#sending this the last day of elucien week?

[bookofmirth]

What are us fellow Eluciens going to do if she ends up with Az..? It seems like it’s really going to happen and it’s going to be sad to see her tell Lucien she wants to reject it. If they become friends I guess that would be cute too but still..❤️‍🩹 It will hurt if so

I suspect that, if it didn't happen, we would go on with our lives because it's just a fictional ship, and there are plenty of those out there in the world!

[zenkindoflove]

Elucien Masterlist

Multichapter Fics

Carrion Flowers (M) - Elain x Lucien

WIP, 5/6 chapters, ~31,000 words Summary: AU - Detective Lucien Vanserra has been sent to Sunset Hollow to solve a grisly murder. Cunning and skeptical, he is determined not to allow superstition and hearsay amuse him from the truth. However, the town is whispering of witches, and one suspected witch by the name of Elain Archeron haunts his dreams and his heart .

Summer Heat (E)- Elain x Lucien, Eris x Alexius (Male OC)

Complete, 18/18 chapters, 114,890 words Summary: Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years. Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance

Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic (M) - Elain x Lucien, collab with @crazy-ache

Complete, 13/13 chapters, ~28,000 words Summary: Epistolary (adj., of a literary work) in the form of letters. After the winter solstice in ACOSF, Elain and Lucien exchange letters as a means to get to know each other away from prying eyes. This fic is a collection of those letters.

Burn Forever With Me (E) - Elain x Lucien

Complete, 13/13 chapters, ~69,000 words Summary: End of ACOSF. After Feyre's traumatic birth, Elain writes to Lucien seeking comfort and company. She soon realizes that opening up to him in letters is much easier without her family's constant presence. But how long can she keep falling for Lucien a secret?

Sarcasm and Sunshine (E) - Elain x Lucien

WIP, 7/? chapters, 5,000 words Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and short fics for Elain x Lucien (Elucien) mostly from prompts submitted via Tumblr. Each chapter is a stand alone story but some may have continuations in the future.

Short Fics

Kneel Before Me (E) - Elain x Lucien

One-shot, ~11,000 words Summary: Lucien arrives at the House of Wind, only to be drawn into a sparring match with none other than the Inner Circle's own Shadowsinger. Things get out of hand and Azriel discovers whether he really can defeat Lucien easily.

I Think I Saw You in My Sleep (E) - Elain x Lucien

One-shot, ~10,000 words Summary: The dreams of him come from the mating bond, but Elain wants them to stay.

Our Hearts Still Beat the Same (E) - Elain x Lucien

Two-shot, ~17,000 words Summary: "She stood on the bridge for a few minutes, hoping that the rain might wash away the seething anger and bottomless anguish that crackled under her skin. More, more, more, repeated again and again to a steady beat. His heart beat." Part One is Cozy Tension. Part Two is all smut.

Embrace (M) - Elain x Lucien

One-shot, ~2,800 words Summary: Elain is on a journey of embracing her Faeness. When studying Lucien's pierced ears, an idea forms in her head that she can't shake.

Perennial (T) - Elain x Lucien

One-shot, 6,700 words Summary: For Elucien Week 2024 Day 1: Fated. Fate has always been intertwined with Elain and Lucien's bond. An exploration of how soulmates find each other through every iteration of their existences.

... And Again Into the Light (M) - Elain x Lucien, collab with @crazy-ache

One-shot, 10,000 words Summary: For Elucien Week 2024 Day 6: Fearless. Elain has a vision that takes her and Lucien to the continent. In desperate need of rest, they rent a room for a night in an eerie inn that has an unnatural presence. Horror/Romance.

Dancing Barefoot (E) - Elain x Lucien, minor Jassa

One-shot, 10,000 words Summary: For Elucien Week 2024 Day 7: AU. “She is re-creation. She, intoxicated by thee”– Patti Smith. Historical AU 1970s – Elain is frustrated and aimless in her senior year of college. She doesn’t know what path to take with the way the world is changing. Then she meets Lucien, a punk rocker who also is becoming more disenfranchised with the scene. She’s drawn to his beauty and the danger in his eyes, and maybe just one night might be all she needs. Elucien, minor Jassa.

Fanarts, Commissions, & Other

Elucien 1980s clinch cover commissioned fanart by @dangerouslovesong *banner art

Dancing Barefoot Moodboard

NSFW fanart for Burn Forever With Me Ch 13 by @works-of-heart

Dear Lucien, Dear Elain fanart by @jadedbugart

Sarcasm & Sunshine drabble fanart by @jadedbugart

Elucien Week 2024 Masterlist

Grander - a poem for Elain Day

Carrion Flowers fanart by @jadedbugart

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

[velidewrites]

Get In The Water

To bargain with an ancient death-lord, Captain Elain Archeron must acquire the rare, magical scales of a siren. Little does she know her target is no ordinary Mer—but the Prince of the Undersea himself.

Pairing: Elucien

Tags: Pirate!Elain x Merman!Lucien

Notes: For the beautiful talented stunning @areyoudreaminof for the @acotargiftexchange! I wasn't your original Secret Santa, but I tried to include some of your favourites here (this is your official warning for Jurian being a canon-typical little shit). Sending you so many smooches!

Thank you @ablogofsapphicpanic for being my beta<3

Read on AO3

“With all due respect, Captain Archeron, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Elain’s answering sigh was deep enough to rustle the waves ahead. She tossed them a final look before turning back to her quartermaster. “You know exactly where you can shove your respect, Jurian.”

He bounced off the mast with a grin. “Up my arse, no doubt,” he mused, a large, tanned hand stroking his much overgrown stubble. They’d been out at sea for weeks—for good reason, too, though Elain realised it was a sentiment less and less of her crew continued to share.

Still, she nodded with a smile of her own. “Same as last time.”

“Then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it would have been wise to dock in Adriata two weeks ago.” He crossed his arms. “We’re not exactly welcome on Day Court waters.”

That was certainly one way to put it. Elain was half-expecting the High Lord’s army, ready at arms and lined up on the shores of Port Denera to arrest her and her crew. It would hardly be the first time.

Elain’s smile only grew wider. “There’s nothing quite like coming home.”

Jurian rolled his eyes, no doubt remembering their latest excursion himself, and leaned over the bulwark. “It’s been a while,” he remarked, his brown gaze drifting off to the azure sea. In the waning hours of the afternoon, the golden sunlight reflected off its surface, shimmering quietly as though unaware of the chaos to come. Where she came from—a little town bordering the Eastern Coast—the fishermen used to say the future was carried in with the waves. Elain was never much a practitioner of such belief—after all, if it were true, her ship would surely be on the verge of utter collapse right now, sinking underwater with the crashing force of the raging sea.

Instead, they continued to peacefully make their way northeast, the sun warming their skin as though in greeting. The irony wasn’t lost on her, but she supposed it was much easier to enjoy the bliss while it lasted. The silver blade strapped to her side flashed at the thought, undeniably in protest—she’d had it dipped in the Cauldron a few decades ago (before her sister, the High Lady herself, had somehow lost the whole damn thing), and since then, the sword had seemed to develop a mind of its own. Elain didn’t mind. It was bloody useful in battle, and she was smarter than to argue with a deadly, magical artifact. Even if it was a real fucking smartass.

The sword flashed again—and a lot brighter this time, too bright to mistake it with a random glimpse of the sunlight.

“Sorry,” Elain muttered.

Jurian—she’d nearly forgotted he was still here—glanced down at her belt. “You need to stop talking to the damn thing.”

She could have sworn she felt something sharp twitch against her hip.

“Would you like to talk to it instead?” she asked sweetly.

Jurian’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I thought so.”

“Seriously, Elain,” he sighed, apparently foregoing her usual title. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you to get those scales. Hell, I will go to the ends of the earth, and you know I won’t so much as hesitate.”

Elain did know. The stakes were too high—too personal, especially for her second-in-command.

“But the crew needs a break,” Jurian continued. “Adriata was supposed to be our goldmine, and we found nothing—nothing, Elain, not even one of those gods-damned—”

“I know what happened in Adriata, Jurian,” Elain cut in. “I was there.”

“I only mean—”

“I know what you mean. And I agree, even if I do not show it sometimes. Jurian, I…” She closed her eyes, letting the salty mist pearl on her skin, her lashes. “I miss her too. Every day.”

For a moment, there was only silence—silence and the quiet whoosh of the deep blue waves.

“I know you do,” Jurian whispered beside her.

“She’s out there, somewhere—somewhere on the Continent. With that monster to do with her as he likes.” She could practically hear Jurian grit his teeth beside her. “I won’t give up, and we’ve been out here together long enough for me to know you won’t give up, either.”

“The Death God is persistent,” Jurian seethed. “He demands too high a price.”

Indeed he did. Koschei, a being so ancient even the fishermen in her small Day Court village had no legends singing of his name, had been magically bound to his lair on the Continent millennia ago—and, apparently, had been trying to find a way out of his chains ever since. The only thing in the world able to release him, though, was—of course—the Cauldron, the creator of the world itself.

And, up until sixty years ago, Elain would see it in her sister’s dining room every Solstice. It was ridiculous, really, the power the Night Court used to have in its grasp. That wasn’t to say it had not been deserved—the Cauldron had been won in a war full of blood and sacrifice, one her sister and his mate had nearly lost their life in, but…well. Surely they could have found a more secure place to display it than their townhouse in Velaris. A place where it could not have gotten stolen by only the Mother knew whom, or better yet—a place where no one, not even Feyre and Rhysand, could ever find it again.

It was too late for such semantics. Despite an entire Valkyrie region searching the skies for a sign of it, the Cauldron was simply…gone.

Nesta believed it to have been an inside job. After all, there were only a handful of people outside of Velaris aware of the city’s existence at all, let alone the High Lord and Lady’s private residence. But the Head Valkyrie had questioned them all—and found nothing at all.

For the first twenty years, Elain searched for it, too—anything to get out of her village, really, and the ghosts of a life she longed to leave behind. An engagement to a local lord’s son might have been the dream of many females back home, but it was, and never would be, Elain’s

The missing Cauldron had given her the opportunity she’d been searching for, and Elain did not look back when Feyre asked for her help. In her travels, though…she discovered a beauty to the seas, to the vast world they opened up for her taking—and so, after too many hopeless clues and tearful conversations with her sister, Elain had let the waves consume her entirely.

She did not think she would ever have to worry about the Cauldron again. She’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it had lost itself to the world just as she wished it would. But then Elain had met Vassa, and then Vassa had been taken by Koschei, and, well…

Her fate belonged to the Cauldron once again.

This time, though, it was hardly a chore, or a favour she was doing her little sister. It was a matter of life or death, of the family she’d found sailing the seas of Prythian. Vassa was a sister, too, a sister she loved dearly enough that when Koschei’s demands began to invade her visions, Elain did not hesitate.

She and Jurian had devised a plan—it wasn’t exactly foolproof, so to say, but she hoped it would be enough. It had to be.

“Do you know how much just one of the Mer scales runs for on the black market, Jurian?” Elain asked, more to prove a point than to get an actual answer. He knew—they’d been chasing them for the past two years. Still, she said, “Ten thousand gold marks. You could buy a manor in Spring for that kind of money.”

“I have allergies,” Jurian murmured.

“I know I didn’t just hear that.”

Jurian sighed. “It just seems…I don’t know, Elain. The Mer people are folktale. If your so-called Undersea were to exist, we would have found it in Adriata.”

“The High Lord’s libraries clearly point to the seas of Day,” Elain pressed.

Jurian snorted. “Are you sure you read that right? We didn’t exactly have a lot of time in that library, you know.”

She cut him a look sharper than the sword at her side. “I’m sure. I got the information we needed with a few minutes to spare.”

“I think your posters are still hanging at the entrance.”

Elain wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the way my hair looks in those ones.” When it came to painting, the Day Court forces were no Feyre.

“They put quite the bounty on your head, you know,” Jurian added. “If that isn’t flattering, then I don’t know what is.”

Elain grinned. “Well, I stole some really valuable books.”

“I’ll bet.” He looked out to the sea again, that rugged face turning more solemn as he studied the horizon—and the shore stretching far ahead. “How do you know the scales will be enough to get Vassa back?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know. But, if we can find the Mer here and get the scales we need…perhaps we can bargain with Koschei to take them instead. Their magic is forgotten, just as he is. He might find them to be enough.”

“That’s a big if, Elain.”

She shrugged. “At the very least, we might be able to use them to trace the Cauldron. I’ve sent a letter to Velaris—Amren volunteered her assistance.”

Jurian shuddered.

“Don’t be a baby,” Elain rolled her eyes. “She’s useful. Ancient.”

“Precisely.”

“I just…” He shook his head, his brown curls catching the sunlight. “Things are weird enough as they are. You Fae are hardly accepting of pirates, let alone humans.”

Elain tucked a loose strand of hair behind an arched ear. “I’m a pirate,” she declared, letting some of the pride she’d buried deep in her chest creep into her tone. “I am happy to share at least half of the burden with you.”

Jurian’s warm hand covered her own. “You’re a good friend, Elain,” he said. “You could have left—could have sailed off after that whole fiasco with Koschei.” He gave her a light squeeze. “But you chose to stay.”

She could not meet his stare—not when the salt in her eyes had begun to burn too much, blurring her own gaze as she turned to face the shallowing water. “I’ve run away before,” she told him quietly. “No more.”

“No more,” Jurian agreed. He had a past of his own—and, when the time was right…he would tell her. And she would embrace it without question.

“I’ll tell you what,” Elain started, her throat suddenly tight. “It’s a big day we’ve got tomorrow. Tell the crew we’ll be dining at the local tavern tonight?”

Slowly, Jurian turned to her—and smiled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

***

The Pearl was a small ship—small enough not to raise suspicions when they’d docked in Port Denera. The flag—a Mer tail with a pearl resting between its fins—had been carefully folded away prior to their arrival, the sigil of Elain’s crew all but too recognisable in those parts of Prythian.

It wasn’t that Elain had no moral compass whatsoever, but, over the years, she had learned that sometimes, taking her life into her own hands had a tendency to pay off a whole lot more than simply letting it run its course. Had she lived by a different set of rules, she would have long been married to the new Lord Nolan, never having left her hometown and spending her days at the beach, looking out to the sea and wishing for a life never to be.

It could have been a good life, perhaps—but it would never be the life she wanted, the life she craved. Besides, it wasn’t like Elain had ever been given a good example to follow. Feyre, after all, had escaped her own arranged marriage and ran right to the deepest, darkest corners of Night, Nesta following shortly after. It was only fair that Elain followed the family tradition.

Father had been devastated—Elain’s engagement, after all, had been his final, desperate attempt at seeing his daughters well off before his passing. After Feyre and Nesta’s disobedience, as he’d called it, Father had assumed his daughters had simply rebelled because they wished to remain home. Perhaps that was why, after having tried marrying Feyre off to Spring and Nesta to Hybern, he’d settled for seeing Elain with a small, local nobleman.

Elain did not care for riches—well, she hadn’t cared then. Now, having seen all that the world had to offer, she supposed she did enjoy having a few pearls and gold around her neck at times. But it hadn’t been the match itself that bothered her—she was sure Greysen Nolan was perfectly nice and well-mannered—but the fact that Father hadn’t even asked if he was who Elain wanted, if he’d even cared if she could ever love Greysen at all.

As cliché as it sounded, love was exactly what Elain craved so viciously. And now, decades later, she had finally found that love—here, out at sea, with the waves embracing her wholly and eternally. This—the Pearl—was her home.

She sure hoped home wouldn’t mind seeing her stumble back aboard in a few hours, when she was well and thoroughly drunk out of her mind.

Aside from pearls and jewellery, Elain had developed a taste for ale, and it just so happened that the Port Denera tavern was famous for the golden drink. It tasted like liquid gold in her cup, leaving a tinge on her tongue that sent her senses spiralling and flushed her cheeks with bright-pink heat.

The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, too, and it was only for that reason that she’d allowed her instincts to abandon ship for a moment or two. Well, perhaps three. She hadn’t seen Jurian this happy and relaxed since Vassa had been taken—a sign of how truly tired he must have been these past few weeks, of how badly he needed an evening to forget.

The thought sobered her up just a little, and Elain remembered the true reason she’d allowed this unusual night out in a town where the entire army was on the lookout for Captain Archeron. She did feel slightly guilty for misleading Jurian into thinking it was simply out of the goodness of her own heart—into omitting the one, small ulterior motive that had lately seemed to be driving nearly every decision of hers.

Information.

While the fishermen in the East of the Day Court had no knowledge of the Mer, the folk of Port Denera no doubt sang of the old creatures lurking beneath the sea. She’d already picked up on a few shanties on the way to the tavern, humming the words quietly to herself as she searched the lyrics for anything valuable. The Mer’s magic appeared to be as sharp as their teeth, capable of stirring the waves and calling upon storms. The strongest of them could lure the innocent, hungry wanderers into their traps with a lulling voice and mesmerising eyes, ones that reflected the soul’s deepest desires just as the surface of the sea reflected the sun above. Once captured, they’d sink those teeth into the flesh of their prey, and drag them under—never to be seen again.

Elain hummed the tune again cheerfully, excitement bubbling up in her chest—well, she supposed the bubbles might have had to do with some of the barrels of alcohol she’d consumed. Still, this was promising. All she needed was a name—a lagoon, or a hidden grotto, perhaps, where she could locate a lair. Her Cauldron-blessed sword would do the rest of the job.

Somewhere far beyond her peripheral vision, she heard the silver hum happily, already summoned by the rather bloodthirsty thought.

It was not that Elain wanted to murder the Mer in cold blood. She did not enjoy killing (she could have sworn her blade huffed at the sentiment), but if there was no other way to acquire the scales, she would do it. She loved Vassa enough to do whatever it took—the exiled, Firebird queen would do the exact same for her.

For what had to have been the hundredth time, Elain looked around the tavern, her somewhat blurry gaze scanning the bustling area. It was a lot more crowded than she’d expected—which proved a good thing all the same. It was a lot harder to get spotted in a sea of creatures of all shapes and sizes, and it sure helped that they all seemed piss-drunk, too.

The local shanty found its way onto her lips once more, and she sang it absently, her attention entirely focused on some old wraith somehow downing two bottles of wine at once. Her sharp nails scraped against the glass as she drank, and Elain watched, completely entranced at what she’d never thought could be accomplished before.

In the morning sun so bright, the sailors set to sea,

Their hearts as bold as brass, their spirits ever-free.

But careful, sailor, please, beware the waves that dance and play,

Beneath this sunny surface, a wicked mermaid lay.

“Sounds terrifying.”

Elain jumped.

The ale in her hand fell to the ground with a loud clunk, the sound immediately drowned out by a rumbling laughter of the crows. The golden liquid spilled over her, sticking to the skin of her neck, her collarbones, the curves of her exposed breasts—until finally sinking into the white fabric of her corset. Elain swore under her breath, cursing her choice of garment for tonight, before finally looking up.

“Shit,” she swore again, for the lack of a better word—or, perhaps, because there was no word to describe the male standing before her.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

A pair of shining eyes of molten gold looked her up and down, an auburn eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Now, don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he drawled, his voice rich and deep and smoother than the liquid she’d swallowed down her throat. “I spent a lot of time on my hair earlier tonight.”

Elain blinked—then blinked again. “Are you…hitting on me?”

His mouth—full and plush and gods she needed to get it together—twitched. “And here I was, thinking I was all too obvious,” he quipped.

She peeled her gaze off the soft waves of his hair, glistening under the tavern’s candlelight. “Perhaps you’re just not very good at it,” she remarked, thanking the Mother for keeping her tongue sharp when her mind bordered on insanity.

The stranger smiled openly now. “What’s your name?” he asked.

Elain angled her head an inch. “Why?”

Did she really just ask him that?

Perhaps it was time to order some water.

The male seemed entirely unbothered. “It’s not often you meet a beautiful female singing old folktales in the middle of a tavern,” he said, offering a one-shouldered shrug. “I find myself somewhat…intrigued.”

“Intrigued,” Elain repeated blankly.

His smile grew wider. “Quite,” he agreed. “Those are old, you know.”

Elain straightened—straightened and blinked again, her thoughts somehow collecting into one, singular stream as she remembered what, exactly, she had come to this tavern for. “Are they?” she asked, “I’ve just picked up on them an hour ago.”

“An hour?”

She offered a smile of her own. “I have an excellent memory.”

Those golden eyes glistened. “Is that so?” the male asked, his gaze sweeping down her body as though he had all the time in the world. “If I tell you my name, will you sing it for me, too?”

Focus, Elain. He’d mentioned the Mer shanties, did he not? “I doubt anyone will hear it,” she remarked. “I never see Port Denera this busy.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Elain waved a dismissive hand. “Once or twice,”

The male hummed. “Then you know today is an important day,” he said, that strange shade of amusement playing over his features once more. “The High Lord is mourning the loss of his dear wife and son, and we are drinking in a show of, ah…solidarity,” he finished, a passing faun raising his glass at them, as though emphasising his agreement.

Elain waited for him to get out of earshot. “Wife and son?” she questioned, searching the corners of her mind that stored everything she knew about her Court.. “Didn’t that happen three hundred years ago?”

Those eyes narrowed at her slightly, and the stranger tilted his head. “Do you think he should have moved on instead?” he asked, the question so quiet it may as well have been a breath—and yet, she’d heard it perfectly over the bustling crowd.

Elain considered. “I think it must have been a beautiful kind of love, if he’s mourning it so many centuries later.”

His auburn brow arched in surprise. “What did you say your name was, lady…?”

Elain snorted. “Oh, I’m no lady.” She set her glass on a nearby table. “Haven’t been for a while.”

“You certainly look like one,” he remarked, that smile once again creeping back onto his ridiculously handsome features.

She couldn’t resist. “Do I, now?”

He chuckled, the sound low and honeyed. “Oh, absolutely.”

“And are you in the habit of flirting with all the ladies you pick up in a tavern?” Elain teased.

“No, no. I usually let them come to me.” He winked. “I can be a good singer too, you know.”

Elain smiled.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she laughed. “So, you know those shanties, too?”

His eyes glittered.

There it was.

“Some of them,” he agreed.

“Do they hold any truth?” she pressed. Come on, come on, come on…

“Sometimes,” he nodded. “Does it matter?”

You have no idea, Elain thought. “It does. I’m looking for…” she hesitated. “Information.”

“Oh?”

“The books in Day’s library state I might find it here,” she added carefully.

Something like realisation crept onto his features. “You wish to know about the Merpeople,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Elain’s gaze flickered to the movement. “How did you get access to those books?” he asked.

“It’s not important,” she told him, eyeing the golden-brown muscles flexing under the candlelight.

“I disagree,” the male said, “those books are extremely well-guarded.” Was that admiration she’d heard in his tone?

“What was your name, again?” Elain asked him.

The male smiled. “Would you like to come outside with me?”

As if. “I’m not exactly in a hook-up mood right now, sorry,” she told him, though uncertain if the words rang entirely true.

He smiled—as though he knew. “What about information?” She felt her brows flick up. “I thought so. Now, shall we? It’s more quiet out back,” he added, gesturing to the tavern’s back door.

“I like it loud,” Elain countered. The more people drowning their conversation, the better.

“So do I,” he winked. “Another time, baby, I promise.”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she said, then dared a quick glance around the space again. Come to think of it, the couple at the table near where the two of them stood were awfully close—close enough that Elain decided not to risk it. She nodded to the stranger. “Let’s go.”

“Just so that we’re clear,” he started as they made their way through the crowd, “once you get those scales, we’re splitting the profits.”

“We can discuss the money later,” Elain countered. Like hell she was going to share anything with him.

“If that is what you wish,” he nodded, and opened the door.

The fresh air hit her almost unexpectedly, but it was a welcome change from the stuffy tavern in the back. She breathed in the salt carried in by the sea, her thoughts clearing up enough that she could finally focus on the matter at hand without unnecessary…distractions.

The distraction flashed her a smile, the beach behind him illuminated by the dying sunlight. “So, Mer scales, hmm? What do you need those for?”

“That,” Elain said firmly, “is none of your business.”

He chuckled again, the sound different this time—less than that deep, raspy sound she’d heard before, but more…fluid, like tea stirring in a cup. Warm. Inviting. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said quietly—and reached out his hand.

“Come with me,” the stranger told her.

Elain frowned. “I’m already here,” she pointed out. “You wanted to leave the tavern,” she reminded him.

He hummed—and she could have sworn it was like a melody pouring from his chest. “Yes,” he told her, stepping back until his feet—bare, she now noticed—reached the sand. “Let’s go a little further, alright?”

Elain stepped forward. “I…don’t understand,” she said. Still, she moved in closer.

He offered her a gentle smile. “Just one more step for me, gorgeous, please,” he tried again, his hand still outstretched.

“Okay.” She reached the sand now, too—but he had somehow moved back a few steps again, inches away from the waves’ embrace.

“Good girl,” he purred, the water now kissing his skin. Elain stepped in closer. “You’re very beautiful, you know,” he told her, angling his head slightly. She watched as his long hair spilled down his back in waves softer than the very sea—and met his gaze again, only to find it dark. “Almost beautiful enough to hide that rotten soul of yours.”

That gold had tarnished—enough to hide that bright, enticing gleam.

“Yes,” Elain agreed.

“Mmm, I thought so,” he mused. “I just need you to take a few more steps, alright? We’re almost at the shore,” he added, his voice like a lullaby, reassuring.

“Yes, I’ll follow you,” she agreed again.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praised. “I might even consider making your death painless,” he whispered, watching her closely as she, too, neared the edge of the water. “Though that wasn’t the kind of death you had planned for my kind, was it?” he asked, a certain sharpness to his tone that made her open her mouth. “Oh, no need to answer that, baby,” he interrupted, “but I do appreciate your eagerness.”

Elain nodded. “Whatever you wish.”

He smiled, flashing his teeth. A perfect, pearly set of sharp blades—sharp enough to tear her flesh apart. “That’s a good girl,” he hummed, and she could have sworn she heard her soul sing in answer. “Now, step into the sea.”

Elain stopped inches from the seafoam. “Will you give me your hand?” she asked him shyly.

His features softened—though the sharp, predatory smile remained. “Of course, my rotten, terrible lady,” he purred. “Come with me.”

Elain slid her hand in his—and waited.

His skin, surprisingly, was warm—sun-kissed, as if he hadn’t spent an entire lifetime in the dark depths of the Undersea. He felt smooth, too, with some coarseness here and there that let her know his palm was no stranger to holding a weapon—a trident, perhaps, if the songs of the fishermen had, indeed, held any truth to them. 

The leaves behind her rustled—and Elain finally, finally released a breath.

“No,” she told him, her voice still feigning that blissful softness. “No, I don’t think I will.”

The merman blinked. “What?”

Elain gave him a smile that was purely Fae—one that let him know she was a monster, too. “It was a nice try, really,” she said, her free hand reaching back to her belt. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

A pair of iron cuffs appeared in her grip—and, in a flash of a second, found its way onto the merman’s wrists.

His skin sizzled, and he hissed sharply, those dark eyes wide and not leaving hers for one second—but Elain held on, murmuring the spell she’d memorised under her breath.

She could never come to the land of the Mer unprepared.

“Duck!” Jurian yelled behind her.

She only had a fraction of a moment to see the bow in his hands—to stop him before he released the arrow.

Elain didn’t stop him, though.

She ducked.

***

“I can’t believe you caught one of them,” Jurian said in disbelief. “Good work, really, Elain, but did you have to bring him onto the ship?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement behind the bars. The merman rose to his full height—he seemed taller in the constrained space of the brig, somehow—and met her gaze directly.

“Your name,” he said as though in a daze. “Elain.”

Elain cut her friend a look. “Thank you, Jurian.”

Jurian bounced off the wall. “Sorry,” he shrugged, his tone suggesting he wasn’t sorry at all.

“It didn’t work,” their prisoner said, more to himself now than his jailors.

“What didn’t work?” Jurian asked him sharply.

The merman looked at him—and Elain knew it took everything in her quartermaster not to flinch under his scrutiny. “My spell,” he explained slowly, then turned toward her again. “It didn’t work on you,” he repeated.

“Perhaps you’re not as good as you thought,” Jurian said.

He scoffed, as though the remark pulled him out of whatever fog had clouded his thoughts. “My name is Lucien Spell Cleaver,” he declared, his voice louder now, stronger. “Firstborn son of Helion Spell Cleaver, Prince of the Undersea—and heir to the High Lord of the Day Court.”

Beside her, Jurian went entirely still. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she was moving at all, either.

She may have been a pirate, but kidnapping a High Lord’s son—nay, his heir—was an act of treason, and Elain really wished to see one hundred before eventually dying a horrible, undoubtedly painful death. Quite common in her profession, really. 

“Impossible,” she whispered. “Helion’s son is dead—as is his wife.”

“Clearly not,” Jurian murmured.

The male—Lucien—narrowed his gaze at the two of them. “We have been in hiding for the moment I was born. There was no denying what I was, not until I learned how to glamour myself, and my mother—she took me back to her people to protect me,” he explained.

“Does the High Lord know?” Elain breathed. He was lying. He had to have been.

Still, it was nice to at least know his name. Fake or not, it pleased her, for some reason. Lucien.

“Of course,” he scoffed. “The ‘Summer Estate’ he leaves for six months every year is Undersea.”

The answer was detailed enough that Elain’s heart quickened. “You really are Lucien Spell Cleaver?” she asked.

“And you,” Lucien nodded, “are Elain Archeron. Pirate…and Mer killer, apparently.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Elain protested.

“Yet,” he finished for her. “You were going to kill me,” he said, those golden eyes—back to normal now that he was at their mercy—settling on her as he added, “You still are.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she scrambled. Some pirate she was—some of her rivals back East would have made her walk the plank for her hesitation.

Still, Elain could not bring herself to remember why…

“Why do you want my scales?” Lucien asked, interrupting her trail of thought—completing it, really.

“I told you, that is none of your business,” she told him, though her voice lacked her previous conviction this time.

“It is, if you still want them,” he countered.

“Why on earth would you give us your scales?” Jurian demanded.

“Well, I wouldn’t,” Lucien shrugged, then lifted his iron-bound hands into view. “As you can see, I am not in my Mer form, and will not be until you release me back into the sea,” he argued. “So, why don’t you just let me go, I give you my scales, and everyone wins?”

“Because you’re very obviously lying,” Elain cut in. “And you and your little Undersea army are going to sink my ship the moment it sails.”

The corner of his lip ticked upwards. “Is the word of a Prince not credible enough for you, Elain Archeron?”

“Not particularly,” she replied calmly. Princes, Lords—she’d heard their promises before, and ran to the sea to escape them.

“You are unlike any Mer hunter I’ve ever met before,” Lucien hummed, as though in thought.

Elain frowned. “There are hunters?”

“Of course,” he told her. “My father has disposed of as many of them as he could, but some still emerge every few years, hoping to see if the songs are true.” His expressions sombered. “Our scales are very valuable.”

“So we’ve heard,” Jurian said.

Lucien’s gaze flickered up. “It is money, then,” he said matter-of-factly, though something like anger lingered in the back of his throat.. “You wish to kill my people for a few gold marks?”

Elain swallowed.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, princeling,” Jurian seethed.

Elain placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Take a breath, Jurian,” she told him quietly. “Why don’t you leave us alone for a moment?”

Jurian looked at her—then back at Lucien again. “Let me know if you need help killing him,” he said darkly. Then, “For the record, I don’t care what you are,” he told Lucien. “You’re just annoying the shit out of me.”

And with that, he was gone, the wooden stairs carrying the echo of his steps. Only when they faded did Lucien finally say, “I like him.”

“He shot you,” Elain reminded him.

Lucien shrugged. “It wasn’t an ash arrow, now, was it? We live to forgive. Besides, I’m healed now.” Indeed, the wound in his shoulder had now closed almost entirely. “Well, almost,” he said, pointedly raising his wrists back into the light.

Elain had hoped the iron would work—it was an old superstition the humans thought could harm the Fae, but it had to have stemmed from somewhere. With Day’s libraries proclaiming the Merpeople as millenia older than the Fae, Elain figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Sorry about the iron bars,” she said, nodding to Lucien’s cell. “Precautions.”

“I would have expected nothing less,” Lucien said—then leaned back, letting the back of his head rest against the wood. “So.”

Elain released a breath.

“Alright,” she braced herself. He was her future High Lord, apparently—if she lied, she was already dead. “What do you know of Koschei?”

“Who?”

“Nothing, then,” Elain sighed. “He is a death-lord—a god-like being trapped somewhere deep in the Continent. His magic is even more ancient than yours.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “And you seek to…take his magic for yourself?”

“I want nothing to do with his magic,” Elain told him hotly, earning an arched eyebrow in response. “It is revolting. But, it also currently binds my friend’s soul to Koschei himself, and he will not give her up unless we offer him something in exchange.”

“Mer scales?”

“He wants the Cauldron,” she explained. “We are hoping the scales will do for now.” She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. Was the plan truly that hopeless? Was Vassa going to be trapped…forever?

In her misery, she hardly noticed Lucien had gone strangely quiet.

“Our scales do not even compare to the sheer power of the Cauldron,” he said, the words barely above a whisper.

Elain laughed bitterly. “If this is your way of talking me out of it, you should know I’m pretty desperate,” she told him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get my friend back.”

At that, Lucien said nothing. He only stared at her in thought, his eyes shimmering despite the darkness she and Jurian had shoved him into.

Then, “I see.” He stepped forward then—and halted an inch from the iron bars. “I was wrong about you.”

That, Elain did not expect.

“I told you, your spells do not work on me.”

“I’m well aware,” Lucien hummed. “I speak the truth. What is your friend’s name?”

Her throat threatening to close up, Elain managed, “Vassa.” She shook her head. “She’s like a sister to me. She’s Jurian’s…”

Understanding dawned on his features.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Lucien said.

“Yes,” Elain whispered. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Lucien studied her closely. “And do you have a…?”

Elain almost laughed—though she supposed it was better than breaking down in front of the man she’d imprisoned aboard her own ship. “Don’t tell me you’re back to your flirting strategy now,” she told him.

Lucien smiled—a true smile this time, though Elain wasn’t sure how she knew. “Was I truly that obvious?”

“I knew what you were,” she gestured over him as if it was enough of an explanation. “No one else has eyes like that.” Like the morning sun itself.

“Now who’s the shameless flirt, Elain?”

Elain chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She met his gaze again. “The song summoned you, did it not?” she asked. “You weren’t at the tavern when I arrived.”

Lucien nodded. “I heard it from beneath the waves.”

“I’m not that good a singer.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, his smile fading with the words. She found herself wanting to see it again. “It was for another reason that I heard you. I recognise that now.”

“Recognise what?”

Lucien hesitated. “I need to…” He shook his head. “I—I can’t be sure, it doesn’t…” He locked his eyes with her own again, and she watched him patiently as he searched her gaze. “Elain,” Lucien tried again, and she could have sworn his voice trembled with the word. He loosed a breath. “Come with me.”

Elain looked at his outstretched hand—careful not to let the bars graze his skin. “I told you—”

“I’m not using my magic,” Lucien interrupted. “Just…come with me. Undersea.”

“Like hell I will,” she crossed her arms. “I don’t trust you.”

Lucien just stared at her—started as if some internal battle was playing out deep inside him, one she could almost feel in her own chest.

Then, his hand pulled back, and he laid his palm flat over his chest. His heart, Elain realised, her gaze dipping toward it.

She heard it, then—a quiet, yet powerful sound, like a wave crashing over the shore. The steady beating of his heart.

It couldn’t have been—and yet…

And yet, somehow, Elain heard it. Continued to hear it even now, even stronger as Lucien proclaimed, “With my life,” he began, “I promise to do you no harm.” There was an urgency in his gaze as he pleaded, “Just get in the water with me, and I will be yours.”

Elain paused. “Your scales, you mean,” she corrected, suddenly finding herself entirely out of breath.

“Yes,” Lucien agreed. “That.”

Elain studied the bars keeping him away—then the iron key strapped beside her Cauldron-blessed sword. She swore on the Mother herself she could hear it whisper: Do it.

Perhaps she was simply losing her mind.

“Are you going to make me regret this, Lucien?” she asked him.

He simply stared back. “Are you?”

She supposed the question was reasonable enough. “Don’t tell Jurian I’m doing this,” she warned Lucien. “He’s going to kill me.”

Two minutes later, Lucien was free.

It was a blessing that they’d somehow missed Jurian, really—that she’d guided Lucien through the narrow space upstairs until they arrived at the starboard hand in hand, the sea soft and patient. Waiting.

What the hell was she doing? The only thing Elain knew for certain right now was that she was almost certainly going insane, and that Lucien’s hand in hers was warm and steadying in the buoying ship—and that those steps she was hearing somewhere behind them were, without a shadow of a doubt, Jurian’s.

Whatever Lucien was trying to prove, he had to do it now.

“Do we…jump?” she asked him.

“ELAIN!” Jurian yelled.

“I guess so,” Elain answered for him—and, together, they jumped.

The water, surprisingly, was warm despite the middle of the night. Helion liked to keep his Court warm at all times, but she supposed the sea, at least, would have carried some chill to it. It was then that she realised she’d never swam in those waters before—that she’d spent her lifetime admiring their every corner, but had never actually felt their beauty herself.

Everything happened so quickly.

The moonlight shimmered atop the sea, then sank deep beneath its surface, illuminating the space between them. Illuminating Lucien as his glamour faded and revealed the Prince of the Undersea in his true, unmasked form.

Elain could have drowned there and then.

The scales dotting his body glimmered under the light in a symphony of golds, bronzes and maroons, glowing even underwater as they formed a long, finned tail that floated gently with the current. He was sunlight come to life, the forest on a warm, autumn morning, the golden thread coming to life as it wrapped itself around her ribs, and Elain knew—knew this was the true beauty the sea had meant to show her from the very first moment she’d set sail.

“You…” She struggled for a breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

Lucien smiled, a webbed hand reaching for her own. “So are you, he said, placing her palm over his bare chest—just as he did aboard her ship moments ago. This time, though—this time, Elain could hear as their two heartbeats blended into one, a melody that made her own soul sing as Lucien whispered, “I am yours.”

The thread around her ribs tightened, forever to remain.

“You…” Elain blinked. “Oh.” She covered their joined hands with another, as if to make sure. “Lucien.”

“I needed to make sure,” he breathed, pulling her in. “You are my mate.”

There was reverence in the way he’d spoken the words—like some sacred spell only Elain was privy to hear from his lips.

She wanted to try them too.

“You are mine.”

“Yes,” he assured her.

“And I am yours.”

“Yes,” Lucien whispered again.

“Your scale—”

He squeezed her hands tighter. “Everything I am belongs to you now, Elain,” he interrupted. “But you will not need them.”

Elain blinked once more. “I don’t understand, I—”

Lucien smiled. “We have the Cauldron,” he told her. “My father took it—from Velaris.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“No.”

“Its wards protect us—have been keeping us safe for decades,” Lucien explained. “I think it is time we take our safety into our own hands,” he added, his thumb brushing over her palm.

Did he mean—?

Elain shook her head. “I couldn’t—”

“Where you go, I go,” Lucien said. “I am yours, Elain, and you are mine. Together, we’ll get your family back. And,” he hesitated, “If—if you still wish to have me around then—”

Her mate.

“Kiss me,” Elain demanded.

Lucien stilled. “What—”

“Now, Lucien.”

And he did.

Her eyes fluttered shut as Lucien’s mouth clashed into her own, and the world around then exploded—he tasted of salt and the sun-warmed breeze. He tasted like the rest of her gods-damned life, though she supposed eternity could never be enough to satiate the hunger one kiss had instilled deep inside her. Lucien kissed her as if she was the world, as if she was the light illuminating the sea embracing them, his lips hot and soft and all-consuming.

They had a war to face—but, as long as they faced it together…

Elain pulled back, their hearts pounding as one. She smiled at the sound.

“Let’s do this.”

[writtenonreceipts]

Elucien Week Masterlist 2024 // AO3

Day Two: Golden @elucienweekofficial

A small drabble of what could be.  Post battle scene of some future climax…

.*.*.*.*.

…and the sun rises

He is gold.

With magic streaming from his eyes and fire rolling from his fingertips—he is ethereal as he stands against the horizon.  The rising sun illuminates his brown skin and the powerful way he stands, taking in the fold of the winnow as he stands there, waiting.

He is gold, wreathed by unfettered power that pulses low and slow, and Elain cannot look away.

How can she?  When she can feel him; and not just the heat of his magic but his presence on her mind and a second heartbeat in her ribs.

She cannot look away from her mate.

Dawn rises, bloody and cruel, much like any other day as of late.  Autumn Court is accustomed to it as Elain has learned in the last few weeks.  Despite the continual glow of fires and the promise of a changing season, the court has been bathed in violence for far long then what this war may indicate.

Elain has endured it well enough but she is desperate to see this battle finished.  And now, finally, it seems she will get her wish.

Stepping through the archway he winnowed beneath, Lucien makes his way up long path that grants entrance into his former home.  He is golden light and power and warmth as he moves with confidence through the carnage of the city.  Death clings to the air, even now, but Lucien’s radiance softens the pain of it all.  Blood spatters and crumpled bodies still remain strewn across cobbled streets sending a spike of pain through Elain’s entire body.  But still, there beats that second heart, firmly tucked against her own.

Elain cannot move from her position on the veranda of the welcome halls.  Lady Mira waits beside her while Eris hovers not far off.  He himself is covered with blood and gore to the point Elain isn’t sure what color his shirt is supposed to be.  It suits him.  And Elain would worry why that thought doesn’t bother her if she weren’t so focused on her mate.

He does not wear the typical garb of an emissary.  Rather, he is dressed for war, clad in Day Court armor with the sigil of a sun at his shoulder.  He dismisses his brother entirely as he approaches, his sight set only for her.

The power of his true father, his true court, emanates from him to where his entire body glows.  When he bows, even enough to drop to his knee before her, Elain has to drop her gaze against the light.

“You’ve returned.” The words leave her lips in barely more than a whisper.

When Lucien looks up at her his mouth quirks in that certain way she loves.

“Just as I promised, my lady.”

And there, a new day is born.

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- Smut Day Two

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

[please check all tags before engaging!]

My Name, Your Confession by @ofduskanddreams

Elain and Lucien are both determined to ignore the bond at Nesta’s mating ceremony, but their ideas backfire as the bond chafes and they reach a breaking point.

Elain refuses to say Lucien’s name when he’s around—Lucien vows to make her scream it before the night ends. Is it really recklessness if it’s fate?

Previously titled: “He Who Must Not Be Named”

Desperate Measures by @separatist-apologist

Day Court keeps Lucien busy.

Lucky for Elain, Lucien knows just the way to rectify that.

we'll always have paris by @beesays

"Someone might see"

"So let them"

Or Elain has an exhibitionist streak and Lucien indulges.

Like A Survivor by @reispinkoveralls

Elain suggests a rather creative solution to overcome her PTSD involving Lucien and a set of chains.

So Long, London by @shadowisles-writes

"You swore that you loved me but where were the clues, I died on the altar waiting for the proof."

After the war with Hybern, Elain is welcome back into Graysen Nolan's estate to marry him. Elated to live the life she dreamed of, Elain learns to glamour herself to fit in among the humans of their village. Unable to keep away on her wedding day, Lucien paces outside until the very last moment he can interrupt to beg her to reconsider, except the scene he walks into is anything but a wedding.

Push Me Up Against The Wall by @xtaketwox

It's been 6 months since Elain's world was turned upside down by Graysen's cheating. Vassa knows just the thing to help Elain move on: Lucien

Separate My Soul From My Body by @crazy-ache

“I am Elain Archeron, sister of the High Lady of Night, Feyre the Cursebreaker. I’ve come to demand the release of Lucien Vanserra back to the custody of the Night Court.”

"And why would I do that?" The High Lord of Autumn demanded.

“Because he is my mate.”

When Lucien Vanserra is held captive by his father in the cruel depths of Autumn, there is only one force more powerful than politics that can save him—his mating bond with Elain Archeron. She must make the choice to save him, even if it means binding their souls forever.

Solstice Traditions by @infinitefolklore

Lucien comes to the River House on Winter Solstice eve with another gift for Elain. He is pleasantly surprised by her reaction.

Where's My Love by @shadowisles-writes

After getting the smallest taste of what being close to her mate might feel like, Elain can't help but need more. This is pretty much just smut.

Little Dove by @infinitefolklore

Human!Elain and Fox!Lucien

This is a slight canon divergence deleted scene.

After Feyre is taken to Spring Court, Tamlin sends Lucien to go check on the Archeron Estate. Lucien finds Elain all alone and offers her some company. Elain discusses her upcoming betrothal to Graysen, and Lucien tries to convince her to change her mind.

Kneel Before Me by @zenkindoflove

Lucien arrives at the House of Wind, only to be drawn into a sparring match with none other than the Inner Circle's own Shadowsinger. Things get out of hand and Azriel discovers whether he really can defeat Lucien easily.

Post-ACOSF, Elucien.

All Roads Lead To You by @annaskareninas

When Elain Archeron decides to travel the Continent, the last thing she expects is to run into Lucien Vanserra, her almost-mate, at a wine bar in the capital of Montesere. In fact, the only thing she expects less than that is to get extremely drunk, go skinny-dipping, and sleep with him.

The next morning, Elain flees Montesere. But it seems fate has other plans for her, because wherever she goes - Scythia, Xian, Rask - Lucien just keeps popping back up. Can she truly resist her destiny?

The Camping Trip by sunnyzoya

"Does that turn you on? Thinking about someone watching as I fuck you?"

I Think I Saw You In My Sleep by @zenkindoflove

The dreams of him come from the mating bond, but Elain wants them to stay. Elucien one-shot. Post ACOSF.

I'm Betting It All On You by @xtaketwox

Lucien is tired of living in limbo. He has a proposition for Elain. One kiss and if she still doesn't want him, he'll leave her alone forever.

Call Me When You Need by @whatishowedyouinthedark

Elain doesn’t mean to sleep with Lucien. The first time.

The Longest Night by @southsidestory & NextToSomething

The Winter Solstice is a time for gift-giving, love, and new beginnings. Elain wants none of those things from Lucien. She didn’t choose to be his mate, no more than she chose to be High Fae, and she’s not used to either yet. The only way to guard her heart is to keep her distance. But then a blizzard hits Velaris, leaving Lucien snowed in at the town house. And whether Elain likes it or not, she’s spending the night with her mate—the longest night of the year.

(A Court of Frost and Starlight canon-divergence.)

Emissaries With Benefits by @velidewrites

When diplomacy fails, Prythian courtiers Elain and Lucien like to resort to a steamier kind of negotiation.

[jules-writes-stories]

Elucien Week | Day 6 | Fearless | Chapter 6 on AO3

A Heart of Gold

A Retelling of King Midas, Lucien x Elain

...So many times, over the last few months, he had nearly winnowed to the Mortal Lands. Had written out a dozen letters on enchanted parchments.

Dear Elain, 

I miss you. I am sorry. Somehow, in just a few days, your eyes became home, and your name, my favorite song. Without you, I wander, lost in this silence. 

Lucien set the note on fire. He wrote another.

Dear Elain,

I am writing to enquire after your health. Please advise.

Lucien knew that Elain would set that note on fire. So, he did it for her.

In the end, he sent nothing. The Prince lay awake, each night, imagining how it could have been. Railing against his tragic fate, against the Mother Herself. And this self-imposed misery would have continued in such a manner, if the Lady of Forest and Flame, mother to the seven Sons of Autumn, was not so meddlesome. 

*                       *                       *

Face down, shirt off, a glass bottle was jutting into his ribs, but Lucien did not care. Good. It felt almost as painful as his ignored mating bond--constantly chafing and pulling, dragging him downwards, Southwards, towards the human who had bewitched him without a drop of magic.

Well, that was not true. Everything Elain did was magical. The way her wide eyes seemed to watch the world, taking everything in. How she listened to Lucien tell his story, took his hand, but never made him feel pitied, only less alone. How she gave of herself without a second thought. She was just…so fearlessly kind.

There was a quiet strength in her gentle ways. Helion shared with Lucien how Lord Archeron had jumped at the Bhagray’s vision. It made the Prince uneasy. Yet Elain, upon seeing her mate, seeing Lucien, did not succumb to accepting her heart’s desire. Most High Fae would have been unable to withstand the ancient mirror’s pull. But this mortal woman had.

And Lucien knew why. Helion saw the bond, how it shimmered and snapped taut at the sight of them happy together, in the enchanted mirror. But the Day Court heir had made Elain believe he did not want her. And his selfless, fearless mate would not force another to love her, against their own will. Lucien had let her go. He had only wanted to make it easy for her, to be able to say goodbye and move on without him. He was a fool. And his head was pounding.

He was pulled from his self-pity just about as quickly as the sheet was torn from his half naked form.

“A drunken fox.” A smooth voice, laced with humor. Eris.

That was all Lucien needed. He shot up and snatched the sheet, immediately regretting the quick movement. Eris chuckled.

“Did mother send for you?” Lucien asked, rubbing his temples. He reached over, and drank straight from the water pitcher at his bedside.

Eris tsked. “Pathetic. And yes. She says you’ve been moping, ever since you sent your human away.” The High Lord's eyes narrowed, now molten gold. “Elain.” He purred.

Lucien growled, unable to hold back the possessive reaction to his mate’s name on another male’s lips, even his brother’s. An auburn brow arched. Eris. The viper. Lucien had just given himself away.

“So, I was right again. You are bound to the fawn.” Eris threw a pair of pants at Lucien, smacking him right in the face. He wanted to burn the male, so badly.

The Fae King of Forest and Flame pulled the long Autumn sword, still sheathed, from Lucien’s dresser, and tossed it upon the end of his bed. “Meet me in Helion’s Atrium. I feel like sparring, and you look in need of practice.” Eris let his eyes travel along the planes of Lucien’s abdomen, the deep V of his hips, his smooth chest. His brother was clearly trying to rile him. It was working...

Read all of Chapter 6 on AO3

@the-darkestminds @elucienweekofficial @shadowqueenjude @prythian-fashion @zenkindoflove

[separatist-apologist]

You run a lot of events, so what do you think about events blocking people?

Oof, okay. You keep sending this ask, so I'm going to answer it. Please take into account that I do not speak for everyone, though I do know the majority of event runners in the fandom (inability to mind my own business).

I want to start by saying that fandom events are for the fandom/community at large. The goal is to have dedicated appreciation around a character, ship, theme- whatever. Something that brings everyone together in a positive way. Every event in the ACOTAR fandom is volunteer ran and, at least from my experience, takes an enormous amount of effort.

I've never met an event runner who wanted their event to cause problems, start drama, or otherwise alienate people. I don't know EVERYONE personally, so maybe someone is reading this "well I do want that", but they're certainly in the minority.

Running an event sometimes requires balancing the overall needs of the community with the wants of a few people. I know folks who have blocked people from events because they have every member of the event blocked, and it's too much effort trying to wrangle these individuals, especially if the event is very large and has a lot of content each day. These events typically have their moderators listed on the pinned post of the blog, so folks can check and see who runs it, and if they're blocked AND they've blocked all the admins...that's probably why.

Other events may block people they perceive might be anti-character/ship. Elucien week does that liberally, I think a lot of ship events that are part of the "ship war" probably do this.

I know this can feel hurtful- it's why LB and I have chosen not to block people (minus the ship events we host), even if they have us blocked, from events we run (unless they start problems with the event itself). So long as people remain respectful, if they want to participate we set aside our personal feelings because we're balancing the enjoyment of the community with our own personal feelings and frustrations.

However, I'm not condemning events that choose to operate differently. Just like fandom events are a community, so too are our individual interactions with folks. I won't speak for anyone else, nor will I say I don't think this should be allowed. There is nothing worse than having to host an event people are using as a battleground, or having to play nice with people who are taking shots at you every other second of the year, especially when you're doing this because you love the material.

So in short- I think event runners should be allowed to run their events in a way that feels supportive to them. Running a successful event is incredibly difficult- LB and I began planning and implementing our projects for elucienweek in January of last year for an anticipated week in July. Events that feature a lot of interactive elements, activities, and what have you are also doing the same. LB, Meghan, and I spent a lot of money, for example, to commission our coloring pages. LB makes quizzes, we did flappy elucien- it's just a lot of moving parts, and I'm saying that because if you do it well, it all seems very effortless and easy. Behind the scenes, though, it's a lot of work and the last thing anyone wants to worry about is other people trying to wreck all the careful preparation.

[aldbooks]

Elucien please! For “I missed you.”

Inspired by this gorgeous comic by artcraawl

The fragrance of roses nearly overwhelmed filled Elain's senses as she worked in the garden. So much so, that she didn't detect the addition of crisp apples and sandalwood until strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her back into a warm body and it engulfed her.

She closed her eyes, tipping her head back into the sunshine, a sense of peace washing over her. He was home. Her mate. She could feel his lips against her neck and his fingers playing with the ends of her hair as they both breathed each other in. A slight moan slipped from her lips and his arms tightened around her in response.

"I missed you," he breathed against her ear, his deep voice sending shivers over her skin.

Turning in his arms, she draped hers over his neck, no doubt showering his shoulders in bits of soil but he didn't seem to mind as his hands spread over her back, pressing her against him. His forehead lowered to hers, his mismatched eyes meeting hers in a smoldering gaze that flooded her with warmth.

"I missed you too," she said, slowly pushing up onto her toes until their lips were a breath apart. "I wish you did not go away so long."

He closed the last distance between them and she melted into him at the taste of his kiss. The kiss she had longed for each day he'd been gone from her. another moan escaped her and she sensed his growing arousal as he gently lifted her off her feet, lowering them to the ground until he was stretched out over her on the soft grass.

"I am sorry, my lady," he said, raining kisses over her face. "Next time, you should come with me."

Her heart jumped into a giddy rhythm at the invitation. "Really?"

Lucien pulled back to look down at her, his smile soft and sincere. "Of course. I always want you with me."

Happiness burst forth in her chest as she beamed at him. "Take me with you," she pleaded. "I want to see the world with you."

His smile turned mischievous. "Your wish is my command, mate."

His lips returned to hers with renewed vigor as she felt his hand slip beneath her skirts, making her gasp-

Elain jerked awake, blinking into the dark room as she willed her racing heart to slow and the warmth to leave her body. She'd dreamed of him again. The dreams had become more and more frequent over the last few weeks and were beginning to feel so real, it was almost disorienting to awaken from them.

They were becoming so real that Elain was beginning to wonder if they were really even dreams at all...

Rolling onto her back, she scrubbed a hand over her face as she stared at the ceiling as if she could scrub away the phantom feel of his lips on her...

"Shit."

[highlordofkrypton]

WIP GAME

Thank you @achaotichuman and @fourteentrout for tagging me 🥰

Rules:

Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

There's a part of me that feels like it's bad luck to post my WIPs because whenever I talk about what I'm doing, I never end up getting to it! A mental jinx! But I also love yapping, so I'm doing it anyway hehe

Some of these are ongoing series, and some are just question marks as to whether I'm doing additional chapters. Ofc, there's stuff I haven't started/posted yet.

ACOTAR - Tamlin Week - Day 5: Shapeshifter (PACRIM)

BATMAN x JOKER - Little Secrets for my Soul

BATMAN - Equalizer

The Justice League's Mom's Guide to Vampire Slaying

ACOTAR - Cassian Week - 2024

ELUCIEN - Warmth

AQUAFAM - the lighthouse

ANTHOPHILE - Draft_v2

SUPERBATS - Gala Nights

DRAMIONE x VENOM - Untitled

TAMLIN x RHYSAND - Portrait

NEEDLE & KING

THE LAST TALE OF THE FLOWER PRINCE

SILVER LININGS

[the-lonelybarricade]

good job lb, what you did was amazing and we're so glad to have you here, here 🍪🍩🍬🍮🍦❤

Thank you lovely 🥺

I don't want to complain because last week was so much fun and it was amazing how much everyone showed up, but facilitating the event behind the scenes took A LOT of work. I think MB already said this, I can't remember if it was publically or privately, but it felt like an 80 hour work week.

Y'all don't actually have to send me a "good job LB" (though I appreciate it), but I do ask that people understand I can only do so much. I wasn't even resting these last two days I haven't uploaded, I was building the Elucien Week Quiz 😂

I know anon was just excited about A Blaze in the Dark and wanted confirmation that I'll still be uploading it now that Elucien Week is over —and yes, I will be, because I'm excited about the story too! But it is a bit rude to assume that a brand new (literally a week old fic) is going to be abandoned, and it was especially frustrating coming straight off the back of a week of daily uploads + moderating a busy event. I just ask that y'all be a little patient with me and accept that I'll update fics as and when I have the capacity for it 💕

[xtaketwox]

🧙‍♂️🪄✨✨✨ You’ve been visited by the Wip Wizard! If you feel comfortable, gush a little about the three wips you’re most excited to work on! Then send this to another inbox to keep the magic going!

Thanks for the ask! I had another ask, but have so many ideas I'm working on that i haven't posted yet, that I have 3 more to talk about. LOL These ones are 3 separate fics but all related.

I'm writing a series and the first one will be posted for Feysand Week. The premise is a modern AU soulmates fic, in which everyone is born with an arrow on their hand. On their 18th birthday, the arrow points in the direction of your soulmate. On Feyre's 18th birthday, after both her sister's had terrible experiences, and her arrow didn't point towards Tamlin, she ignored her arrow...but Rhysand also never showed up. Fast forward 7 years, and well, I don't want to give more away. 😉

The second in the series will be for Nessian Week. Nesta left before midnight on her 18th birthday and told no one where she was going. Her father had let them fall into poverty after the death of his wife, and so she is extremely jaded about soulmates. She keeps in touch with her sisters but refuses to tell them where she is. She also has no interest in following her arrow and tells Cassian to his face to leave her alone.

The last will be an Elucien fic that I'll post after the other 2. Elain had been dating and planning to marry Graysen after high school and college, but when her arrow didn't point to him, he broke up with her immediately. She insisted she didn't care, that she wanted him, but he refused. Lucien showed up at her doorstep a few days later, but Elain, heartbroken, told him to never contact her again, and has been wearing gloves to cover the arrow ever since.

[kingofsummer93]

Hello hello! It's your secret santa agaaain!

Sorry if I disappeared off the face of the Earth, work has been hectic these last few weeks, we're approaching the deadline for our yearly goals (also our client sending more stuff our way). But how have you been? Enjoying the approaching christmas season? Hot? Cold?

Okay so, what's your favourite colours? Any themes you want to see elucien in? Any particular aesthetic? Christmas-flavour? Historical? Modern? Fairy-tale-esque?

Hppe you have a good sunday!

ACOTAR Secret Santa

Hi Santa!

I feel your pain, work has been pretty hectic for me too, so I’m looking forward to my time off around the holidays!

Those questions have me TINGLING because it sounds like you’re making me Elucien art!?!? 😱 😱 (if you’re not please feel free to tell me to calm TF down haha)

As far as aesthetics/themes, I love Christmas/winter themes for this time of year, but if that’s not your vibe no worries!

I also love Day Court vibes, any type of modern AU, garden/outdoorsy scenes. I’m not always a big fan of historical AUs but if you had an idea in that vein please go for it! I’m sure I’ll love anything you come up with 😊

Good luck with your deadlines at work!

[sideralwriting]

Ho ho ho!

I hope you had a really lovely weekend!

I'm starting to outline my gift for you and I have a few questions!! The first and foremost being, would a magic regency AU be something you would want to see? Because Santa can make anything possible.

Another question is: Would you like it to be holiday themed? This could be any holiday! Be it Christmas, Hanukkah, New years, Solstice, or maybe even a fantasy holiday that doesn't exist in our world! The power is in the palm of your pretty hands.

Last question: If I were to include background ships, which ships would you like them to be? 🥰

May you have a glorious day!! I am wishing you all the warmth and cozy vibes.

-🤫🎅

Secret Santa hello!! I'm sorry for waiting this long to answer but it's a crazy week, please ask anything you need and I'll write faster!

I've never read a magic regency AU, in any fandom😱 if you feel like it's something you would enjoy writing than pleeease that would be truly heroic!!

Yes, if you agree for it to be holiday themed you could use Winter Solstice so that people could like it anyway ~~☆

If you include other ships I would say I like the canon ones. Oh and I like Elucien for different reasons but honestly I don't need anon sending hate to any of us so feel free to leave it out.

Last time you asked me if it was snowing here. Lately it started to get so cold that I don't think snow is far now! Sending you warm sweaters and gloves!🫖

[acourtofthought]

Shipping Elucien

I really dislike the argument that it's wrong to ship Elucien because it's obvious that Elain wants nothing to do with him. And if this were a series where there was never any thoughts or emotions going on behind that which the character does or says, I'd agree with you.

Real life is a different story because we have nothing to go on in real life but a person's words. However, in fiction, there are layers and plots and hidden meanings so the same rules do not apply.

If we were truly basing things off the words alone, than we should have never shipped Feyre / Rhys and Nesta / Cassian:

FEYSAND

“What have you done to me?”

“Make it go away,” I said, and he laughed.

I hated him with my entire heart—

I wrenched my hand away. “Take me back. Now. I didn’t want to be stolen away.”

“Get the hell out of my head.”

“I wish to roam home.”

“I think we can agree that I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing.”

“I’m ready to be taken home,” I merely said.

“I didn’t ask to be here, or be given that week.”

“Get your hand off me.”

NESSIAN

“Tell my sister and that new High Lord of hers to send someone else next time. "

He pushed, simply because he damn well couldn’t stop himself,

“And what do you deserve?”

A slow smile, indeed a plains-cat readying for the kill. Then,

“Certainly more than a bastard-born nobody.”

“Shut your mouth,” she snapped, every inch the conquering empress. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—”

(Feyre asking) “Why do you bother, Cassian?”

But Cassian said quietly as we headed for the dining room, “Because I can’t stay away.”

She’d made it clear enough in those initial days after that last battle that she wanted nothing to do with him. With any of them.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

Even as she said, “I’ve made my thoughts clear enough on what I want from you.”

“What do you want?”

She made to shut the door on his hand.

Since Winter Solstice, they’d exchanged only a handful of words. Most had been at the barge party last month. They’d consisted of: Move. Hello, Nes. Move. Gladly. After months and months of nothing, of barely seeing her at all, that had been it.

She wore a male’s shirt. Worse, she wore only a male’s shirt.

We knew there was more going on beyond what was said. We could sense that their words and actions did not match up to what they felt inside.

Elucien is not any different. While I'm not here to dispute that the author could absolutely go the route of Elriel, Elucien, or something new entirely, her disinterest in Lucien at this time (based on every other pairing in her books) has no bearing on their ability to end up together.

She is not the same person as Feyre or Nesta. The argument of "Feyre and Nesta were angry towards Rhys and Cassian which = Passion" is not valid for Elain who avoids situations she's not ready to deal with rather than attacking them. So there is a very real possibility that while her actions express disinterest, her thoughts (which we are not privy to) could be an internal battle where she is fighting like hell to not let herself give in to getting to know Lucien. Not because she DOESN'T / couldn't like him but because she resents the fact that she IS drawn to him and stubbornly does not want to be, the same way Feyre and Nesta were with their mates.

[moodymelanist]

Elucien first kiss/date from the modern AU I beg you🧎🏾‍♀️

okay let’s go with the first kiss within the mean girl Elain/doesn’t give a fuck Lucien AU courtesy of @ncssian 😌

I’ll be up writing prompts for another hour while I wait for What If episode 2 to come out so feel free to send more if y’all are up!

Lucien hadn’t seen Elain for almost two weeks, not since he’d bumped into her coming back from her Halloween party. As much as she irritated him, he couldn’t get her tearstained face out of his mind. They weren’t close enough for him to reach out to make sure she was alright, and although he was friendly with the oldest Archeron sister, Nesta wouldn’t take kindly to him asking about Elain.

She didn’t show up to their shared class today, but he wasn’t going to pry; he was just tired of not having anyone to exchanged barbed insults with. When class let out he figured he’d head back to his dorm, considering it was his last one for the day and he didn’t have any plans with Vassa or Jurian.

He’d been lucky enough to get a single in one of the nicer dorms and he hadn’t taken it for granted for a single second. He dropped his backpack by the door, took off his shoes, and collapsed onto his bed with the relief of being done for the day.

Lucien was just on the edge of dozing off when someone knocked on his door and woke him up. Grumbling, he reached for a hair tie and pulled his hair into a messy bun before yanking open the door to reveal one Elain Archeron.

She looked pissed but much better than the last time he’d seen her; her bronze hair was pulled back into a half up half down style that showed off her perfectly made up face. She tended to keep her makeup natural and he liked how it showed off her lovely features, but over his dead body would he tell her that.

“How the hell did you figure out where I lived?” he asked.

“I’m a witch,” she said flatly. She raised an eyebrow and shifted her backpack on her shoulders. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Fine.” He moved aside and let her into his dorm, thankful that he’d cleaned his little room thoroughly last night. “Can I help you?”

“God, you’re rude,” Elain snapped. She glared daggers at him as she forcefully shut the door behind her and walked over to sit on his bed. She was so short that her legs hung comically over the edge and he had to hold back a laugh.

“You show up at my dorm completely unannounced and expect me to be nice?” Lucien shot back. “Give me a break, Munchkin.”

“Munchkin?” she repeated, her voice going up several octaves. “I came here to return your ugly fucking jacket and you want to call me names?”

“I did you a favor that night but you’re insulting my clothes?” he asked. He couldn’t help but snort. “Classic Elain Archeron, I guess.”

She gave him another murderous glare before taking off her backpack — pink, of course, to match her outfit — and unzipping it to reveal his jacket he’d loaned her a few weeks ago. “Here, asshole.”

“Thank you,” he replied dryly. She threw it as hard as she could but considering it wasn’t very heavy, it was child’s play for him to catch it before it hit him in the face. “You throw like a child.”

Elain got off his bed, zipped up her backpack, and put it on her shoulders before she got in his face. “Is being a dick just your default setting?”

“Is being a bitch yours?” Lucien fired back. He wanted to take the words back as soon as he’d said them, especially considering how outraged she looked.

“You are the most insufferable, rude, son of a bitch I’ve ever met—” she started, her voice rising. She jabbed at his chest with her pointer finger and he shooed her hand away.

“Oh please, you should talk,” he snapped. He wasn’t quite yelling at her but his voice was raised to match her volume. “You blackmailed me within our first conversation like the little snake you are.”

“I’d rather be a snake than a sloth,” she hissed. “You’re lazy for even taking this class when you’re a native speaker. You can’t even push yourself to try harder. It’s pathetic.”

They were so close together that Lucien could feel Elain’s chest rising and falling as she glared at him. He was glaring right back at her and was so angry about all the things she’d said about him like she even knew him well enough to say them, as if she could speak about things she had no clue about—

He wasn’t quite sure who moved first, but he blinked and they were kissing. His anger burned away into desire as he dropped his jacket and pulled her closer, doing his best to bend down to her height while she stood on her toes. She was quite the angry kisser and he matched her intensity right back, even daring to dig his hands into her soft hair with a little groan. She pulled away much sooner than he would’ve liked, her lips a little pink from their frenzied kiss.

“If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” Elain said. She gave him one last glare before she opened his door and slammed it on her way out.

[featherymalignancy]

Tender Jar: An Elriel Experiment                            

            “Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness, and the infinite                                              tenderness shattered you like a jar”                                         -Pablo Neruda

Synopsis: Six months after the war, Elain is still mourning all that the cauldron took from her, and it’s only Azriel she trusts not to judge her for her brokenness. However, when she has a vision concerning both Lucien and Graysen, she steels her courage and braves first the Spring Court and then the Mortal World, Azriel at her side. When lines are drawn and Elain is pushed to her emotional limit, she must decide whether she will let her past shatter her or give in to the desires of her tender heart.Warnings: Elriel with brief Elucien. NSFW. Contains some graphic depictions of sex and foul language, and minor violence.

See The Masterlist here

                          Previously on Tender Jar…

“Az,” she said, daring a step forward to brush her fingers to his broad back. As always, he stiffened when she made contact. He’d been careful to keep their physical contact to a minimum since that night in his room, and she tried not to feel stung at how much her touch clearly repelled him. “What is it?” she pressed. "Has something happened?”

He didn’t respond, though his wings flared slightly in agitation, the way Illyrians' often did when they were experiencing some extreme emotion.

“Is it something I—“ she began, but she was cut off as he abruptly turned, wings snapping to his back as he backed her against the wall and kissed her.

Part VI: Azriel

Azriel winnowed deep into the hedge maze at the Southern end of Tamlin’s lurid estate, wrapping himself in darkness and snarling his pained frustration. When he was done, he let his body go limp, resting his forehead on the cool lip of a nearby fountain as he tried to gentle the roaring hiss of secrets the shadows whispered into his ear. He’d trained for nearly half a millennia to master them, and normally with his unassailable control, they were easy to filter. However, what happened with Elain had fractured his composure, and with the floodgates broken, Azriel was struggling not to drown in them.

Your absence has been noted. Three sentries disbatched to follow. The wraiths are with the girl. The Autumn lordling is looking for her as well. He suspects—

Azriel let out another pained snarl, struggling to overpower a foreign sensation clawing up his chest that was making it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the day the Illyrians had dragged him out of his father’s house screaming nearly six centuries ago. He took a shuddering breath, fighting to lower his pulse. It was only after he mastered the feeling and took a full, deep breath that he recognized it for what it was: the urge to cry.

Azriel had once heard Rhys describe him as a creature of icy rage, and his brother was right; Azriel had always kept himself cocooned in ice, because to him, heat was nothing more than pain. Heat was the scorch of the oil on his hands as they caught alight. It was the ruination of his flesh, the smell of his skin as it burned off his bones. Heat was the look in Morrigan’s eyes as they fell on Cassian that day in the camp, and the searing pain when he’d learned that she had chosen his best friend over him.

So Azriel plunged his heart, ravaged by all he’d seen and endured, into a darkness so frigid that it too had burned, and he’d held it under the cold until it had hardened to bitter ice, and nothing could touch it. Not his desire for Mor nor his hatred of his brothers, and not the searing knowledge that in both instances, he’d been unwanted, unworthy. The numbness, though imperfect, had worked, and for hundreds of years his heart had remained that way: savagely frozen, impervious to heat.

But Lucien had been right; Elain was like Spring. She was the warmth of new beginning, and like all wintery things, Azriel’s frigidity had thawed under her careful touch. She’d done it with her smiles, and her fragile courage, and her enduring belief that no matter how bitter the winter, the flowers would bloom again at the turn of the seasons.

He’d known it had been happening for awhile, known it since the day he’d risked everything to go to Hybern and rescue her, and had tried to guard himself against it, but the last few weeks had completely undone him. Seeing her smile at him, hearing her laugh and cry—both of which were so achingly honest—it had all worn away what little resistance he’d still had.

And tonight, when he’d seen her with Lucien, watched them dance and heard the shadows whispering to him the offers the spoiled little lordling had made her, Azriel had felt a heat, unfamiliar and dangerous, blooming in his chest.

It was anger, first and foremost, anger towards the cauldron for granting an unworthy vulpine like Lucien Vanserra Elain as a mate. It was also jealousy, the same he’d felt towards Cassian when he’d bedded the female he loved. It was the white-hot pain at the realization that just as it had been with Mor, it could’ve been him that Elain had chosen, but wasn't.

More than anything, though, it was desire. He wanted Elain, had wanted her for a long time, and as he'd listened to his newly-revived heart pounding hot blood into his ears, he’d been nearly overcome with the need to have her, mind, body, and soul.

And when she’d come to him, when she’d left Vanserra to seek him out, he'd snapped. He’d spent centuries honing his control, teaching himself patience and restraint, and she’d shattered it all in a single evening.

He could still feel the soft material of her gown under his fingertips, and the press of her gorgeous breasts against his chest. And when she’d touched his wings, Cauldron damn him, he’d been ready to push up her skirts and fuck her in the hall, he’d been so blinded by want.

But had only taken two syllables from her to bring it all down, and in point of fact, it had been perhaps the only word capable of breaking the fugue her touch and taste had thrown him into.

Lucien.

And the way she said it, the desperation and need in it, it had broken Azriel. He felt all of it—everything he’d spent centuries holding at bay—crash into him all at once.

Whatever slow, slouching agony Azriel had endured over Mor, whatever lessons he thought it might have taught him about managing disappointment, hearing Elain say another male’s name while she was in his arms had been so much  worse. At least with Mor, he’d never allowed himself to touch her, or to fully acknowledge just how badly he wanted her to return his affections, however pathetic and unrequited. That last little distance—that barest stretch of dignity he’d retained by not seeking her out—had been his salvation through centuries of wanting.

But with Elain…

He’d ceded the majority of hope he’d ever had of not wanting her for the rest of eternity when he’d let her touch his wings that night in his bedroom, and he’d yielded the rest when he’d kissed her tonight and let himself fully imagine what it would be like to be loved by her, to have her always at his side.

He let out yet another pained snarl, banging his fist on the fountain’s lip so hard that the water within shuddered in fear.

The shadows continued to roar in his ears, but even through the chaotic, cacophonous disappointment eddying his thoughts, he felt something foreign lurking at the edge of the poisonous fog that made up his mental shield, seeking permission to enter. He rolled his neck and let go of his strangling grip on the shadows, allowing the presence into the antechamber of his mind.

What the hell is going on? Rhys’s voice echoed. Mother’s tits, I can feel you seething from here.

Azriel clenched his jaw but didn’t reply. He couldn’t bare to voice what had happened, even knowing Rhys of all people would understand.

Talk  Rhys commanded. What’s going on? Is Elain alright?

"She’s—beautiful, brave, in love with another male—she’s fine."

And you?

“You know me.”

Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking.

Azriel felt the prescense in his mind rallying its strength, seeking to gain further entry.

“Get out my head,” he snarled, snapping at a tendril of Rhys’s power with a barbed one of his own.

Then tell me what’s going on with you! I can feel your distress from Velaris!

“I’m not distressed.”

Unhinged, then. Seriously, I—

"Can you never mind your own damn business?”

Azriel felt Rhys’s energy change, felt it sharpen and grow dark.

I’m still your High Lord. Tell me what’s going on or I swear to The Mother Az, I will unleash Nesta Archeron on you. Or maybe I’ll have Cassian kick your ass, I haven’t decided.

"Go ahead,” Azriel snarled quietly.

He could take Cassian and they both knew it. Besides, a few broken ribs would be a welcome distraction from the evening so far. Anything to numb the memory of Elain's hands sliding through his hair, down his chest...

Is it Vanserra? Has he—done something? Said something to you or Elain?

"He’s a child; I can handle him."

Yes, but does he need handling?

"It’s nothing,” Azriel replied, clenching and unclenching his left fist. He needed to hit something. Or better yet, someone.

Fine, Rhys snapped. But I want you back in Velaris in three days, or I will send Feyre and Nesta to sort whatever this is out.

“We leave for the mortal lands tomorrow. Depending on what happens with the boy, we could be back in Velaris by sundown.”

I will hold you to that, then.

“Fine,” Azriel said. “We’ll speak when I return.”

There was silence on the other end of the sinuous connection, but Azriel could feel Rhys’s presence linger.

Az, are you sure you’re alright?

“I said I was fine.”

Is this about you and Elain?

Azriel’s throat ached with the effort of keeping his voice even.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You don’t have to lie to me, brother. I see the way y—

Azriel snapped down his shields without so much as a goodbye, feeling with grim satisfaction as Rhys’s voice was smothered by the dark fog.

He stood alone in the darkness for several more minutes, fighting to force his pain back into the icy chest he’d kept it in all these years.

Some sick, tortured part of him yearned to go to Elain even now, to hear what she’d been about to say when he’d disappeared. She’d kissed him back, after all, and the way she’d touched his wings with such careful intent and writhed against him…

No, he wouldn’t. She’d made it clear enough where her heart lay. He wouldn’t burden her with the odious task of formally rejecting him, and he couldn’t trust his fractured composure not to betray him. No, he would stay here until he could master himself, even if it took all night. He had no choice but to face her when they left the following morning, but he promised himself that by then, he would be in control again. He didn’t have a choice: their mission was far from complete, and the journey would only get more difficult from here.

He forced all the tension, all the frustration and pain, from his shoulders and back, down his arms and stomach until the power of it was concentrated in his scarred hands, his favourite reminder of just how unworthy he’d always been, always would be. He snarled, and he felt the lip of the fountain strain beneath his grip, a thin tracery of  cracks spidering through the marble.

The violence of it made him feel—if not better—at least less manic, and he let out a shuddering breath, head hanging low enough that he felt his shoulder blades touching, his wings forming a dark mandorla behind him that shielded him from prying eyes. Tamlin's sentries where still trying to sniff him out, the shadows warned him. Azriel let himself fade deeper into darkness. If someone were to pick a fight with him now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back from tearing them apart, and he didn’t relish in the prospect of igniting a war with Spring over something so petty and selfish.

He tensed when he felt a shadowy presence appear behind him, but he forced himself to relax as Nuala approached. She stopped a measured distance away, waiting calmly for him to speak.

“Report,” he said, forcing his voice flat.

“Three sentinels were dispatched to find you, but they have been misdirected. The Lady Elain is in her room, and Cerridwen is with her.”

She paused, and he knew what she was hesitant to say.

“And the Autumn lordling?” he asked for her.

“Still at the festivity. Though he’s begun to make inquiries after her. Would you like me to…keep him distracted?”

Azriel clenched and unclenched his fist, tempted—so bloody tempted—to say yes. Because he’d seen the way Lucien had been looking at Elain, heard the subtle offer he’d made her. Not that Azriel could blame the spoiled prick for wanting Elain. She was his mate, after all, and she was so unbearably beautiful—the most beautiful female Azriel had ever seen. Even now, he could feel his own desire for her roiling like poison in his gut.

“No,” he bit out after a beat. “Just…keep an eye on him, and tell me where he goes.”

Nuala paused again. She’d been in his service enough to know his moods, and she must sense how black it was at present, how snarled and jagged the usually polished edges of his demeanor had grown.

“And if he should come to My Lady’s room?” she asked finally.

Azriel felt a surge of fetid emotion swell at the thought of Lucien’s hands on Elain, his lips on her bare skin…

“If she wishes to invite him in, that is her choice. I am her companion, not her keeper.”

He felt Nuala’s consideration as she debated commenting. He prayed she wouldn’t. He knew he’d trained her too well and that she’d seen too much of what had passed between him and Elain not to know the score by now, but he couldn’t bear the humiliation of all of it being dragged into the open.

“And you?” she said at length.

He felt more than heard as she chanced a small step forward. Not close enough to touch him, but enough that he could feel her shadows, cool and nimble, twining with his.

His own surged at the quiet caress, rising to whisper her silent invitation in her ear.

Ask her to your bed. She will not refuse. She will be attentive, she will—

Azriel turned, forcing himself to meet Nuala’s obsidian eyes. It would not be the first time he’d bedded her, but this was different. He could sense her offer, though sincere, was perfunctory, not born of any real desire for him. He wouldn’t be so selfish as to use her sense of duty against her. She was a loyal lieutenant, and she deserved better than to be a stand-in or a warm body. Besides, even if he hadn’t respected her as much as he did, he doubted bedding another female could lessen the pain of wanting Elain.

“I’ve heard the scouts report of trouble along the Northeastern border,” he said in answer. “I want to find out more before we leave. If Beron Vanserra is up to something, I would know what it is before we leave here.”

She nodded, stepping back dutifully.

“Of course,” she said, giving a small bow. “I will stay here.”

He nodded too, wishing he could find a way to express his gratitude to her without losing his grip on the reigns of the weak bit he’d managed to wrestle between his pain’s sharp, stubborn teeth.

“Thank you, Nuala,” he managed, and she inclined her head again.

“Anything, my lord.”

He bristled at the title, an ill-fitting moniker only the wraiths ever forced on him, despite centuries of protestation. Unable to find the strength to fight her on it tonight, he unfurled his wings in tacit farewell, offering her only the barest nod before exploding into the night with a leathery boom.

Azriel stayed awake until dawn, flying unseen over the territory, all the way to the outskirts of the Autumnal border. There he listened to the scout’s reports of what they’d seen, of the few Autumn spies they’d caught lurking to close to the demarcation line between their two terrorities. None of them seemed to know what they wanted, even Tamlin, who showed up to receive reports of his own just before daybreak. Lucien, Azriel noted, was not with him, and Azriel tried to assure himself it was because he was no longer Tamlin’s emissary, and that despite their professed friendship, he was no longer privy to Tamlin’s secrets. It was a desperate hope, but Azriel clung to it, not able to bear the alternative. He’d heard nothing from Nuala after he’d left her, but she seemed to understand the situation well enough that she likely would have withheld any information she knew would hurt him, unless it compromised Elain’s safety.

Azriel arrived back to his room in the early hours of morning, feeling weary to his very bones. He’d expected to have a better grip on his emotions by now, but he still felt hollowed out and raw. A few more days, he reassured himself. It was only a few more days, and when he got back to Velaris, he’d beg Rhys for something—anything—to take him out of the city and away from Elain and Lucien for a time. He hoped the distance might lend him perspective, and peace, and that when he returned, he and Elain could go back to the friendship they’d shared before all this, just as he and Mor had done so many centuries ago.

It was the prospect of losing that, he realized, that scared him more than having to watch her mate another male. He wanted Elain, yes, he likely always would, but it was her spirit—her soul—he loved best about her, and it would be worth any other pain to be allowed to keep spending time with her as they’d done in the months after Hybern’s defeat. He only prayed now that she would accept it, and that as her mate, Lucien would find the restraint to bear it.

Once in his room, he practically tore the fine velvet jacket he still wore in his haste to get the garment off. It still smelled faintly of Elain, he realized, and the scent had been quietly driving him to madness all evening, even as he struggled to get her out of his thoughts. He tried not to breathe in as he wrestled the monstrosity over his head, but he couldn’t escape the whisper of rose and magnolia that brushed against his senses. Even now, even after everything that had happened, he could feel his body react to the smell, to the memory of her soft body undulating against—

He growled, ripping off his boots and hurling one at the wall hard enough to crack some of the gilded moulding. Satisfied, he prowled into the bathing room, filling the tub with scalding hot water and generous amounts of eucalyptus to cool his sizzling nerves. He still didn’t feel entirely in control of himself, and he feared what would happen if he faced Elain with anything other than full restraint.

He felt his shadows rise in a flare, whispering to him as he settled into the bath.

The lordling did not visit her during the night, but he is with her now. They are sharing a private meal. She is calmed by his presence.

Azriel considered this before pushing the shadows outward, letting them slip from beneath the door and slither across the hall, until they could hear what was being said in the room beyond.

“You retired early last night,” Lucien commented. His tone was light, carefully observational, but the shadows could sense the underlying desperation in the question.

He suspects, they whispered to Azriel. He fears that Elain sought you out. He wishes to reassure himself.

“I’m sorry,” Elain said in response to Lucien’s unspoken question. “It’s been a trying few weeks, and I just wanted to be well-rested for our journey.”

Lucien remained silent as he considered. The shadows noted his elevated pulse, the way he seemed to fight to keep him muscles relaxed.

“I hope it isn’t because of what I said,” he finally managed. “I would never want you to feel as if I expect…“

He trailed off, and the shadows drank in the younger male’s quiet desperation.

“I don’t,” Elain assured him, and there was a soft affection in her tone. Azriel knew she could sense Lucien’s distress as well, and it wasn’t in her nature to allow someone to flounder in their own pain, particularly not someone with whom she shared such a holy bond. “I am flattered you find me so...“

She trailed off, and the shadow noted as Lucien’s heart rate continued to climb.

“I do,” Lucien said in a soft, intent voice. “More than any other female I’ve ever met. Elain—“

Azriel let out a pained snarl, withdrawing his shadows to avoid hearing any more. He watched as they bled into the water of the bath instead, leeching the it’s warmth and mirror-bright reflection until the water was obsidian and bitterly cold. Azriel forced himself to remain for several minutes, letting the chill center him. Only when he felt his muscles begin to go numb from cold did he let himself get out, dressing with brutal Illyrian efficiency. Even still, he felt his fingers trembling slightly as he attached Truth-teller to his leg. He flexed his hands several times in an effort to dispel their shaking.

He could do this. He’d faced far worse than this in his life, and he wasn’t seventeen anymore. Rolling his shoulders and letting his wings flex in agitation, he finally tucked them to his back, feeling better as he slid his sword home into the sheath along his spine. He was free from the insidious restraints of court, he reminded himself, and it made him feel a fraction less manic. An hour, tops, and he would be free of this place and the mess he’d made for himself here. If he was lucky, it would be a hundred years before he was forced to return here, if not longer.

Touching Truth-teller’s hilt to steel his nerve, he crossed the hall and knocked on Elain’s door.

“Who is it?” Lucien called, and Azriel grit his teeth in irritation.

He debated a sharp retort, the same kind Vanserra himself would have given were their positions reversed. Instead he merely admitted himself, closing the door behind him with a soft snick.

He forced his eyes to pass over Elain in an assessing arc, as if merely insuring she was safe and suitably outfitted for travel. In reality, seeing her, having her scent wash over him, was the most exquisite agony, a twisting of the knife the previous evening have jammed into his gut.

Elain was dressed in a simple gown in midnight blue, which set off her creamy ivory skin and made her brown eyes seem almost gold. Someone—likely Cerridwen—had plaited her hair down her back, and even now, Azriel had to fight down the urge to run the silken rope of its length through his fingers. He settled for flexing them instead, letting his expression grow harder as he turned to Lucien.

“Alright, let’s hear this plan of yours.”

Lucien had—to Azriel’s furious chagrin—kept their travel route to himself for the past several weeks, insisting that its secret needed to be guarded until it was absolutely necessary to divulge it. Azriel had bristled at the enduring insult of the gesture, of the suggestion he either couldn’t or wouldn’t keep the stupid, spoiled lordling’s secrets if asked.

Lucien crossed his arms.

“We winnow to the coast, and take a ship to the continent from there.”

“A ship?” Azriel repeated incredulously.

“A clever invention to safely transport one across a body of water,”  Lucien replied in a glib tone, giving Elain a small wink that had Azriel seeing red. “Have you truly never heard of one?”

Azriel loosed a soft growl, fighting to keep his wings from unfurling to express the full measure of his agitation. It was Illyrian instinct to show one’s wings when challenged, and the urge was especially strong when a contested female was present. He’d already slipped up and done it once in front of Vanserra. He couldn’t afford a second time. Besides, he reminded himself, there would be no more contesting for Elain’s favor from his end.

“We don’t have time for your childish games, Vanserra,” he warned in a quiet, deadly voice. “It’s more than a week to the kingdom by sea, and we’ll be vulnerable to attack.”

“Attack from whom, Shadowsinger? No one knows where we’re going.”

“Tamlin knows,” Azriel shot back coolly. “That’s more than enough threat for me.”

Lucien bristled at the insult to his friend, and Azriel felt his fury growing. How Vanserra could stand there, after everything Tamlin had put Azriel’s family through—put Lucien’s own mate through—and still defend the prick, Azriel would never understand.

“The kingdom’s borders are warded,” Lucien said prudently instead. "Vassa’s guards have orders to shoot anyone who tampers with them on sight.”

“Leave that to me,” Azriel said. “I can get through a few wards.”

“And if you do?” Lucien said. “How will you explain our presence at court if we simply appear out of thin air?”

“Perhaps if I’d known this was your plan three weeks ago, I would have an answer to that question.”

“Spare me. You couldn’t even—“ Lucien began, but Elain cut him off.

“Please, let’s not fight,” she said, worrying a pair of soft riding gloves in her hands. “Azriel, if Lucien says this is the best way, I think we ought to trust him.”

Azriel felt the knife sinking in just that much deeper, and he had to keep himself from flinching at her words, and the realization that lay behind them. It was Lucien she trusted, Lucien she’d chosen to follow.

“Az,” she said, and he stiffened at the gentleness of her tone, and the intimacy in evoking a diminutive he’d only allowed a handful of people to ever use. “Please.”

He couldn’t help it; he glanced up at her, and the look she was giving him was enough to make him regret it. Her expression was a bare echo of the pained one she’d given him the previous evening, after things had gone so terribly wrong between them. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to undermine her decision by refusing to honor it, and anyways, he wasn’t sure he could resist attacking Vanserra if they kept arguing.

“Fine,” he said, needing to get out of this room, out of this damn territory. “But if something should go awry, Vanserra, know that it’ll be on your head.”

Lucien rolled his eyes like the petulant child he still seemed to Azriel, and he had to fight not to spring at the other male. He flexed his left hand to keep it from straying to Truth-teller’s hilt.

“Make your preparations, then,” Azriel said. “We’ll leave at nine bells.”

Lucien bristled at the command in Azriel’s tone, but he ignored the younger male, letting his eyes pass over Elain and hoping she couldn’t see all the things he was still longing to say. 

With a bare nod to her, he left the room, crossing into his own and making for a small table in the back arranged with a number of ornate liquor bottles. Not bothering with one of the crystal glasses, Azriel unstoppered one and took a long, bitter swig. It burned going down, but he ignored the cloying taste, taking another sizable draught, then another.

“Is that wise, My Lord?” a soft voice echoed. “You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Azriel didn’t turn, but he did set down the bottle he was holding, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and his empty stomach rioted in protest at the liquor now heaving in his belly.

“Not now, Nuala. Please.”

“I would not see you make yourself sick, My Lord.”

Azriel grit his teeth, even as his stomach continued to roil.

“If I wanted a lecture,” he said. “I would have brought Morrigan.”

She didn’t reply to this, and Azriel knew her training was telling her she’d said what she needed to.

“I need you to go back to Velaris,” he said. “The plan has changed, and Rhys needs to be informed.”

“My Lord—“ she began, but he turned, holding up a hand.

“It’s not a dismissal, Nuala,” he assured her. “But I don’t have a way to reach The High Lord, and I gave him my word that I’d be back in Velaris by last light.”

It wasn’t strictly true, he could drop his mental shields and call out, but he was still having some difficulty keeping his shadows on a leash, and he didn’t want Rhys to know, though he likely already suspected.

“You could send Cerridwen,” she pointed out.

“I could,” he agreed. “But I am sending you. Can I trust you to follow my orders?”

She nodded, and he felt a whisper of her darkness brush against his in a gesture of silent comfort.

“Thank you,” he said, and she nodded again, already blurring into shadow.

Azriel let out a long breath when she was gone, resisting the urge to take another swallow from the bottle. Nuala was right, it was a long journey, and he wasn’t Cassian; he knew better try and drown his problems in liquor. In the end, they never died, only resurfaced gorged on drink.

Retreating into the bathing room, he washed out his mouth instead, splashing cold water on his face and neck.

The High Lord waits in the Receiving Hall. Your presence is expected. The guard has been doubled, and they grow restless.

Steeling himself, Azriel strode from the room, trying to ignore the faint lingering scent from the night Elain had healed his wings. Without even fully realizing it, he’d been preserving it, not allowing it to fade. It had been a foolish decision, especially as it tortured him one final time, but he couldn’t help clinging to it, nor could he deny that with the exception of the night before, her familiar aroma had helped him sleep better than he had in decades. Centuries, even.

Letting the door slam shut behind him, he swiftly made his way down to the Receiving Hall, where Elain, Lucien, Tamlin, and—indeed—a small army of guards awaited.

“I’m not accustomed to being made to wait, Shadowsinger,” Tamlin said in greeting, and Azriel only clenched his jaw in response. He was so close to freedom, there didn’t seem much point in souring it by punching the smarmy bastard in the face.

There was a beat of charged silence before Lucien stepped from Elain’s side, extending a hand to his friend. Tamlin accepted the gesture, and the two males gripped one another at the elbow before embracing.

“See you soon, Tam,” Lucien assured him, pulling away. Tamlin didn’t reply, but his expression was warmer than usual, and when his eyes fell on Elain, he held out a hand for hers.

Elain hesitated so briefly Azriel was sure that only he and the shadows noticed before slipping her gloved hand into his. Tamlin pressed a courtly kiss onto the supple suede sheathing her knuckles.

“It's been an honor, Elain Archeron,” he said in a flat, cordial tone. “And I was right in my predictions. Despite your…” he glanced up at Lucien. “...situation, I have been inundated with requests for your hand in marriage, Princess of Thorns or no.”

Lucien let out a low snarl Azriel himself only barely managed to keep back.

“Tell me the hands,” Lucien said, tone acerbic. “So I can cut them off.”

Tamlin gave a light laugh, and Elain used the opportunity to retract her hand and retreat back to Lucien’s side.

“Don’t worry, Lucien,” he chided, the bitterness edging back into his tone as he watched his friend press a reassuring hand to Elain’s back. “It seems you have little to fear where your mate is concerned.”

Elain flushed scarlet, and Azriel felt his own temper straining at the leash. He knew that Elain already felt enough pressure to fulfill expectations and mate Lucien. It made Azriel’s blood boil to see her goaded about it. Or perhaps that was simply his jealousy rearing its ugly head at the prospect of Elain becoming another male’s bride. No, not another male, he reminded herself. Her match, Cauldron-divined and Mother-blessed.

It was here, while Azriel was still fighting to keep his expression blank, that Tamlin’s eyes slid to him and went cold.

"Tell your High Lord that I expect an invitation to his fabled city of stars. I think after this visit I’m owed the same plunder of secrets that my territory just endured from you.”

Azriel felt his ire bend to near breaking. The shadows told him he was on dangerous ground, furiously noted the rising heartbeats of the soldiers around him. He crossed his arms to keep from going for Truth-teller, and his back was screaming with the effort of keeping his wings tucked in behind him.

"The next time he leaves my High Lady’s bed for more than an hour,” he spat quietly. "I will be sure to let him know."

Tamlin unsheathed his claws and snarled, and Azriel felt his siphons flaring, all the pain and frustration of the previous evening sizzling under his skin, trying to fight free.

“How dare you,” Tamlin seethed, and Azriel only bared his teeth, wings tearing open in obvious challenge.

He would apologize to Rhys later, he thought as he felt the sentries moving in on him. As long as he didn’t kill anyone, he doubted Tamlin would have the balls to go to war over this.

“If I may,” Elain interjected breathlessly, sliding from Lucien’s side until she was in Tamlin’s line of sight, blocking his view of Azriel. Azriel’s agitation grew at seeing the female he loved so close to those lethal claws. “The Shadowsinger doesn’t speak for Rhysand or my sister. If it’s an invitation you’ve been waiting for, then perhaps you’d accept one from me on their behalf. Come for the Winter Solstice and dine as a guest of honour at the High Lord and Lady’s table. I think you’ve find they are both eager to mend the hurt between your two households.”

Tamlin considered Elain, chest still heaving, but something in her expression must have assuaged him, because after a second his claws retracted. Or perhaps it was simply her loveliness that had turned him. It was no exaggeration that she had a face designed to bring males to their knees, a face so exquisite in its rendering that the Cauldron itself had fallen in love with her, besotted enough to give her a gift It granted few others.

“You’ve taught her well, Lucien,” Tamlin said after a breath, still drinking Elain in. Azriel could sense her revulsion, but it didn’t show on her face as she continued to hold the High Lord’s gaze. "I accept your invitation, Lady. And you,” He turned back to Azriel, who let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since Elain jumped in Tamlin’s path. "If you ever step foot in my territory again, your life will be forfeit. That’s a promise.”

Azriel, feeling at the end of his rope, simply wrapped himself in shadow and vanished, trying to calm himself down, cool the burning in his chest that had ignited the minute he’d heard Elain leave the party to come after him. He winnowed to the first checkpoint he and Lucien had agreed on, flexing and unflexing his fighting hand as he paced.

At the sound of a small pop he turned, sneering at Lucien as he advanced.

"What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucien said, shoving Azriel and nearly unraveling his tenuous control.

“Don’t touch me,” Azriel seethed, itching to teach this stupid, arrogant, unworthy welp the same lesson he’d been itching to teach the High Lord.

"Whatever it is you’re sulking about Illyrian, I suggest you get over it."

Azriel bared his teeth, wishing Cassian was there to knock the prick on his ass.

"I don’t sulk,” he snarled quietly.

Lucien gave a bitter laugh, ignoring Elain’s fretful glance darting between the two males.

"What’s wrong?” he jeered, making Azriel see red. "One of your wraiths refuse to suck your—"

Azriel flexed his power the same way one might a muscle, and his siphons flared, a Quarterstaff of blue admanant appearing in his left hand. He twirled it deftly as he used his right had to block a burst of autumnal fire before swinging it with blinding speed, knocking the spoiled lordling to the ground. Quick as an asp, he’d halved the staff into two wicked batons, turning to square off with Vanserra where he now stood, blade drawn.

“Stop!” Elain cried, breaking the blinding rage Azriel had slipped into. He could see the batons’ azure glow reflected in her eyes, and he let the power slip until they disappeared. “Lucien’s right,” she continued, gaze harder than usual. “That’s enough.”

Lucien was still snarling as he pulled her away from Azriel, as if to protect her. And she—Azriel felt the vice in his chest tighten. She let him, let him sweep her behind him.

Because he was her mate. Because they’d been made—designed—to protect one another from outside threats, just as they were doing now. And Azriel—he was that threat. He’d often felt uncomfortable in his own skin, especially with his scars, but he’d never felt so monstrous as he did watching Elain avoid his gaze from behind Lucien’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Lucien said, turning his back to Azriel and igniting Azriel’s savage Illyrian instinct to drive Truth-Teller between the bastard's eleventh and twelfth vertabrae, piercing his heart and severing his spine in one deft move.

Azriel felt another wave of acrid jealousy course through him as Lucien smoothed the tail of Elain’s braid between his thumb and forefinger, and in an instant he had his wings unfurled, flexing them wide before leaping into the air.

“Wait!” Elain cried, her hair whipping in the gust he’d created. “Where are you going?”

Away from you. Away from your scent, your smile, that pleading look in your—

“To scout ahead,” he said flatly. “I will meet you at the harbor no later than midday."

“Stay out of sight,” Lucien warned. “We’re close enough to the coast that Tamlin could claim plausible deniability if he had one of his sentries shoot you out of the sky."

Azriel bared his pearly teeth in a snarl.

“Let him try,” he said before shooting through the cloud bank and out of sight.

It was colder the higher he climbed, but he found the farther he got from Lucien and Elain, the easier it was to breathe. He let the chill soak into his skin, his hair, willing it to cool his blood. He could do this, he’d done it before, for almost five hundred years. That was different, though. So, so, different.

With Mor, he’d been little older than a child, unsure of himself and unable to control his desperate emotions. Besides, he’d been given a small reprieve from his pining for her when, sometime during Rhys’s exile Under the Mountain, Mor had come home one evening smelling of wine, sweat, and female desire and dropped, drunk, into Azriel’s bed.

At first he’d thought it was her own, and the realization that she’d come from another male’s bed had nearly undone him. However, as he’d lain there, trying not to breathe her in, he realized that while there was a foreign scent of desire clinging to her, it too was female. It was in that moment that the shadows whispered to him the secret he’d somehow never been able to see.

She’s taken a female lover, not her first. She is perhaps falling in love, and comes to you because she trusts you, thinks you a safe harbor.

It didn’t lessen the sense of unworthiness he’d always felt where Mor was concerned, the feeling too deeply ingrained to be erased in a single evening, but it was at least a small reprieve. It had still been painful to learn she’d bedded the Lord of Day during the war, but he also knew Mor well enough by then to understand why she’d done it. He was still waiting to hear it all from her, but knowing that it wasn’t Cassian she’d chosen, but freedom from her future, had been a balm.

But what he’d done last night…

With Mor, it had been misguided infatuation, and one that she’d always been careful not to encourage. With Elain, he could no longer deny that he was catastrophically in love with her, and it was a feeling he knew not even eternity would ever diminish.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the boom of his wings and the howl of the wind to calm himself. He’d been foolish to think he could ever go back to being her friend, and the realization rocked him so thoroughly he nearly lost his balance and tumbled from the sky like a felled bird. He’d ruined the best and most perfect thing that had ever been his when he’d crossed that line between them last night and taken advantage in a way she perhaps hadn’t even understood. He didn’t deserve her or her friendship, and he could no longer be around her, would have to do everything in his power to keep her away.

He was spent by the time he reached the coast and spotted the small schooner docked and waiting for them. It was crewed by mortals, he realized, all of whom bore Vassa’s crest. They all shrank back as Azriel landed on the deck, but he ignored them, grateful at least that to hear that Elain was taking a nap below. It meant that she was safe, and that he would be spared the agony of having to face her for at least a few more hours.

Giving the deck a final assessing sweep, he made to take back to the skies. If he stayed away long enough, she would be asleep again when he returned.

So he flew aimlessly back and forth up the coast, half-heartedly checking for threats and making sure to give the wards at the mortal shores a wide berth. Lucien had been right when he said they were well-protected, though Azriel would never admit as much  aloud. It needled at Azriel, another reminder of his failure to infiltrate the other queen’s courts during the war, a failure which had cost them 78 lives in the attack on Velaris. As he ruminated on his own shortcomings, and the fact Lucien had not only managed what he couldn't, but that his alliance with Vassa and Elain’s father had likely helped turn the tide during the final battle, he felt himself fraying at the seams. It was no wonder Elain preferred him, mate or no. He’d done what Azriel could not; he’d saved them.

It was dark by the time he arrived back on the ship’s deck, back aching from so many hours in flight. He ought to rest, he could feel the lack of sleep tugging at him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to go below decks. On top of everything, he realized he was eager to get back to the Night Court lands, and being under the stars, dim though they were in this part of the country, helped ease some of his distress.

As he stood, eyes closed as the night breeze rustled his hair, he felt his shadows rise, hearing their whispered warning a moment too late.

“We thought perhaps you weren’t coming back.”

Azriel fought not to tense as Elain’s sweet earthen scent washed over him. It was the most exquisite agony to be this close to her again, especially in a darkness so like the one they’d held each other in last night. Unsure of what to say, he didn’t reply, nor did he look at her as Elain swept forward to stand beside him. Her hair was unbound, and he felt it’s phantom brush on his arm, even through his leathers.

“So is this your plan?” she said softly.  “To simply never speak to me again?”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the tightening in his throat again.

“What would you have me say?” he finally managed, his voice a hoarse croak. “Tell me, and I will."

She gripped the rail so tight he could see her knuckles through her ivory skin. Gone were the tears from last night. He could tell from her hammering pulse she was angry, perhaps angrier than he’d ever seen her.

"Tell me the truth,” she said, grabbing his arm so he was forced to look at her. “Tell me what you feel for me."

Azriel’s jaw ached from the effort of keeping the truth from tumbling out.

I love you. I will love you to the end of darkness itself.

"You have my loyalty and my respect,” he said finally. "You know that."

She gave a whine of frustration, eyes growing glassy.

"That’s not what I want from you!"

“What do you want, then?” he breathed in muted pain, wishing he had the strength to brush the tear that escaped down her cheek without pulling her into his arms and never letting go.

"Your honesty!” she snarled. "You say that we are friends, but this—“ she gestured to the space between then. “This is not friendship. And neither was what happened last night. So tell me the truth, Azriel: what is it you feel for me?"

"I respect—

"You’ve already said that! That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it!”

He was choking, drowning in the ocean of snarling, foaming, broken nothing that lay between them. The distance, which had been merely an unbridgeable canal between them before last night, was now on treacherous sea not even the stupidest soul would dare cross.

“Elain, I—I’m sorry."

She stamped her foot, more tears falling.

“Damn your sorry!"

"What is it you want from me, then, if not an apology?” he begged, panicking at the realization that she would not stop until she’d wrenched the truth from him, and his last bit of dignity with it.

"The truth!” she repeated, voice a touch pleading now. “Why did you kiss me the way you did? Why did you kiss me at all? Please, Azriel, help me to understand!"

“I—“ he began, nearly gagging on the three words he was dying to say to her. He made the mistake of glancing down at her devastating beauty, at the heart-rending warmth in her eyes. If he told her, she would try and forgive him for it, tell him it didn’t matter, and he couldn’t bear it.

Better she think him a cad than a heartsick pup. Better she hate him than pity him.

The hideous lie burned on his tongue, but he forced it out.

"You are a very desirable female, and I…I am not blind.”

She recoiled, and the horror on her face, the humiliation and pain, drove the knife home, cleaving his very being in two.

“You don’t mean that,” she breathed, bringing a hand to her chest as fresh tears welled.

“Elain,” he began, and he could see the barest glimmer of hope in her eyes that the male she’d admired, her friend, was still there. Azriel wanted to be that male for her, but he just…couldn’t. Couldn’t find the strength to spare her this pain by offering her the ugliest and most broken of all his truths: the female he loved did not—could not—love him back. “I’m sor—“

His neck snapped to the side as she hit him with all her fae strength, and his cheek burned from the pain of it. Still, he made no move to stop her as she drew her hand back and slapped him again.

“Elain—“ he pleaded, sense flooding in to drown his own selfish pain and urge him to set things right. To tell her the truth, no matter what it cost him.

It was too late. She hit him a third time, the force of it hard enough to break the skin. When he forced himself to look back at her, her face was a mess of tears, but as he instinctually reached for her, she backed away, the horror and sadness replaced with a scalding emnity that burnt him to cinders.

“You have no honor,” she snarled through strangled sobs. “And you are not the male I thought you were.”

“Elain—“

“I hate you,” she seethed, wiping at her eyes as she retreated into the darkness. “Never speak to me again.”

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