#hes helping nesta on her little floating raft

[separatist-apologist]

Merman Cassian!? Do continue...

He has a shark tail

[separatist-apologist]

Golden

I once believed love would be burning red. But it's golden

Summary: To save his people, Lucien Vanserra will marry his most hated enemy.

But to love her? Well, that's another thing entirely

My humble @elucienweek2022 submission

13k words

Chapter 4: It's Golden

Read More: AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

10k words

She could feel his eyes on her. Watching. If she turned her head a little to the left, Elain was certain she would have seen him looking through the window. Lucien was trapped indoors, still pouring over the map she’d helped flesh out. Arina turned her head, floating lazily in the same pool Elain and Vassa were in. She sighed when she realized Elain was not listening to her latest recap of Eris Vanserra’s letter but instead trying to will Lucien to come out to the pool and join them. 

She’d put on a much more revealing swimsuit than usual, a bright orange one that all but showed every inch of her ass and most of her breasts. Elain had it on good authority that orange was Lucien’s favorite color. Not that he’d said so but Elain had begun to watch him since they returned, taking note of the things he said, even if he didn’t say them to her. Lucien was still embroiled in the drama to the east where her sister was being held. She knew her father was trying to bring Nesta back without resorting to war, a first for him.

It was only a matter of time, she suspected. Nesta was the last holdout, the only unmarried daughter. Elain and Feyre had married into royal families which she supposed soothed some of her fathers wounded pride but Cassian was none of those things.

“Hello, Elain.” Arina snapped her fingers in front of Elain’s face, dragging her back to reality. “Are you listening?”

“She’s too busy thinking about the prince,” Vassa teased, sliding from her raft into the cerulean water. It was especially hot with the promise of even warmer weather as they crept closer and closer towards summer. Elain joined Vassa, if only to dodge Arina’s question. 

“Tell us more of King Eris Vanserra, then,” Elain teased. “I don’t think I’ve heard how lovely his eyes are this morning.”

“Or how tall he is,” Vassa added while Arina sat on her raft, crossing one toned leg over the other.

“Tell us again how he uses his mouth—”

“Okay, alright,” Arina snapped. “And what of Jurian and his mouth?”

Vassa laughed. “He’s got it on me every single night–”

“That’s…that’s a lot,” Elain interrupted before they could turn to her and demand reciprocity. She’d never get used to the way they talked or how casual they were. “Should we—”

“Elain!” Lucien’s voice barked from the terrace. He strolled into the sunlight, dressed in his fighting leathers. His sword was strapped against his belt and Elain couldn’t help but think of him as the same man she’d once seen in that war tent scrawling his name begrudgingly on a treaty. “I need you.”

Arina and Vassa immediately dissolved into giggles, splashing water at Elain as she hurried for the steps. "He needs you," they joked from behind her while Lucien ignored them entirely. Elain's cheeks burned with embarrassment. A soft rumble of nausea swept through her chest at the serious look etched in his features. She reached for him to steady herself. She was fine, he was fine, she reminded herself. Still, the old fears still lingered, and it took a moment for the blooming spots of black in her vision to clear away. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, hating how breathless she sounded. Lucien’s eyes swept over her body, face slackened for a moment. 

“Yeah Lucien!” Vassa’s voice taunted from the pool. “Is everything alright?”

Arina’s delighted laugh seemed to drag him back to reality and Elain, still embarrassed, wrapped her arms around her bare stomach.

“All fine,” he mumbled. “You should change before we go. I’ll ah…I’ll wait outside.”

Elain didn’t know what to make of any of that, of his reluctance, of how strange and stilted he seemed, or even the fact that he looked ready to ride into battle. Some part of her wondered if perhaps he didn’t plan to go back to Velaris and he wanted to say goodbye.. With that in mind, Elain chose a white and silver dress and a beaded cord that would wrap her thick hair off her head while letting the thick curls tumble in a tail down her back. 

Lucien was antsy when she found him, pacing back and forth. He paused for the second time that day. “You look nice. Like a princess,” he added, reaching for her hand as he always did to press a kiss against the skin.

“I am a princess,” she reminded him as they stepped back into the warmth. Lucien’s smile was affection.

“Yes, how could I forget,” he agreed. 

“Where are we going?” Elain frowned when he turned her to the stables. Just one horse was waiting, saddled with light supplies. His horse. No Velaris, then. Lucien helped her up, swinging a toned, exposed leg into the saddle after her while Elain pretended she didn’t like he continued to ride like this. Elain was perfectly capable of sitting on her own horse, had been taught to gallop and trot on her own as a little girl. And yet when he was settled behind her, body nestled between his thighs, arms around her body, Elain found she far preferred this sort of travel, even if it was slower.

“The ruins,” Lucien murmured, his breath warm on her neck. 

“I didn’t know there were ruins nearby,” Elain squeaked. It had been too long since they’d spent any substantial amount of time together. Having returned three weeks earlier, Lucien had immediately retreated into politics and subterfuge, pouring over the map he’d had her finish on the ship. She often saw him and Jurian walking about, heads close together as they spoke, twin images of the serious prince and general she supposed they were. He still came to bed but it was often later than she had the ability to keep her eyes open. She’d jerk awake in the night to find herself wrapped around him before he vanished in the early hours of morning. Within all that, Lucien had taken to waking her with his lips and tongue and hands, settling between her thighs until she realized her pleasurable dreams were really just him unable to help himself. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it…it was that she missed him.

Lucien, unaware of her thoughts, continued to keep his mouth practically glued to her neck as he continued, “There was an ancient city nearby. If it existed in the forest or the forest came to claim it, I couldn’t say.” “Why are we going?”

Lucien led them out of the city before he responded. “I haven’t seen you in too long,” he finally murmured when there was nothing but the sun beating down on them to witness his words. “And I’ve missed you.”

Elains heart sped up at the admission. “So have I,” she told him, trying to control her breathing. Was three months all it took to turn her from the good, northern daughter she’d been raised to be and his creature? She hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt as she’d told him about each main road, each city and village and town and the ports dotted along the coast. She’d told him what they produced, where wealth was concentrated and in what families. If Lucien wanted to cause problems, he had the information to do it. 

She’d long abandoned her thoughts about whether telling him was wrong. It didn’t matter, not anymore. Not when her father had given her up and then tried to take her back without considering what he’d even done in the first place. No apology, no remorse. It was merely an expectation she would suffer for his war, for his obsession with conquering the continent and making himself High King.

And Graysen…her once great love. She couldn’t forget the rage in his eyes, how furious he’d been when he realized she hadn’t done what he said. He, too, could give her up, could trade her like she was worth nothing but the moment she expressed agency or desire she became the traitor, the problem, the out of control woman who had to be brought to heel violently. She resented that he viewed her as property only, an extension of the things he owned and could give away. 

Lucien kissed her cheek as they began to crest back up a hill. She could see the expanse of woodland in the distance though it was a larger, wooden tower that dominated her line of vision that fascinated her. “What is that?”

“It’s a beacon,” he replied, tilting his head so his red hair spilled over his shoulders. “It hasn’t been used in centuries though we maintain it, just in case. If there ever was an invasion of Naxos, someone would stay behind and light it to warn the other cities. We don’t hold our army here—when we aren’t fighting, soldiers go home.”

“Stay behind?”

Lucien kissed her cheek again, his hand rubbing against her stomach. “Anyone who could stay and defend us would. The rest would take the tunnels out towards the east to Rhodes. It’s our easternmost city. From there we could flee to another continent or to Velaris. It hasn’t happened in living memory,” he added, perhaps sensing her tension. “And you, as princess, would leave with the everyone else. It would be your duty to ensure their safety, just as it would be my mothers.”

“Who stays?”

He shrugged. “A volunteer if we could spare one. They’d have to close the tunnel, hiding it from invaders, and ride out to light the beacon. It’s a suicide mission. It used to be the steward of the city, from what I understand, but…”

But their current steward was so old Elain didn’t think he could get himself in a saddle. 

“It’s not possible,” he added after a moment. “The moment someone steps foot over the border, beacons go up. We’re always well warned and well prepared. It’s why fighting is concentrated to the first fifty miles of land between the border. The north has never gotten any further and they never will. Sleep safe, princess, knowing your home is well defended.”

“Is there a reason you keep calling me princess,” she teased as they approached closer to the forest. She expected him to plunge into the woodland, to take her directly to the ruins that lay within, but Lucien halted a good fifty feet away to slide out of his saddle. He offered her his hand, ever the gentlemen, before pulling her back against his chest, arms around her neck. Fingers swept her hair off her shoulder so he could tilt her, his mouth against her ear.

“Do you remember when you asked if I would chase you?”

“Lucien,” she whispered, trying to turn in his arms but he didn’t budge. 

“I haven’t seen you in a long time. It’s given me time to plan this. I want you to run…I’ll give you a heads start before I come looking.”

“Am I to pretend you’re an invader?” she demanded, skin prickling with arousal. Lucien sucked in a breath.

“Yes,” he whispered. “We saw each other when I stepped into your city…you know what will happen if I catch you.”

“And what if I get lost?” she whispered. Lucien’s chuckle was dark, decadent. 

“I’ll find you.”

“But what if—”

“There is no possibility in which I don’t,” he whispered, lips caressing her skin. “And when I do, I’m going to tie you up and have my wicked way with you…and it’s going to take a long time, Elain.”

He waited for her to tell him no, to protest and remind him that princesses didn’t run through the woods to be rutted like an animal, and yet…and yet her whole body was pulled tighter than string at the thought, of exploring this danger with someone she could trust. 

“Afterwards we’ll sleep under the stars,” he added, his voice lightening. 

She could tell him no. It was that realization that had her pulling from his grasp. “If you lose me, I will be very angry with you,” she warned, inching away from him. Lucien’s entire face lit with predatory intent. 

“There is nowhere you could run within my borders where I would not find you,” he promised. He’d said as much the first night in Naxos when she’d begged him to let her go. Their eyes met and Elain backed another step towards the forest. She could just see it, in that moment. Her, standing on the gray flagstones of the city square as a foreign army swept through the gate. Horrified of what that meant, of what they’d do. He’d come in, every inch the warrior prince, eyes sweeping for his next move. They’d see each other and he’d smile, just like he was then. Elain pushed back yet again, heart hammering in her chest. 

“You don’t know my name,” Lucien reminded her, voice low—rough. “If I hear you say it, I’ll assume you want me to stop.”

“Do you know mine?”

He smiled wolfishly. “I’ve been watching you, Elain of Ellesmere, for a long time.”

It was those words, spoken with such low intensity against his smoldering eyes, that made her turn and run. Lucien’s rumbling laugh chased after her though he remained in the shadow of the dense, tall trees. It took Elain very little time to understand why Lucien wasn’t concerned about losing her. She was loud. Even when she slowed her steps in an attempt to be more intentional her sandals crunched against fallen leaves and twigs. The skirt of her dress dragged and lifting it did little to help. She was hyper aware of every little noise, every shift in the wind. 

It wasn’t fear that moved her forward but anticipation. In this fantasy, one where Elain wasn’t, somehow, the same person she’d been three months ago, she almost wanted to be caught. In real life she certainly did. She liked being outdoors but not like this. Not alone, tramping through underbrush and dirt by herself waiting for her husband to leap out from a bush and drag her to the ground.

Her steps slowed as time wore on, moving her forward over the hilly landscape. Elain didn’t stop until she stumbled over a loose piece of flagstone. Ruins, he’d said. Steps were carved into the hill, taking Elain up over jagged, loose stone crumbled away by time. Elain was breathless by the time she reached the top of the ruined palace. Weeds and vegetation had overtaken it, pushing through the once beautiful white marble floors, vines and flowers snaking around toppled pillars weathered away by wind and rain. Some walls were still somewhat intact, giving her the shape of this place. 

Elain took one step and Lucien, casual and lovely, strolled from behind one of the walls, one broad hand resting on his sword. “Princess,” he called, his voice rich and mocking. Elain had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. He’d known, then, that she’d end up here and had merely beaten her to it. How long had he stood her waiting? The sun was flickering in the distance, casting long shadows over everything it touched. He took a step towards her, prince of this place and Elain half wanted to give in, to pull him close and kiss him until he’d forgotten why they’d come out here in the first place.

She didn’t miss the way he had a length of rope casually slung over one shoulder, wound up just as he promised. He watched her with a feral kind of hunger, so clearly hoping she’d play along.

“Found you.”

“Come no closer,” Elain ordered, trying to embody the woman she’d once been. She held out one hand, as if that would keep him from her. Lucien’s grip on his sword tightened, his excitement evident. 

“Or what?” he taunted. “You’re an awfully long way from home.”

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll scream,” she whispered, skittering back a step when he came towards her with powerful strides. Too late, Elain remembered how she’d once stared at Jurian’s legs, the first set of male thighs she’d ever seen. She vowed to tell Vassa when she returned, certain her friend would find it amusing. 

Lucien looked genuinely pleased with how things were playing out. He licked his lips, ever the animal Graysen too often accused him of being and oh, some small part of her wished it were real. 

“Go ahead,” Lucien invited, raising his arms in invitation. “Scream as loud as you like. No one is coming for you.”

Elain darted out of his grasp, catching the way his muscles coiled. He missed her by inches, fingers grazing her skin and leaving burning heat in their wake. He laughed again, a sound that sent rippling shivers up her spine. He was so handsome, so lovely…all the wrong thoughts to be having in a scenario in which he was attempting to debauch the captured princess.

Lucien knew the ruins better than her, knew this sprawling, marble landscape like the back of his hand. He whirled around a pillar when she turned, hoping to find leaves and dirt beneath her feet, and caught her in his arms.

“Let me go,” she whispered, wanting very much the opposite. Lucien didn’t oblige—he wouldn’t until he heard his name spoken or some other words that convinced him they were no longer playing a game. 

“Not on your life,” Lucien growled, tongue sliding over the side of her neck. Elain exhaled, unable to hide her reaction to his touch even as he hauled her over his shoulders and began to walk. Her protests were half hearted though she knew he found it amusing when she pounded her fists against his leather clad torso. It was meant to stop a sword from harming him. She doubted she registered at all.

Elain was delighted to see he’d set up a little camp along unbroken marble floors, with blankets and other things that would make sleeping outdoors pleasant. “Stop it,” Lucien grumbled, breaking his character for a moment when she felt her press a kiss against the back of his bicep. 

“Let me go,” Elain ordered breathlessly, adopting her bossiest tone. “You have no right—”

Lucien pulled her from his shoulder, setting her to the ground in a mockery of rough handling. He straddled her hips, holding her wrists above her head while she writhed, if only to feel this hardness against her stomach.

“My husband will be coming for me.”

That amused him. Lucien clearly had not expected her to say such a thing. Eyes glittering, he tied the rope around her wrists just tight enough she couldn’t escape but not so tight her hurt her. 

“He’ll kill you when he finds you,” she added, if only to stroke his ego a little. 

Lucien leaned forward, hair tickling her face. “I’m sure he’ll try.”

Lucien secured the other end of his rope to a nearby pillar, holding her against the soft blankets she supposed they were pretending didn’t exist. When he finished, Lucien came to crouch beside her, making a big show of undoing his belt and tossing his sword aside. She hadn’t seen him undress in so long she didn’t want to turn away, though she supposed any reasonable lady would have.

“I’m starting to think your husband doesn’t fuck you well,” Lucien told her, amusement bright when he realized she fully intended to watch him remove his clothes. “Do you see something you like?

His sandals and shin guards went first, followed by the leather vambraces at his wrist. “You’re disgusting,” she lied, earning a delighted laugh for her trouble. “Is this how you treat women where you’re from?”

“My women like being treated this way,” he crooned, reaching for the straps on his shoulders. Elain’s breath caught in her throat when he unbuckled them, revealing the vast expanse of his flat, toned chest. He pulled against her rope, legs clamped together, suddenly desperate to touch him. 

The last of his clothes fell away, tossed to the side with his hidden bag revealing every perfect, golden inch of him. He was so lovely, so perfect. She whimpered, fingers curling to fists. Touch me, she wanted to scream, watching him still crouched beside her as he reached for the half hard cock between his legs. “I’ve been watching you.”

“What have you learned?” Elain replied. Lucien reached behind him for a knife, and too late, sliced open the length of her rather nice dress without warning. Elain gasped, her irritation obvious enough to draw a sheepish sigh from his lips. She hoped he’d thought to bring an extra or she’d be living in the ruins full time. 

Lucien tossed the knife above her head just out of read, letting his calloused hands slide down her body. “You spend your nights alone,” he whispered, lowering his head to her breasts. “Not a man in sight.”

“He’s busy,” she shuddered, trying so hard not to arch into his touch. 

“Too busy for his lovely wife?” Lucien teased, tongue brushing her peaked nipple. Elain’s gasp betrayed her as she supposed it might have if this had been real. 

“He is…an important…man,” she whispered. “He comes when he can.”

“Not often enough,” came Lucien’s swift reply. She wondered if it wasn’t an apology of sorts for letting duty get in the way of the attraction that existed between them. “I see you in your little swimsuits,” he added, kissing down her stomach, eyes watching.

“You have no right,” she lied. She only put them on hoping he’d look. 

“I want to rip them off with my teeth,” he groaned, pushing her once closed knees apart roughly, exposing her to the cool wind and his burning gaze. “Would you like that?”

“No.” Yes.

Lucien was so bad at this game now that he had her. She was certain no one on the planet liked licking as much as he did and was even more sure no marauder would have tied her up just to lap between her legs like he clearly meant to do. It didn’t stop her from writhing away from his mouth, prolonging the game for as long as possible while he lowered his head, fingers pulling her apart to really look.

“You’re already wet,” he informed her and as if to illustrate his point, slicked a finger through her. Elain twisted for all the good it did. Lucien was staring with single-minded fascination. Lucien’s thumb rubbed over her clit absently, using her own wet heat to lubricate the touch. “You want me.”

His voice was a touch too awed to be the fearsome, terrible warrior having his wicked way with the helpless princess.

“I don’t want you,” Elain lied, meeting his gaze. Lucien’s thumb never stopped its lazy circles.

“I’m going to take you from him,” Lucien finally said, his eyes asking her a question she couldn’t quite answer. “Make you my own.”

“You can try,” Elain replied simply, lost in that russet flame. “He’ll find you. He’ll kill you.”

He lowered his mouth, replacing his finger with his tongue with a shuddering groan. “You’re right,” he whispered, their game abandoned quicker than she thought he meant to. “I would find you. I would kill anyone who harmed you.”

That look was back in his eyes. Elain swallowed and for the first time, she was afraid.

LUCIEN:

Lucien was in far too deep. He had his wife tied up in the woods in what was meant to be a fun little game and already he’d given it up. It was her, so earnest and sweet, her words so breathless and defiant, that had wrecked it. 

My husband will be coming for me.

Lucien had never heard her refer to him as anything but Lucien. My husband. The words immediately bounced around his skull, hollowing him out. She’d said it with such conviction, eyes blazing. He’ll kill you when he finds you mingled with his own fury. I’ll fucking kill you!

What had happened to him? Who had he become? When had he become her acolyte, no better than Arina yelling at him on his ship as he sailed away? All he knew was the thought of another man tying up his wife in the forest suddenly enraged him, even though that man was him. Not that he had any intention of untying her. Elain’s body was stretched deliciously over a thick blue blanket, breasts pointed straight to the sky. Lucien rolled his neck for a moment, letting the heat of his breath mingle with the cool air of the rapidly darkening sky.

She lifted her hips, equally bad at their shared game. He should have dragged her to the ground the moment he saw her, should have lifted her skirt and plunged inside her. Lucien knew why. Graysen had gotten beneath his skin with his talk of animals, of how he was little better than a brute, a slave to his base instincts and yet Lucien could not stand, even in pretend, to hurt her.

There were words he needed to say but not then, not as he lowered his mouth to her body to truly enjoy her. They groaned at the same time in their shared relief, grateful to no longer playing. She was already wet, the heat of her a brand against his cheek. Lucien spread her wider, watching through his lashes as he licked. Elain had her head thrown back, one hand grasping her breast. He couldn’t stand it—Lucien needed her right then. There was no slow drag towards climax as he reached for his knife to cut her rope, only his frantic hands flipping her from her back to her chest, pulling her ass into the air.

She squealed when he slid inside her, rising onto her elbows. Lucien was hypnotized watching her ass cheeks bounce in time with her hanging breasts, nipples brushing the blanket beneath. Elain’s cunt gripped him like a silken fist, her body wrapped around his own like second skin. It was never going to be enough. Lucien could do nothing but give in, to pound against his wife. Each new thrust drew the wet sound of her arousal, driving him higher and higher towards climax. He was impossibly tight, holding back the urge to come until she did. It was a slow come down for Lucien, still pumping even when Elain collapsed to her stomach. When he did remove himself, still twitching and wanting and gripping the cheek of her ass, he watched his come spill out with a kind of lurid fascination.

Lucien joined her on the blanket, flinging out his arm so she’d crawl against him, breasts pressed softly against his body. Elain’s fingers were idle, dragging over the sparse hair on his chest, trailing down his stomach before running the pad of her finger over his still sticky cock.

“Are you upset I’m not pregnant?” she asked after a pleasant moment of just her touching him. Too often it was the other way around.

“It’ll happen,” Lucien replied easily. “I’m told it takes some time.”

“I felt you watching…your mother suggested raising my hips afterwards and let gravity do some of the work for me.”

Lucien wrinkled his nose. “My mother?” Why would she ever talk to Elain about that? Elain nodded, unaware of how uncomfortable it made him. 

“That’s why I was brought here, right? To have a baby?”

Ah fuck. He’d forgotten how they met, the way they’d been married on a battlefield to keep her fiance from being hung from the gates of a nearby city. Lucien felt shame wash over him. Reaching for her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm. 

“What if we got remarried?” he murmured. “In the city. Perhaps doing it right would cause the Gods to look upon us with favor.”

Liar. Perhaps he wanted to see her bathed in the traditional gold wedding attire, walking towards him like this had always been her choice. Perhaps he wanted a portrait commissioned so he might show his future sons how beautiful their mother had been on that day. Shining and, ideally, filled with love. For this place, it’s people…him, and the family they’d one day create. 

The thought didn't even register right away. Too blinded by her smile, by the way she was creeping closer, Lucien didn't dwell on why he was offering. Why he even wanted it. 

“I always wanted a wedding,” Elain admitted gently, scooting closer. Her fingers still drifted over him, drawing a soft moan when they danced against his thighs. “Wouldn’t that be a terrible burden on your time?”

“No,” he managed when she rubbed that soft pad against his aching balls, eliciting another labored breath. “It would be good for everyone to see you that way…for them to see us that way.”

“More games,” she teased, her hand wrapped around his cock. Lucien shook his head no but it didn’t matter if he was being honest or not. Why did she feel so good like this, sweetly teasing before doing little more than squeezing him with her petal soft hands? He arched against her hand, grateful when she began to stroke him, even if she was in no hurry. 

“Do you think it would help? Getting married again, I mean?”

“We never got married to begin with,” he groaned, reaching for one of her breasts just to touch something. “That wasn’t a marriage it was an acquisition.”

“So now that you own me—”

Lucien growled, grabbing her by the hips to haul her against him. Elain squealed with delight, sinking onto his cock before she could finish that sentence. 

“Let me do something nice for my wife,” he whispered, knotting his hand in her hair to draw her fully against him, chest to chest as she began to roll that soft cunt against him. “I want to fucking marry you, Elain.”

She kissed him. “Okay.”

What Lucien ignored, as he began to fuck her again, was how little this new marriage had to do with fertility or his people accepting her. It was for him because he wanted it, because he wanted her. Elain, bathed in the last vestiges of daylight, her mouth hot and hungry, had no idea what was settling in his chest, ringing loudly like a bell. 

Lucien was in love with his wife. 

ELAIN:

Night forced Elain and Lucien to pull a blanket over their naked bodies, if only to guard from the occasional buzzing, biting insect. There was some sort of magic afoot in the ruins, some swirling, glimmering thing that made him seem so much lovelier, so much more wonderful than he’d ever been. Elain couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t stop watching. She had all his attention, laying on her stomach, head propped on her arms, while Lucien peered up at the open, star freckled sky above, and told her everything she’d ever wanted to know. 

“So your mother climbed out a window?” she was asking, so curious about the politics of his court and how his father—and by extension, Lucien himself—operated. 

Lucien turned, hands resting behind his head. She suspected he’d positioned himself this way so she could admire his toned biceps. It was working. “Yes. And she stole one of Beron’s ships and somehow managed to navigate across the ocean without help and little food, to crawl to our shores.”

“Your father risked war?”

Lucien’s gaze was unreadable. “Of course. What else could he do?”

Elain knew all too well what Helion could have done. Her father would have sent Amera back without question, wouldn’t have risked his politics on another person. He could barely risk them on his own daughters. Elain, abandoned despite her coveted status as his favorite princess, given to his worst enemy to save his war machine. 

She wanted to ask Lucien a different question. What would you do if it were me?

She didn’t dare. Not when he was easy with her, not when he seemed to enjoy her beyond just having sex. Elain knew if she asked him if he felt sentimental towards her, Lucien was likely to pull away, to put far too much distance between them. She wouldn’t risk it. Maybe in a year, after the wedding…when she was pregnant, at the very least, she might ask if he’d changed his mind about her. Her stomach churned all the same, threatening to dump the contents of earlier that day all over the blanket beneath her. Heart pounding, Elain forced herself to take several measured breaths to steady herself. They were happy. She was happy. He cared for her. 

If he could ever love her. 

“Why don’t you fight like they do…like father does, I mean?” she asked. Lucien’s lips quirked.

“Because we have a treaty that prohibits us from those sorts of tactics. And, personally, I have honor. What honor is there in victory if you have to slaughter innocents to achieve it?”

“You never invaded our city.”

“We don’t want your city. Why invade?”

“To make a point?” she asked. Lucien shook his head, turning his gaze back to the stars. 

“I have to live with my choices and I know I couldn’t if I ever marched my soldiers up north knowing full well the havoc we would wreak. I would rather continue to beat the north back than to become them.”

“He’ll never stop,” she whispered. Her gut churned at the knowledge of everything she still probably knew, the conversations she’d heard she couldn’t immediately recall, the maps she’d seen, the stories they told. “Graysen I mean.”

“He should have died that day,” Lucien said tersely, clenching his jaw. “I regret he didn’t.”

She couldn’t look at him. Lucien pulled her closer, his arm beneath her body, fingers stroking over her shoulder blades. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” she agreed. He didn’t understand because he didn’t feel the same. Had Graysen died, she’d still be mourning up north, would have been all but a widow. Waiting, hoping whoever came next evoked the same sense of feeling. Worse still, she never would have met Lucien.That was, perhaps, the most unthinkable thing. 

“We’ll keep meeting them every time they come,” Lucien added. “And I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’re waiting for me at home.”

Because she was his trophy. Elain swallowed that little piece of hurt before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Maybe it's over,” she murmured, brushing the strands of coppery hair from his face. Lucien inclined his head into her touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

“It’s not. We’ll be lucky to get more than a year of peace before they find some fucking loophole. The only saving grace is your sisters. Nesta is still trapped in Velaris and Feyre married Rhysand. If Archeron is looking for revenge, it won’t be with us. I stole my northern daughter the old fashioned way.”

“By marrying me?” she asked dryly. 

“Exactly,” Lucien agreed with an easy smile. “Contract and all. And I know there are no loopholes to it because I was there when it was written.”

“Why not just say no?” Elain asked suddenly, shifting closer. “You could have had your revenge.”

“Well,” Lucien began, eyes back on her face. “Graysen did swear you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I confess, I was curious.”

“Seriously?”

“It wasn’t my only reason. Peace is very seductive. If I killed him, who knows what Archeron would have done…who he would have replaced him with—”

“No one,” she said quickly. “There is no one who can do what Graysen does.”

“Children grow up,” Lucien murmured. “They hope to one day outdo us. Our son will be the same…some boy in the north looks to Graysen and has those same dreams. So I said I would take you and hoped Graysen was not spinning me some tale.”

“So you would have married me no matter what?”

Lucien nodded. “I would have married you even if you were not the most beautiful woman in the world, but let me say, I was incredibly relieved when you stepped into that tent.”

“How utterly shallow, my lord.”

He grinned. “Maybe. I have no regrets.”

No regrets. The words bloomed in her chest, filling her with warmth. Lucien was still watching her, hand brushing over her cheek. “And you, sweet Elain? Did you get the dashing prince of your dreams?”

She poked him in the cheek. “I got a rogue for a husband is what I got.”

Lucien’s smile shifted, softening his face as he drew her in for a kiss. They went back to their conversation, teasing and sharing information in equal measure before Lucien tired of words and decided his body was far more effective at communicating. She didn’t know what he was trying to tell her and yet each new stroke made Elain feel seen. Special. 

Almost loved. She curled beside him when they were too tired to keep going, sweaty and spent. He rolled to his side, holding her against him, her cheek pressed to his arm. Elain had expected a night in the woods to be terrifying or, at least, uncomfortable. She woke to Lucien extracting himself during the first light of dawn to relieve himself and dig out the food they’d all but ignored the night before. 

“I don’t want to go back,” she mumbled, burrowing deeper into the blanket. She could hear the clanking of his buckles and the soft sounds of his leather. Lucien crouched, sandals laced back over his shins. 

“You have to…in that blanket. If we leave now, no one will realize how I’ve defiled my princess. Come on. You can get right back in bed when we get home.”

Elain groaned. Lucien spread the other blanket over the saddle before ensuring she was draped completely before swinging his leg up behind her. The glow that had settled around them seemed to fade, replaced by warrior Lucien and his all but naked wife. With every step closer to Naxos, his demeanor seemed to shift until she barely recognized him. He wasn’t thinking of their blanket of stars or what they’d talked about, but what he needed to do for the day. 

“I’ll talk to father about our wedding,” Lucien told her once she was back on solid ground just outside the palace. Lucien handed off their horse, his body all but shielding her from the curious gazes of the servants. “And have breakfast sent up for you.”

“You’re not joining me?”

Lucien grimaced. “I have things I need to do with Jurian today. Arina and Vassa will be around,” he added gently. “I promise to make more of an effort to come to bed reasonably.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Elain murmured as they approached the front of the palace. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, smothering her disappointment carefully. “I know you’re busy.”

He nodded, leaving Elain to walk miserably back to the bedroom they shared, still alone. Her body swayed for a moment, the spotty black popping behind her eyes for a moment. She exhaled her anxious disappointment.

She was still alone.

LUCIEN:

Lucien inclined in his chair, glancing at Jurian. “Write to Eris.”

His father rolled his eyes, turning his back from the round table of advisors and other trusted generals, all staring at the map before them. “I’m not writing Beron’s son.”

Lucien ignored that, gaze drifting back to the map of little red dots threatening to overwhelm the east. “If Archeron sweeps through Velaris, he’ll have cover in those mountains. We’ll be outmanned and without any help from our closest neighbor.”

“We’re always lacking help from our neighbors,” Ajax reminded him tersely. “I don’t see why this should be any different.”

“What is the point of Arina’s marriage, then? Tie up in conditions. Force Eris to send aid if nothing else. Weapons, supplies, coins….it doesn’t have to be his army though it should be.”

“We ought to abandon that entirely. Marry Arina to one of the generals in Rhodes, keep her in our territory. This isn’t the time to make enemies of our own men,” Ajax snapped. Lucien hated that gray haired bastard and the absolute trust his father held in him. Ajax and Helion had suffered countless wars together, had fought at each others backs the way Jurian and Lucien did. Ajax would always put Naxos above everything and believed an isolationist policy was for the best. It was short sighted. With Feyre to the east and Arina to the west, Naxos could have true allies for the first time in centuries. Tied by women and the children they bore.

Helion looked at Lucien, pursing his lips. “We could avoid war entirely by just…doing nothing,” his father murmured.

“We could engender more than a little good will by sending home Archeron’s daughter instead of flaunting her presence with this fucking wedding.”

“Watch yourself,” Lucien warned, leaning forward as Jurian’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword. “That’s my wife.”

“She’s not pregnant. For all you know they gave you their infertile daughter to waste your time with. For all that matters, she’s unharmed. Send her home as a show of our good will and let Rhysand pick up the fight.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to his father expecting to see disagreement. The whole table shifted uncomfortably and Lucien wondered if they, too, would hand over their wives if Ajax suggested it. It was offensive, a slap in Elain’s face and worse still, the realization of every fear she’d expressed mere weeks before. 

“He has asked for her back formally,” Helion began, his voice soft and apologetic. Lucien rose to his feet, his anger threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t very well fight his father, not in front of this council. It was unfair—he’d married her for the good of his people and now was being told he’d have to give her back, too. Only Lucien was expected to sacrifice. His own father had demanded fidelity and now, merely three months later, was walking it all back. 

Helion caught him in the hall. “It’s not an order, Lucien—”

“Not yet,” Lucien retorted, letting his father drag him down the halls, past the curious faces of their courtiers, back to the privacy of Helion’s study. “But you are considering it. It’s foul—”

“She isn’t one of us,” Helion reminded Lucien, pacing to the large windows.

“Neither is mother. I’m curious if you intend to send her back to Eris, then?”

“Don’t you dare—”

“No don’t you!” Lucien exploded. “I have done every single thing you have ever asked of me but I made Elain promises. I swore that she would remain my wife until I died and I will not go back on them.”

“Even if it means war?”

Lucien wanted to scream. “It is always war with them! You’ll send her back—to her death, I might add—and they’ll be here in six years instead of five. What did you accomplish, except murdering an innocent woman?”

His father took a breath. “If Archeron took even half of Rhysand’s forces, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“We should help him, then,” Lucien pushed. “Not tuck away behind our walls and wait. Call Eris, send word to Rhysand. War is inevitable and we both know it. I will—”

“Is Elain pregnant?” Helion interrupted. Lucien swallowed, pressing his chapped lips together. 

“Is this the ultimatum then? Impregnate my wife or send her home?”

“Yes,” Helion murmured. “I will buy you time for your wedding and a celebration but at the end of the summer, if she is still not with child, we will need to consider how best to move forward…and I think you will be outvoted.”

“You’re king,” Lucien all but pleaded. “You could simply bend your will.”

“I need my soldiers to follow me. No one will understand you’ve fallen in love with Archeron’s daughter. They’ve already suggested I call Jesminda back.”

Lucien was going to vomit. “So that’s it, then? I cast her aside and just start over with a different woman? How long before Jes isn’t worthy? Shall I remarry again? And again? Perhaps all of their daughters?”

“Lucien?’ “No. If you send Elain back, I will step down and you will be left without an heir and the resulting infighting.”

Helion’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You will do no such thing. You will do your duty as prince of this city as you always have. I have given you three months.”

Lucien shook his head. “When mother learns of this, she will be unforgivably angry.”

“Your mother understands I have to make choices I hate,” his father replied angrily. “I don’t want to see Elain go.”

“I will not start over,” Lucien warned. “If she leaves, I will remain unmarried and without an heir. No matter how you try to force this to appease your courtier, our family line dies right here, in this room.”

“This isn’t my first choice,” Helion tried but Lucien didn’t want to hear another speech about honor and duty and whatever other nonsense his father might manage to conjure that would trick Lucien into thinking this was right. Graysen would brutalize Elain if he let her live, trotting her out merely to taunt Lucien for the rest of their lives. Any children she bore would only further the insult until she died miserable and alone. He couldn’t stand it. He wouldn’t stand for it. He’d try and if he failed, he’d abdicate just like he said he would, take his wife, and flee across the sea to other places.

He tracked her down to their bedroom, changing from a wet swimsuit, her skin tanned and perhaps a little red against the bridge of her nose. Long hair plastered against her face and Elain, glancing at him as she pulled her leg out of the sopping wet fabric, looked so happy. She grinned, the gesture a physical punch to the gut. 

“What are you doing in here?”

“I…” he couldn’t tell her. “I missed you.”

“We were going to get lunch,” Elain began, turning her bare back to him, her scars on full display. “Do you and Jurian want to join?”

He was sure Jurian did. “Stay.”

She looked over her shoulder, sliding a silvery robe over her body. Elain pulled her hair from beneath the fabric, her smile softening. What he wouldn’t give to see her look at him like that forever. Like he was worth smiling at, the kind of man who wouldn’t keep secrets, who would protect his wife at all costs. “Let's stay in bed for the rest of the day.”

Her smile flickered. “Is everything okay?”

Lucien shook his head no. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t put the horror and dread over her. Not when she was so excited to be wed in front of the entire city, to become permanent, a member of his home, his place, his people. Elain would stop smiling, would draw inward and wait.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, that smile slipping entirely. Lucien went to her, pulling her cold body against his own.

 “I’m still dressed,” he said, shoving his worries deep, deep down. “And you’re unfucked.”

“You’re crude,” she whispered breathlessly. “And I should bathe before you touch me.”

Lucien slapped her ass. “Go take a bath. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Elain smiled again, scampering to the door with a quick, hopeful look over her shoulder. Lucien watched her go before scrambling to his desk. Treason. This is treason.

It was self-preservation. Helion was too worried about his soldiers, about always pushing off the inevitable. Waiting for Archeron to have an undefeatable army was madness. Lucien wasn’t going to watch it, wasn’t going to aid in the eventual slaughter of his people.

Grabbing a piece of parchment as Elain closed the door, Lucien did the only thing he could think of.

He wrote to Eris. 

ELAIN:

“You look so pretty,” Lucien whispered, fingers brushing against the nape of Elain’s neck. She stared at herself in the mirror. Who was she? The woman staring back hardly looked like the Elain she knew. Tanned, pink cheeked and dusted in gold, this woman might have lived her entire life in Naxos. Her hair was nearly blonde, so light it made her brown eyes seem darker somehow. Elain reached for one of the carefully coiffed curls, ignoring the man standing behind her and the simmering heat etched over his expression.

“You know,” she began, trying to keep her voice light and failing miserably. “Where I come from, it’s considered bad luck for a groom to see his bride before their wedding.”

“We’re already married,” Lucien reminded her with a cheeky smile. 

“Lucky you,” she teased, sweeping one last look over her body. She was practically painted in gold, from the circlet that curved through her hair, it’s little jeweled sun resting in the center of her forehead, to the make-up on her face, all the way the gown that sparkled in the light, giving the impressing someone had painstakingly placed little gems one by one over her torso and arms before it swept into a light, full skirt. Elain had never seen a bride that looked like her. At home, women wore white dresses that covered every inch of their bodies—her own back was totally bare, just as her arms, save for the golden cuff of leaves snaking up her bicep, a match for the snake on Luciens. They also wore veils that hid their faces, lifted only once the vows were spoken. There would be no veil for Elain. The entire city would be allowed to feast upon her as she stood atop that hill and spoke the ancient vows every woman before her had ever pledged to a future monarch. 

And Lucien, in his ceremonial pteurges and immaculate sandals that laced up his powerful shins, looked every inch a king. A golden cape hung from his broad shoulders, a match for her dress, for the sunburst crown against his half braided auburn hair. His arms, just her own, were unadorned though he wore golden vambraces that were hardly more than decoration. 

And his ring, which was what turned her around to look at him with her own eyes. She reached for his large hand, twisting the band around his finger. She almost told him he didn’t have to do this. That the ceremony was unnecessary–she was his wife whether the people of Naxos liked her or not.

Lucien’s lips parted. “I feel lucky,” he murmured, fingers back on her face. Her whole body tightened in response. Fear and anxiety collided with affection because so did she. She’d spent her whole life hoping for a good marriage to a good man. Perhaps not this man and yet…and yet he was kind and warm and giving and everything she’d once dreamed of. Elain pressed a kiss to his palm. 

“You’ve become soft, husband.”

“I hope not,” he joked. “I feel quite hard. Would you like to–”

“Stop it. Put that away,” she added, eyes sliding down his armored body. “At least for now.”

He bit his lip, grinning roguishly. “Okay, alright. For now. But after tonight's feast…”

“You may bring it out for my inspection,” Elain agreed. 

Lucien brushed his knuckles over her jaw. “Are you nervous?”

She scoffed. “I’ve seen your penis—”

He laughed, interrupting her words to throw his head back. The rich, booming timbre made her start. Had he ever laughed like that in front of her? Elain could only stare, her whole body vibrating as if she stood in the presence of some newly minted God. He was magnificent, so wonderful and perfect and—

The realization slammed into her like a bolt of lightning. Love. 

I love him.

“Not my penis,” he laughed, pulling her into his chest. “This ceremony. Are you nervous about the ceremony?”

Oh Gods, she thought, her stomach churning. “Why do you ask?”

“You look pale,” he replied, his mirth dying just a little. “And I’d like to kiss you, but not if you’re going to puke on my sandals.”

“You want to kiss me?” 

Lucien smiled again, cupping her jaw. “I always want to kiss you.”

He lowered his head, lips parted. She surged upwards, unwilling to wait on his slow descent, on the feather soft tease. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He inhaled with surprise, those arms wrapped around her tightening until Elain felt anchored again. Lucien tasted like a familiar dream, one that was just out of reach. A memory she was desperately trying to hold on to, something that didn’t belong to her. She held his face, proof he was, at least in that moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling from the kiss breathlessly, eyes searching her face. Elain shook her head.

“Nerves,” she lied. “Sorry, I…”

“Don’t apologize,” he replied, kissing her again. “You don’t need to be afraid. This is your home. We’re together.”

She swallowed, unable to take her eyes off his, to look away like she knew she should. Lucien’s face shifted, his amusement fading to genuine concern. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m fine,” she lied, blinking against her urge to cry.

He released her, letting her step from that full length mirror to their bed. Elain took a gulp of cool air, trying to steady the erratic pounding of her heart. Loving her husband on her wedding day should have felt like a dream. It was a nightmare given her own uncertainty around his feelings. She wanted to just tell him. 

Lucien came behind her again, hands sliding over her arms reassuringly. “Say the word and I’ll call it all off. We’ll lay in bed and eat cake until we’re sick from sugar.”

“I’m fine,” she lied again, exhaling a steady breath. “I promise.”

He didn’t say a word, tugging her against his chest to press a kiss against her scalp. Elain inclined her head, eyes closed, until she swore she could hear the steady thumping of his heart. “I’m glad it's you,” he finally whispered, just in time for a soft knock on the door. It was time to go. Elain inclined her head upwards, so sure she would fall to pieces. His eyes burned. He didn’t need to say what he felt, not when his expression could have ignited a fire. Maybe he didn’t recognize what was happening. Elain could hardly blame him and yet she felt as if they’d chosen each other, at least in that moment. 

Elain nodded, swallowing against the lump in her throat. Lucien dropped his arms, reaching for her hand instead. They’d go out together as was the custom, would walk the winding path through the now emptied palace to the same hilltop they’d stood on for the Solstice ceremony. Elain’s heart pounded wildly with each step, her body anchored only by Lucien’s reassuring grip. He never released her, not when they emerged from the cool shade of the palace into the blistering afternoon sun. The gathered crowd spanned as far as she could see, trailing up and down the winding city streets. Banners of white and gold were hung across wooden poles while multicolored, celebratory ribbons waved cheerfully in the breeze. Children sat atop their parents shoulders, their faces bright with wonder while the citizens of Naxos drank in the ceremony with soft fascination.

Helion and his wife were waiting on the stone platform, just off the side of the white arching trellis adorned with pink and purple hyacinths, yellow dandelions, and every color of laurel flower Elain could imagine. It was so dreamy, so romantic, the sort of pageantry that belonged to story books. Even in her daydreams before she’d been sent to Naxos, Elain would never have dared to have imagined a setting such as this, backdropped against the glimmering ocean. 

And Lucien. Oh, Lucien. He hardly seemed real, bathed in sunlight. Prince of Daylight. His skin gleamed bronze, seemed to glow with some innate, inner magic. He was luminous, so utterly beautiful she couldn’t breathe. A priestess has begun speaking but Elain couldn’t hear. She’d forgotten she was being watched, had forgotten the whole point of the wedding at all. Distantly, some nervous part of her mind realized she’d forgotten to look at the gathered courtiers, to see if she’d find approval—finally—or if they’d still regard her with their suspicion and dislike. She knew they thought it should have been their daughters standing up there with him. 

It felt like fate itself had peered from the heavens to look, to bless this marriage. Perhaps that was just how being in love felt. Everything in the universe must have conspired, plotting against her best intentions to bring her here.

Lucien spoke, reciting those vows. It was more than just a promise of love and protection, but a vow to the city itself. His love, his commitment extended to everyone because he married her. And when Elain spoke, she was careful to enunciate her every word, to say them slowly and with feeling, despite how hard she found it to breathe. Let there be no mistake of her intentions. No doubt of her loyalty. 

It was to Lucien, and, by extension, to his home, his people, this land. Any last vestiges of patriotism she felt to Ellesmere were banished when Lucien’s lips touched her, a sealing of vows, a display of affection. It was hardly the same as the one he’d offered in their bedroom and yet there could be no doubting that whatever existed between them was just political. Lucien had taken her face in his hands, brushing an errant, windswept curl off her cheek. He’d smiled, mouth brushing her own.

“I love you,” he whispered, so softly that only she could hear it. His mouth became firmer, the kiss only a second though in her head, it seemed to go on for eternity.

Elain meant to say it back. She reached for him.

And collapsed into darkness on the ground.

LUCIEN:

Lucien paced back and forth through the hall, still dressed for his wedding. The ceremony had been paused in the wake of Elain’s collapse. He’d suspected something was wrong the moment he found her in their bedchamber, staring at her appearance like she didn’t recognize herself. He’d been overwhelmed, completely swept up in her beauty. She’d never looked more like a princess of Naxos as she had in that moment. 

And bathed in the golden afternoon light? Well, Lucien had managed to keep himself from shedding a tear of joy when she spoke the vows of marriage to the city with such obvious feeling and affection that even Ajax had softened. He couldn’t help himself. He had to tell her, had been so certain, given the wide-eyed way she’d been looking at him, that she must love him too.

Dread replaced affection when she’d collapsed to the ground, nearly smashing her head into the stone. He’d just barely caught her in time. Heat stroke, his father had said when the city collectively gasped. 

Did she eat? His mother had demanded, as if Lucien knew. A physician was brought to their bedroom and Lucien shoved out. His mother had been dragged in nearly twenty minutes before and remained inside, the door shut to him. He could hear nothing—no whispered words, no proclamations of good health. Just terrible silence.

Lucien continued his pacing, his sandals clacking loudly so they knew he would not be leaving until someone came and offered an explanation. His cape fluttered around him, catching in the breeze to smack him in the face. It felt like the Gods chastising him—take better care of your wife.

“I’m trying,” he whispered, frustrated. He ran a hand over his face as his father rounded the corner.

“Any news?”

Lucien opened his mouth to complain when the door opened. His mother bit her bottom lip, eyes sliding towards her husband. There was something of a smugness to her expression and for a sickening moment, Lucien wondered if Elain wasn’t dying and everyone was secretly pleased.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded of the aging doctor. His mother pressed her lips together, hiding her smile. If Elain died, Lucien would too. He would not survive it, would follow her into the next life—

“The heat overwhelmed the princess,” the physician interrupted. “She should never have been made to stand like that given her condition. We’ve spoken, and she understands she needs to remain in quieter, cooler places for the time being—”

“Her condition?” Lucien asked stupidly. 

The physician clicked his teeth with exasperation. “Pregnant, your highness. The princess is pregnant.”

Behind Lucien, Helion blew out a breath. Lucien’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. “Truly?”

“Two months, give or take. She needs to rest, and to keep out of the sun,” the physician continued, brown eyes narrowing with distaste. 

“Of course,” Lucien agreed, rounding on his father. Helion held up his palms in surrender, waiting for the physician to vanish down the corridor. 

“She stays,” Lucien hissed, his triumph unmatched. “And if anyone suggests otherwise, it’ll be my blade against their neck.”

Lucien’s mother looked to his father, her eyes wide. “You wanted to send her back?”

“It was merely a thought,” Helion replied. “One that will never come to fruition. Congratulations,” he added, clapping Lucien on the shoulder. Lucien had to resist the urge to shake off his father, his resentment still hot and heavy in his chest. Later, he’d confess how he’d gone around Helion’s orders and written to his half-brother. For now, Lucien merely nodded.

“I need to see her,” he said, turning to the door. He was confident, if nothing else, his mother would give his father hell for even the suggestion Elain continue to be used as collateral. Lucien didn’t care. He’d never intended to send her back to begin with and still, as he walked back into their bedroom, the legitimacy of knowing she could never be taken from him filled Lucien with intense, unyielding relief. 

Elain was propped against the headboard with a mountain of pillows, her golden gown replaced with a breezy lilac nightdress. She looked at him, the black mascara coating her lashes smudged just beneath the hollows of her tired eyes. She seemed so scared. Lucien went to the bed, pulling her hand into his lap.

“Did…” she swallowed hard. “Did the doctor…?”

“A baby,” he agreed, scooting closer.

“Are you mad?”

Lucien choked on a hysterical laugh. “Why would I be mad?”

She drew her legs up to her chest, blinking rapidly against the tears she couldn’t keep at bay. Lucien came closer still, pulling her into his body. “Why are you crying? This is a wonderful thing.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m happy, I…”

Lucien kissed her temple. “You don’t need to worry about anything except resting,” he said, smoothing golden brown curls from her face. “I will worry about everything else.”

“Did you mean what you said? This afternoon, when you…”

“Yes,” he said immediately, thumb stroking her warm cheek. “I love you.” The relief he felt, saying those three words, was unmatched. Elain, too, looked as if some terrible weight had been lifted from her chest.

“I wanted to tell you before we left—”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Lucien interrupted, ghosting his lips over her temple. “Or I might not have let you leave.”

“I wouldn’t have collapsed, though,” she replied with a sigh. “How embarrassing. Was everyone annoyed?”

“Worried,” he insisted. “You were utter perfection. If anything, it just confirms their opinion that I do not take good care of you.”

Her eyes went wide. “They do not think that–”

“Trust me, sweetheart. They absolutely do. Ever since the hurricane,” he added, kissing her again. “They like you far more than you think.”

Elain pressed a little closer. “Really?”

“Yes,” Lucien agreed. “And they will like you far more when they learn you’re carrying a future heir.”

He pressed his hand against her stomach, marveling that there was life brewing just beneath the skin. His son, he thought with emotion. “The whole city will be chasing after me with clubs, demanding I be a better husband.”

“I think you’re a good husband,” she murmured, nuzzling her head into the crook of his arm. 

“Well, the bar is quite low,” Lucien teased. “I met Gray–”

“Don’t say his name,” she demanded fiercely, eyes blazing. “I don’t ever want to think of him again.”

He chuckled. “Alright. If you say I’m a good husband, who am I to argue with my princess?”

“Your wife,” she argued. Lucien kissed her cheek.

“That’s right. My wife.”

That pacified her just as much as it settled Lucien. His wife. Married before his whole city, his affection declared unmistakably not just before his people but before the very Gods themselves. Try and take her from me, he all but taunted. Lucien would have gone to war for her, would have picked up his banner and led his armies into battle just to keep her. He knew, hand still spanning her stomach, that there was no atrocity he wouldn’t have committed to ensure she remained with him. 

He would have watched the world burn to ash before he let her go. It ought to have scared him, should have made him rethink the depth of his affection and yet Lucien only felt supreme peace at the notion. She’d been born for him just as surely as he had been created for her. 

“Lucien?” Elain asked after a moment, pulling his blood tinged thoughts back to the shady bedroom they both lounged in. He was uncomfortable in his leather, his feet hanging off the bed, still clad in sandals.

“Hm?”

“Can we still eat cake in bed?”

“Until we’re sick from the sugar?” he teased. Elain nodded her head. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “You stay here, I’ll go get it.”

“Thank you,” she sighed, settling back into the bed as he pulled away. Lucien paused at the door, turning to look back at his entire life laying that bed, legs outstretched, a hand resting on her chest. 

“Love you,” he murmured, just to hear her say it again. Elain turned her head, curls spilling over her shoulders. She smiled and fuck. Lucien had to blink against the blinding light that seemed to expand across the room.

“Love you, too.”

Perfect.