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writtenonreceipts · 1 month

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Ao3 Link // Part One

HA! I can’t do anything right. Let’s pretend it was always spring/summer that the story was happening in, not winter. Like why did I say winter in pt 1? I feel like I knew that weddings in the regency/Victorian era were most always in spring/summer…Anyways here’s part 2.

And in true written fashion—we’re gonna need at least one other part to finish us off. I’m sorry. Really. I’m posting this one before Rowaelin Month kicks off and then I’ll try and have it finished up in October.

Warnings: bits of abusive parents, mild violence, steam. ~7k words

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Our Fingers Touch, I Find My Way Back Home

She was seventeen and still subject to the whims of her mother. Two weeks after the chilly dip in the stream and Elain was confined to the house. Because, really Elain how could you be so foolish as to do a thing like that? And in front of the duke’s son, no less.

It was just as well, she supposed. She caught a bit of a fever by the following day and needed all the rest and tea possible to get her on the mend.

Nesta at least wasn’t quite so clipped in her admonishments.

“I thought you knew to be more careful than to get thrown in the river,” Nesta commented blandly as she arranged a new tea service on the small table in Elain’s bed chamber. For once, the eldest Archeron daughter didn’t sneer away from mundane tasks.

“It was a stream and I am fine,” Elain replied. She didn’t look up from her cross-stitching as Nesta settled into pouring tea and preparing their cups.

She really hadn’t meant to fall but no one seemed to care beyond the fact that she, delicate Elain, had gotten soaked to the bone and was now ill. Oh, Mother wouldn’t let her hear the end of this.

“Are you?” Nesta asked.�� She arched one of her perfectly shaped brows, her hair swept into an elegant coronet of braids. Her coming out had been a smash and she’d already had many a suitor. Yet…Elain could tell there was something weighing on her sister’s mind. Just eighteen and Nesta seemed to carry a far too heavy load then most and Elain had no idea what it was.

“Yes.” Elain punctuated the word by casting aside her stitching and taking a cup of tea. “It’s merely a chill. I shall be fine by the morrow.”

“You sound like a toad and look like a drunkard rolling in from the bar.”

“Nesta!” Elain tried, and mostly failed, in hiding a smile.

Nesta merely rolled her eyes and sipped her own tea. “Well, so long as you say you’re fine and don’t lie to me, I’ll believe you.” She paused before continuing then nodded to Elain’s bed. “Why do you have a man’s coat lying about, sister?”

“Oh!” Elain nearly scalded her tongue. She hurriedly set her cup down, and tried not to spit up hot tea. “It’s nothing! Lord Lucien was kind enough to offer his jacket after resc—helping me. I’ve yet to return it.”

“I can have Clare clean it up and send it over with an errand boy,” Nesta said. She was already rising to the servant’s bell as though to do just that.

“No, no.” Elain reached out and tugged at her sister’s sleeve before she got very far. “Don’t worry yourself. It’s just a coat. I’m sure the lordling has plenty more to use.”

Nesta eyed her with mild confusion. But then she shrugged and plopped back in her seat. “Fine. Save’s me from having to do anything.”

Elain sat back and let her sister talk about the -ton and all the scheming of the other mama’s and daughters and how one way or anything she would have no part in it. As Nesta continued on, Elain found her mind beginning to wander back to the simple green coat the rested on her bed and the strange little flutter it caused deep within her chest.

.*.*.

Evidently, her wedding was to be a grand affair, the talk of the entire -ton. Once, Elain would have been elated. Once she would have reveled in her mother’s praise and the expenses being rained down upon her. Once she would have taken it all in great pride. She was the daughter to make her parents happy and allow their grand dreams to come true.

But as she waded through fittings and talks of florals and guests and food—Elain was focused on something else entirely.

Lucien’s mouth.

It was strange really, to think about a man’s mouth such as she was. There’d only been one other man she’d been interested in kissing and that had not ended well at all. Since, she’d never been interested in kissing another.

Lucien Vanserra threatened her resolve with only the briefest of interactions. Him and his stupid smirk, his full lips, and that insufferable way he said her name. Elain. As though it were his duty to pronounce each individual syllable with the utmost care and precision.

If it wasn’t his mouth, it was his hands.

This probably was not what one friend thought about the other regularly.

She was not a very friend.

“Elain, darling, you must pay attention!”

Drat.

Elain looked up from her tea to find her mother and Lady Vanserra herself eyeing her. Mother of course was very close to loosing her control and saying something unbecoming. Lady Vanserra however had a genuine smile of conciliation. She always did seem like a wonderous woman.

“I beg your pardon,” Elain murmured. She straightened her posture and recrossed her ankles. “There is just so much to think about right now.”

“It’s your wedding,” Lady Vanserra said. She reached over and patted Elain’s knee. “Of course you’ve got plenty on your mind. There’s so much to think about and worry over.”

Mother looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon, but she was a lady so she held her tongue. A true miracle if Elain had ever seen one.

“Thank-you,” Elain said with sincerity. She offered her future mother-in-law a small smile, even as her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of being caught lost in her own thoughts.

“Yes, well,” Mother said tightly, “we still need a decision on your bouquet. Now we know there won’t be sunflowers, but I thought—”

“What?” Elain blurted. “There needs to be sunflowers.”

Mother’s nose crinkled. “Oh, there so strange, Elain. Truly, the daisies and orange blossom will do nicely. They’re far more elegant. I know Lady Doyle keeps a remarkable garden of her own. I’m sure she would be more than willing to—”

“I would prefer sunflowers, mother.” It was the first time that Elain could remember ever being so firm in speaking to her mother. Truly, she never raised her voice or spoke out of turn. Not even when she wanted to most. And now that she was, Elain could feel a new wave of horror wash over her at the reality of what it meant.

Her mother’s silver eyes flashed in warning. Her mouth thinned impossibly and Elain wondered if her teacup would shatter from how tightly it was held.

“Sunflowers,” Lady Vanserra said, voice soft as the folds of her gown, “are lovely. Margot, let me and my house prepare the bridal bouquet and other florals, please. You’ve already offered up so much.”

Elain didn’t think she was breathing. Not with the way her entire body seemed to contract and retract and her heart beat an entirely new tempo. She kept her eyes trained on her mother, chin firm mouth set. When finally her mother looked away Elain felt only a bit of relief. But wondered if she’d truly won any sort of battle.

“That would be delightful, Dierdre,” Mother said. Her ire, for the time being, had gone and Elain managed a deep, calming breath.

.*.*.

Dawn rose bright and warm on the day of the wedding. It was a good sign. A welcome sign. Many ladies faced woeful downpours during these early months of spring, many forced to postpone parties and honeymoons because the roads grew too muddy in some stretches between cities. Not today.

Pale blue sky stretched for miles without even a whisper of cloud to interrupt it. That combined with the thriving green laughs, full trees, and vibrant flower bushes of the Archeron gardens—it truly was a beautiful day for a wedding.

And yet, Elain’s stomach churned with anxiety.

She rose far before her lady’s maid came to collect her and was found seated before the bay windows that opened over the back gardens. It was usually her favorite place to sit and reflect. She could spend hours there as the morning passed in lazy fervor.

Never again.

The door of her room burst open without warning, nearly sending Elain to floor in a panic. She should have known her mother would come and make such an entrance.

“Are you not up? Elain, we don’t have long to prepare you for the wedding.” Mother swept through the room with various maids flowing after carrying fabrics, cosmetics, and other such items.

They in fact had hours yet to prepare meant nothing to a mama when her daughter was set to marry the son of a duke.

“It’s still early—” Elain wanted her mother to see reason and just give her a moment longer to herself. It was in vain and soon enough, Elain was thrust into a heated tub and was scrubbed down with salts and oils and pumice stones. She would be radiant if it was the last thing Mother did.

After bathing, her hair was taken over by brushes and pins. The curls could get rather unruly, even when wet. It didn’t help that mother hated Elain’s hair as it was. Thankfully Nuala took over on styling her hair while her mother focused on the dress.

Elain hadn’t had time to appreciate the gown during all the visits with the seamstress. She’d been too nervous over her upcoming nuptials that she hadn’t paid attention to any of the details. Which, she supposed, she should be upset over. She’d thought about her wedding often as a girl and young woman. She’d planned every detail in her own might, straight to the point of what design her shoes would be. This was supposed to be a remarkable day.

But as she had lotions applied to her skin and powders pressed to her nose, Elain felt like a stranger in her own body. None of this was the way she pictured it.

“Where are Nesta and Feyre?” Elain finally asked her mother. Maybe with her sisters present, some of her trepidation would ease.

Her mother waved a hand dismissively. “They don’t need to be here.”

“They are to stand with me, are they not?” Elain asked. Maybe if Nesta were here Elain could glean some of her sister’s iron will and feel even a modicum of strength.

“Your sisters are hardly worthy examples of virtue, Elain,” Mother said. She pulled Elain from the vanity and into the center of the room, stripping the dressing gown Elain’s shoulders without any warning. “Now come along, step into the dress, we need to ensure there aren’t any last-minute adjustments.”

Elain bit down hard on her tongue. Maybe once she was married, she needn’t be around her mother so much. She could send for her sisters as often as she liked. She could have a house to herself and a strange sort of friendship with her husband and child—no children. That wouldn’t be an option, would it? Lucien wouldn’t be under pressure to bare an heir. Not when he still had four remaining brothers. Besides, they were just friends.

“Arms, Elain!”

Elain lifted her arms for her gown’s sleeves.

Well, she could still have a fulfilling life, couldn’t she? She didn’t need children. Nesta may have a child and Feyre was still unwed. And she could always have her other hobbies, Lucien seemed amendable in that regard. She could bake, she could garden, she could host scores of her own parties.

“Elain, could you at least try to appear amiable?”

Wrenched from her thoughts, Elain lifted her chin and plastered a comfortable smile on her face. She was dressed in a pale gown of lilac and lace, the sleeves long as they flowed to her wrists. The waist line cinched in a daring way against her ribs and the corset was tight enough to create the illusion of a full bust. Elain turned to the mirrors that had been brought in for this exact moment.

She did her best to keep her smile in place, but she just couldn’t make it reach her eyes. Her hair was twisted up and out of the way pinned with gold and orange blossoms. And while a lovely style, Elain wished her hair could have at least hung a little bit so she could feel a touch more like herself. The gown itself was beautiful and complimented her pale skin and slim figure. At least her mother insisted on keeping with the fashions.

And yet…and yet…Elain felt nothing like herself.

“You really must smile better then that, Elain.” Mother tutted and continued to move about as she straightened none existent lines and plucked invisible bits of lint from the dress.

“Yes, ma’am.” And she did smile then, that practiced one that mama always said made her pretty.

She smiled as her lady’s maid applied a final round of blush to her cheeks. She smiled as her mother pinned a necklace of sapphires to her neck (hardly Elain’s first choice). She even smiled as rose water splashed against her wrists and she was ushed from her room for what would certainly be the last time.

No matter how badly she wished it—time would not slow down. Not even as Mother ushered her through the house and to the waiting. Not even as Mother barely explained what would happen during the wedding night consummation. Not even as the chapel came closer and closer.

Time was a thief, Elain supposed. Plucking memories straight from your mind and burying them deeper until they were barely whisps behind your eyes. It was thief and she a mere victim.

By the time the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the chapel, Elain was in a fit of worry. She was certain the rose water had worn off thanks to an unholy amount of sweat shimmering against her skin. That would be blamed on the unnatural heat of the day.

As a footman helped her mother down from the carriage, Elain nearly slammed the door shut again and yelled from the driver to hurry on and get as far away from here as he could manage.

It was to no avail because her father, having arrived earlier with the guests, was already reaching in for her. As if someone else were taking over her body, Elain accepted the outstretched hand and stepped into full daylight.

She would have thrown up, right there on the church steps, if her eyes hadn’t caught on the flowers. Vibrant and colorful, the steps of the church were lined with intricate displays of flowers. Foxglove and marigolds. Pansies and dahlias. Lilac and sunflowers. The sunflowers. Elain had to stop and stare at the incredible sight of them all. Their bright yellow petals wove in and out of the various floral arrangements. It was beautiful.

Elain very nearly burst into tears as the sight. She was so caught up in it that she almost missed Nesta who had been waiting along the steps of the church as well. In her arms she held a simple bouquet of sunflowers and greenery.

“Lady Vanserra insisted this be for you,” Nesta said. Her mouth barely upturned into a knowing smile.

Elain accepted the flowers, not trusting herself to speak.

Nesta wore a simple gown of pale yellow with her hair in its usual twisting braids. As always, she looked lovely and elegant, perfectly poised for what was about to come. Elain had a feeling she was supposed to be waiting inside, but was immensely grateful her sister had disobeyed their mother for this.

“Mother, shall we walk together?” Nesta asked, with all the innocence of a viper. “Feyre is already at the front and the groom seems very eager to see his bride.”

There was no other choice then to follow through on the suggestion (that really wasn’t a suggestion at all). Mother and Nesta climbed the chapel steps and through the waiting doors.

That, at least, was a relief. Elain didn’t think she’d be able to walk down the aisle if her mother were at her side yammering the entire way. Her mother had all her expectations lined up in a perfect little row for Elain to follow through on. Her father, however, did not. Oh, he had his own expectations but he kept those quiet and to himself. It was far easier to ignore his judgements that way.

Elain only had time for a single, steadying breath before her father reached out for her arm and tucked it against his.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “For all of us.”

How was she to respond to that? Was it right to foist her down the aisle to a man she barely knew? Was it right to ignore her own wishes because he had made mistakes? Was it right to place this duty upon her shoulders and expect her to make things right in a world that looked down upon her sex with suck ilk and ire?

Elain sucked in a breath, the sweet aroma of the flowers calming her unease. Lady Vanserra had outdone herself. With the beautiful arrangements, the sheer amount of flowers, and the simple sunflowers that sang their bright joy on an otherwise bothersome day.

Everything would be fine, wouldn’t it? The flowers had to be a good omen.

Father prodded her along the steps, up and up and up.

And the sun was shining. Elain loved the sun.

The doors of the chapel were thrown open wide.

And Lucien wasn’t terrible, was he?

Cedar oil mixed with incense cloyed through the chapel and Elain had to stop to draw in a full breath. Even when her father very nearly dragged her along to the start of the aisle. Her heart was beat heavily in her chest that Elain could feel her blood actually moving through her veins. She could feel each of her pulse points practically on fire. It didn’t help that her head pounded just as hard.

There was no escape, was there? No where to run. No where to hide.

And while Elain was quite skilled at fading away and letting other dote upon her, skilled at ignoring a problem that was annoying and otherwise uninteresting, skilled at being nothing more than Elain—she did not, could not, let that define her now.

The soft chatter of voices came to a pause as Elain and her father approached the top of the aisle. She couldn’t make out anything other than the thin strip of blue carpet that led all the way to the front where the priest waited—rather impatiently. But she glazed right over that because beside the old man with his stiff cravat was Lucien.

Lucien stood tall and proud, his dark suit fitting him well. His red hair was swept out of his face, leaving his high cheekbones and sharp eyes on display. The sight nearly drew Elain to a stop. His eyes were only for her as she began to walk down the aisle.

Father set a quick pace down the aisle; far quicker then what Elain wanted. If she tried to slow down herself, she was sure he’d drag her to the alter, appearances be damned.

So Elain did the only thing she could—she kept her eyes trained on Lucien. She didn’t know what drew her to him. He represented nearly everything she dreaded. She’d thought so many times about what her future would hold and the shape it would take. She’d always known she would marry, always known her life would lead to this point.

But when it was by the forceful hand of her father, when she didn’t have a say in who her life would be entrusted—everything inside her wanted to rebel. Even though it had only been a scant month between the marriage announcement and the actual wedding (Mother would only keep up appearances where it mattered), Elain found that every thought she’d had for her future dried up like an un-watered garden in the summer months.

Lucien remained steady before her.

It was strange because she still felt a simmering rage towards Lucien for this entire mess. And his stupid mouth. But she couldn’t help and also remember the kindness he’d shown by offering to be her friend. A small offer that allowed her a modicum of peace for this betrothment. The warring emotions didn’t help calm her raging heart nor her flipping stomach. In fact, they made it impossible to even walk in a straight line.

If it weren’t for the hard certainty in Lucien’s gaze or the firm set of his jaw, Elain may have tested her father’s grip. As it was, she remained focused on Lucien’s calm nature. He was holding himself together remarkably well. Elain wondered if he were dreading this as much as she was. He’d flirted and teased her enough while stuffed in that closet that she didn’t think she knew what the real him was like. Would she ever know him?

Before she had time to even digest that thought, she was standing right before him. Numb, Elain let her father pass her hand off to Lucien whose fingers interlaced almost perfectly with hers. It was such an intimate touch that Elain felt heat creep up her skin, replacing the cold dread of just a moment before.

She looked up into Lucien’s eyes as he studied her. It was just a moment, a singular moment that was just theirs. Her father had retreated and the priest yet to speak. And in that moment, everything else faded to nothing.

“What would you ask of me, as your friend?”

“To trust me, to talk to me.”

His words from that night weeks ago echoed in her head and Elain let herself imagine that everything would work out in the end. She gave his hand a single squeeze and then turned to the priest who waited impassively.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest said, voice raised as if he could reach the heavens.

Elain didn’t listen. At least…she tried. But the longer he spoke, the faster the blood in her ears pounded and lighter her head felt. Truly, all she could focus on was the steady feel of Lucien’s hand in hers. So big and warm she almost couldn’t understand it. And there was the scrape of calluses that she finally realized couldn’t have been there because a duke’s son did not work with his hands. His skin should have been smooth, soft, unblemished. Yet here he was with a rough patch on his thumb that moves in slow circles on the back of her hand.

It was so distracting that Elain almost missed the prompt from the priest to accept her marriage vows.

“I do.” She could only speak in a mere whisper. And truth be told, she was surprised anything came out to begin with.

As the priest reiterated the marriage vows to Lucien, Elain finally managed to raise her gaze to him. He was already watching her, his russet eyes bright in the pale light that filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the chapel. She’d never known a pair of eyes could hold such care or tenderness, never known it to be directed to her.

“I do.” Lucien replied to words Elain had long stopped trying to listen to.

“Then with a kiss shall this marriage be sealed and your lives entwined till death.” The priest retreated only a step, proffering a faux taste of modesty.

Elain wondered briefly if she should have let herself think about Lucien’s lips just a little bit. Especially considering he was moving toward her now, one hand already reaching out to cup her chin while the other moved from her hand to her elbow.

As Lucien dipped closer, Elain took a sharp breath. He smelled of cinnamon and sunshine, intoxicating to her as she found she couldn’t take a normal breath to save her life.

“Breathe, Elain,” Lucien whispered just for her. “it’ll be over before you know it.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him. It wasn’t a silly little kiss she was worried about. Everything that came after was a different story.

She never got the chance to say anything as Lucien took the opportunity to kiss her.

It was utterly chaste and hardly scandalous, but Elain could feel it pierce against her very soul. It was in the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the feel of his fingers brushing against her chin. She’d never been kissed like that before. All her dalliances with Graysen Nolan were wet and quick and more for his benefit than hers. This was something else entirely and it set her heart fluttering with unmanageable energy.

Thankfully, Lucien was able to keep himself composed as he was able to pull himself away, all the while maintaining graceful composure. He grinned down at her, as if knowing what all was going on through her head.

“See? Not so bad.”

“You’re an ass,” she hissed, utterly forgetting they were in a chapel.

If possible, his stupid smile stretched even wider at her irreverence. He tugged her hand to lead them down the aisle. Elain had never been more grateful for the ridiculous superstition of the bride and groom not acknowledging their guests until outside of the church. With any luck her mother would be so hard pressed to send them on their honeymoon (for the sole act of baby-making) that Elain wouldn’t have to see any of them again for at least a month. Maybe two if she was lucky.

They passed through the tall oak doors and into the bright spring sunlight. Elain had never felt happier to be outside and in the open air as she did in that moment.

“Never a good sign that your bride is desperate to get outside, eh?” a chipper, rather proud voice, spoke up from the behind them. Elain nearly screamed, she hadn’t expected anyone to be so close behind them. But she turned to find it only to be Jurian Renault, Lucien’s best man. The man, one of the most decorated officers in England, grinned broadly as he dashed a hand through his thick brown hair.

“Jurian,” Lucien said, with a bit of resignation accompanied by an eye roll. But Elain didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched in amusement. “And where is your better half? I’d have liked her up there with me more than you.”

Hardly offended, Jurian merely sighed. “Alas, my darling counterpart is unwell this morning. But she sends her congratulations and will be more than happy to offer the summer manor for your honeymoon, should you need the accommodations.”

If Lucien was as shocked as she was by the offer, he made no notice, only looked down at Elain with a raised brow. He was deferring to her?

“It would be nice to get out of London,” she said slowly, hoping to sound more diplomatic that she was feeling. She would run halfway across the world if it got her away from her mother for a time.

Lucien squeezed her hand in understanding. He nodded once and looked back to his friend. “The quiet would do us both well.”

“You would find no better place,” Jurian assured her. He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the wedding party and guests finally emerged from the church. “I’ll send word to the house keeper to begin preparations for your arrival.”

It was all he had time to say before Elain was swept into a hug by Feyre (it was rather undignified a reaction and Mama made sure to make it known). Elain wouldn’t let the moment be ruined, however. She returned her sister’s embrace as tightly as she could. They were soon joined by Nesta who, much to Elain’s surprise had tears in her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her sister cry.

“If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Nesta said fiercely. And Elain was inclined to believe her.

.*.*.*.

Much to Elain’s delight, Lucien managed to usher them on their honeymoon not long after that. Jurian and Vassa’s summer manor was a day’s ride away, meaning they would need plenty of time to get their reasonably. They would end up spending a night at an inn all the same, but Elain could have kissed Lucien all over again for getting them out of the city as quickly as he had.

Her sisters had seen to collecting and packing her things, most of which would be delivered to her new home with Lucien. It would only be a small cottage near the duke’s home, but it would be well enough for Elain. So long as it put distance between her own family.

But she wouldn’t worry about any of that for a blessed month.

Even though the carriage, provided them by the duke and duchess, had just barely left the main roads of the city, Elain found herself plastered to the window watching the change in scenery. The large buildings and homes bled away into sweeping hills and fields of grass. The actual road was still in decent enough condition that the ride was smooth and even. It afforded her the peace of a settled stomach as the world swept by.

“Have you never come this way?” Lucien asked from his seat across from her.

Elain settled back, straightening her skirts. Here she was acting like an over eager child. She needed to show grace, decorum.

“Only once when I was a child,” she said, “my aunt lives out here, I believe we’ve passed her road. But it’s been sometime since I’ve traveled.”

She couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice. She loved to travel. At least, she expected she would. Her limited exposure to the world had only sustained that to her. Meeting new people, experiencing new customs, seeing the beauty of new lands—it all sounded magical and wonderful.

“Hmm,” was all Lucien said. Though, he still watched her closely.

It was the first time they’d been alone together since the broom closet debacle and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to act. He was her husband who was supposed to be her friend and not her husband. Their relationship would take some time to sort out and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic herself. She wasn’t even sure how to talk to him at all.

“Don’t you enjoy travel?” she asked, because that’s what a good friend did. A good friend was concerned and involved and knowledgeable of their person. “I’ve heard you did quite a bit of it.”

Lucien stretched out of his side of the carriage, his long legs bumping against hers but he made no effort to change his posture. He looked so utterly relaxed that Elain didn’t know what to make of it. He’d always been so meticulously put together, so at ease with life around him. Yet here he was now with a slightly rumpled appearance and casual.

“I have,” he agreed, “my father needed someone to represent our house and since I couldn’t serve in the military, that’s wear I fell in.” A wry smile flashed across his handsome face. “It was never to places I would have liked, unfortunately.”

There was hidden meaning in his words that Elain couldn’t quite decipher. She’d been witness to these offhanded remarks before, silently questioned them.

“Well, then we will need to some travelling of our own,” Elain said.

“Will we?” Another raise of his brow.

Elain felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. She’d misspoken, it seemed. Or she just spoke of things she needn’t have. Or been too presumptuous.

“Well we’re newlyweds,” she replied as if that was a good response. “We’re afforded our liberties. Besides, it’ll keep us away from prying eyes.”

She was thinking exclusively of her mother but really the entire -ton could be included in that. As soon as they returned, she knew there would be a bid out for whether she was pregnant or not. A thought that both terrified and upset her.

“What is it?” Lucien asked.

Elain snapped her eyes back to his face unaware her gaze had wandered. Nor that her brow had furrowed so thoroughly.

“Pardon?” She straightened, sitting up straighter, clasping her hands, and smoothing any doubt or frustration from her expression.

Lucien leaned forward; elbows braced on his knees. He regarded her with a mute expression. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not,” she said primly, smoothing her skirts again.

“Liar,” he said.

Elain gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“You are outright lying to me, my lady,” he said, shaking his head morosely. “Not even a day in to our marriage and my wife doesn’t trust me.”

My wife.

Elain nearly shivered at the words. Which was a ridiculous reaction to have. Heavens above.

“I don’t even know your middle name,” she replied, “how can I trust someone if I don’t know that, at least?”

His stoic façade splintered as he grinned. She did like when he smiled like that.

“I don’t know yours. So I believe we are at an impasse.”

He was taunting her.

“Ah, but see, you’re the one who convinced me to take part in this arrangement, which means you owe me.”

Elain found herself leaning closer to him with each word. She couldn’t necessarily help it, being drawn to him. There was something about him that she couldn’t shake, an itch she couldn’t scratch. Being close certainly helped. But by this point she was impossibly close. Close enough that she could see the outlines of his scars and the way the faded into his skin. She could see the golden flecks of his eyes that melted into rich brown.

“I owe you?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Lucien only shook his head, that infuriating smile remaining on his lips.

The rest of the carriage ride passed by slowly, not that Elain minded. She loved watching the world pass by, loved seeing the way the terrain rolled together, loved the way the sky faded from blue to a hazy gold and flushed pinked.

It was only then that she remembered they would be stopping for the night at an inn. Her heartbeat kicked up and she felt her body flood with heat and then an icy chill. She knew what the wedding night was about and what to expect, but she and Lucien hadn’t discussed that. They were friends. Friends.

“It looks like we’re pulling into the inn now,” Lucien spoke up. He paused a moment and then, as though reading her thoughts, continued to speak. “I’m sure we can arrange for two rooms.”

Yes. No. Before Elain could think of a proper response the carriage rolled to a stop before the inn. A footman hopped down from his perch almost instantly to open the door.

Cool night air filtered inside the carriage, reminding Elain just how chill the season could still be. She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders as Lucien exited. He reached back with a proffered hand to help Elain in her decent. She accepted, grasping his fingers in what would be the first time they’d touched since the wedding. Lucien waited until he was sure she was grounded before release her hand and instructing the footman and driver of their duties for the evening.

Just behind, another carriage approached, this one filled with their belongings and their respective servants.

“I’ll make sure your room is ready and have dinner sent up,” Lucien told her. He kept her hand tight in his grasp drawing her closer to his side. She had to admit that she didn’t quite mind the protective nature. Not right now at least.

“Thank-you,” Elain said. She didn’t let him pull away either. Not until they’d entered the inn and the keeper’s wife immediately swept Elain of with her.

Elain cast a single glance over her shoulder to find Lucien watch her as she departed. She’d told herself that she wasn’t going to look back, told herself she didn’t need to. But she did all the same, her breath catching at the soft look in his gaze.

She stomped down the feelings that rose in her chest, hard. She did not need to feel things for him. Especially not when they were still figuring out who they were to one another. Married or not, friends or not, they still didn’t know each other.

The innkeeper’s wife led Elain and her lady’s maid upstairs to a room. For once, Elain was grateful for her husband’s reputation and status as a duke’s son, it allowed a bit of an expedited process to get a room.

The room in question was a modest size, but not small by any means. It boasted a spacious area with a large bed and fireplace already crackling happily. A smaller doorway led to where a wash bin and the chamber pot were kept. A footman dropped one of Elain’s trunks at the end of the bed before bowing out. Immediately, her maid set to readying her night clothes.

“My lady,” Nuala said, voice chipper as it always way, “I can prepare a bath if you’d like before Lord Vanserra—”

“No,” Elain said quickly. “It’s been a long day, just getting ready for bed is enough.”

She ignored the way her skin flushed and the sudden heat that washed over her. She didn’t want to think at all about what her wedding night was supposed to be. All she wanted was to get in her nightgown and go to bed and put this day behind her.

Nuala was just beginning to plait her hair for bed when there was a soft knock at the door.

Elain froze in her seat before the vanity. Nuala gave her a significant look through the mirror, which she promptly ignored. Instead, Elain tied off the braid herself and stood, running her hands down her nightdress. It wasn’t scandalous by any means, a simple silk thing with lace hems. She hadn’t even bothered to get anything nicer.

“Enter,” Elain said. At least her voice didn’t warble. She tugged on her robe for good measure as she stood in the center of the room. Nuala cleaned the vanity and tucked her dress away without a sound.

The door opened to Lucien. He didn’t enter the room completely, only remained in the doorway.

“Lady Vanserra,” he said, telling her his own valet was with him as well. “It seems the inn is limited on rooms.”

It took a long stretch of silence before Elain grasped his meaning.

“Of course,” she said, “come in. I’ve finished my preparations.”

The door opened a bit wider and Lucien entered, his valet and a footman behind him. The valet held a tray of food and the footman one of Lucien’s own trunk. While the footman left immediately, the valet remained. He held on to the tray, standing dutifully out of the way.

“Set the tray on the bed,” Elain instructed him. “The washroom is available for Lord Vanserra to make his own preparations. Nuala, you’re dismissed, go get some rest.”

Both servants obeyed with efficiency. The valet extracting a few of Lucien’s items to take to the washroom.

With perhaps five minutes to herself, Elain sat on the bed and grabbed a bowl of stew and roll that were waiting for her. It was a simple meal; the stew had thick chunks of beef and potatoes, the roll light and buttery. Her mother would have turned her nose to such a meal served in such a way, but Elain quite enjoyed it.

She wondered if she could finish and move the tray from the vanity and slip into bed to pretend she was asleep. She barely ran through that checklist before the washroom door opened again. Shame, she would have liked to avoid anymore awkward interactions that night.

Lucien dismissed his valet and when the door clicked shut, he released a long sigh.

“Tired?” Elain asked. The question slipped out before she could stop it. She didn’t know why it felt so strange asking him a question, so strange venturing into whatever this would be.

“It was a long day,” Lucien said, a wry smile twisting his lips. He wore a loose linen night shirt and a pair of cotton trousers, nothing elaborate. She didn’t know why she’d expect anything different.

“Well have a seat and eat something,” Elain told him. “You must be as hungry as I am.”

He paused a moment as if debating to himself what he wanted to do. He came to some sort of conclusion before crossing to the opposite sit of the bed and taking a seat on the edge. The bed sank beneath his weight. When he took his own bowl of soup and roll, they fell into a companiable silence.

It did nothing to ease Elain’s anxiety. Sure, when she was able to garden or bake and she could fall into a meditative state as she worked. She liked having her thoughts to herself, liked being able to think about whatever she wanted. But now, she felt a surge of energy building in the room.

“How are you feeling?” Lucien asked, his bowl half drained in a matter of minutes.

“Fine,” Elain murmured, “just tired.”

She tore a piece of her roll, nibbling it. There was still plenty of space between them, she on her side of the bed and he on his.

“If this is making you uncomfortable—” he began.

“Lucien,” she cut him off and smiled softly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

When he set his finished bowl down, Elain thought that would be the end of it. That he would clear the dishes and set the tray out in the hall for a maid to collect. Instead, he reached over and took her hand in his. Just like at their wedding, when their fingers touched, she felt a spark and gooseflesh pebbled on her skin.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

There was an earnestness in his eyes that had her heart squeezing.

“Of course,” she replied, doing her best to push against the rising heat in her cheeks. She set her own bowl down and stuffed the remainder of her roll in her mouth before sweeping the tray up to take to the door herself.

She thought she’d managed to temper her emotions by the time she turned back around. Only when she did, she found Lucien was looking at her with a small frown that clouded his features. Elain wondered if she’d said something wrong or misspoke in some way.

“You,” he paused a moment, “I didn’t coerce you into something you did not want?”

“No, Lucien.” Her heart squeezed again, more painful this time as she thought on his words. “H-have I already been such a miserable friend you regret the offer?”

“No,” he said. Again, he reached for her hand, this time pulling her closer until her knees bumped against the bed. “No regrets.”

She wondered, briefly, if he was lying to her. Not that it would surprise her if he were. They’d been friends barely a month, married less than a day—what reason did he have to trust her?

“If you would prefer, I can sleep on the floor,” he said, “let you have the bed.”

“Nonsense,” she said immediately, “you’re the son of a duke. You’re not sleeping on the floor. The bed is perfectly big enough for the both of us.”

Even if it would only be sleeping, she wouldn’t be alone in bed. Not on her wedding night.

Lucien seemed reluctant to agree, but when Elain fixed him with a glare, he obliged and scooted to the other side of the bed.

With far more courage than she ever thought she could muster, Elain settled into bed beside him.

“We never did establish any rules, did we?” she asked, busying herself with flattening the wrinkles in the bedspread.

“Rules?” Lucien repeated.

“Of what—of how—” She bit her words off and stared forward into the fire at the opposite end of the room. “Of where we go from here. I know there are expectations for us, for you.”

“I don’t care about anyone’s expectations,” he said, “we don’t have to define ourselves by anyone. Least of all—”

He trailed off and Elain looked at him.

“Least of all?” she prodded.

“Nothing.” Lucien turned down the oil lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a cold darkness, save the low burning fire. “Let’s sleep, Elain.”

Elain wasn’t pleased with his non-answer. She kept looking at him in the darkness willing him to say something else, willing herself to work up the courage to speak up herself. But nothing came out. Hunkering down in bed, Elain turned on her side and closed her eyes to a dreamless sleep.

#elucien #elain x lucien #acotar

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