her head —her arms stay close to her body— on his shoulder, always careful of his wound.

“I am so relieved it all turned out well. That were are back and safe. That you are fine,” she breathes and a single tear falls onto Lucien's warm skin.

He leans his head against hers and places a soft kiss upon the crown of her head, a gesture of comfort and affection that speaks volumes without the need for words. Inhaling deeply, his body trembles a little. “I will never be able to thank you enough for saving my life, Elain. What you did…was outstanding,” he finally says and a silent sob parts Elain’s lips. “You mixed herbs, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Elain answers and feels the tiniest bit of pride bloom in her heart. Yes, she did. And she thought of it and she mixed it and she put it onto his skin to heal him. And no one else told her to. It was her idea.

“So smart.” Her husband's voice is laced with admiration and also a hint of pride when he tells her his compliment. “Thank you, really. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I am your wife. This is my—“ “You saved my life, Elain. And I will thank you for that, no matter what you say.” He leaves no room for discussion, his voice strong and unwavering.

Elain accepts it, and decides to change the topic. She is tired and she knows Lucien is as well, but she also wants an answer. She has to address it now. Tomorrow too much time will have passed, now the topic is fresh, and as his wife and Eris’ sister-in-law she feels entitled to know. Or…she is just very curious and nosy. A trait she does not like that much about herself…

“So, Ianthe is back.” It is all she says and then waits for Lucien to answer.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbles. Elain finds herself enveloped once again by the same melancholic emotion, as the familiar wave of sadness washes over her again. Why would he talk about Ianthe like that? And would he ever talk about her like that as well? She doesn't believe Lucien is capable of talking about her like this, that this is in his nature, but still the doubt is here, strong and thick as it stretches out like a dark cloud that settles over Elain.

Lucien must have sensed her troubling thoughts and says, “Ianthe is…she is a bad person. And she, with what she said and did, hurt me deeply. And she also hurt Eris. She is not a good person, she does not own a heart and soul like you do. Her is rotten, spoiled and wrenched.” He sounds spiteful when he talks about her and Elain wants to take the pain from him. Why would this woman have caused him such pain? What could she have possibly done?

“What did she do?” Elain asks, her voice soft, but she speaks through clenched teeth.

She did too many things, Lucien thinks. Things he doesn’t want to recall, so he opts for the one thing he allows himself to think of, the thing he will partly share with Elain. “I lost someone close to me and on the day they were buried Ianthe told me to behave like a man and stop crying and that it was my fault they died.” His throat is dry, aching fiercely when he swallows around the lump the size of a peach having formed there. He can’t say more, it would break him in his already vulnerable state. He will tell Elain one day. He will tell her everything. But not right in this moment.

“Now, sleep, Elain. You need to rest. You, out of everyone, deserve it the most tonight.” He kisses the top of her head again and Elain is lost for words, although she wants to protest that he needs it more.

Even though he does not tell her more, she knows she can believe him. Trust him. Since the day she met him, she has known that he is kind and good. But now, now she knows something else. She knows she is falling for him. And that head over heels. She is falling for her husband — a thought that is not at all absurd, but still surprises her a little. She would have never thought so when she left Venice for Florence.

~~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#elucien #elucien au #elucien acotar #acotar elucien #acotar #acosf

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