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“Elain, dove?”
Lucien’s voice is gentle, but it still manages to make her head pound. Too tired to speak, Elain allows the bond between them to float open a little, pulling him into the room like gravity.
They haven’t accepted the bond, nor are they close to it. He’s been courting her for several months now, slowly and sweetly, because unlike her sisters she sees no reason to rush. They have an infinite number of years together, so they can take their time getting to know each other. But she will use that bridge between them to her advantage in moments like this, when her head is spinning and ears are ringing.
She barely even made it to her room. Mor had to escort her up, a deceptively strong arm wrapped around her waist as they ambled up the stairs. She had dismissed the blonde quickly, saying she was simply going to lie down and rest. Which she did, for a few minutes at least, before the nausea had set in and Elain scurried to her bathroom to throw up. She had only ventured back out into her bedroom to tear her fluffy duvet from her bed so that shs could bundle herself up in the tub. It’s what she remembers doing with Nesta when they were little, sleeping in bathtubs when they felt sick because the cool porcelain was soothing on their fevered skin. It feels good now, on her forehead, but she forces herself to look up as her mate steps into the room. “Hi, Lu.”
“Oh, my darling,” he murmurs, moving towards the tub and kneeling before it. He takes her face in his hands gently, kissing her forehead. “Are you alright?”
Elain mumbles something unintelligible, twisting in her blanket-cocoon to get more comfortable. Lucien strokes her hair out of her face, before asking her to repeat what she had said.
“I get these migraines, sometimes,” she says, leaning into Lucien’s hand. “Mostly when I scry. Which I did, today. Twice.”
She can feel him start at that, concern warring with anger in his eyes. “I volunteered to,” she asserts. “Nesta has tried but with her powers gone I’m the only one who can see anything, and with Koschei out there still, I have to do something.”
“You’re right,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, petal. It’s your choice, I just got concerned seeing you like this. This doesn’t happen every time, does it?”
Based on her experiences so far with territorial fae males, she isn’t expecting Lucien to be so accepting of her decision to scry for the Inner Circle. Rhys had told her repeatedly that she could back out whenever she wanted to, most likely at Feyre’s behest. Azriel had stormed out of the River House as soon as he saw the bits of bone in her hand, but she had expected that of him. He was always the fussiest of them all, despite their fizzled out flirtation.
Lucien saying that he sees her desire to feel useful and supporting her choices makes her heart flutter, just a bit.
It takes an embarrassing amount of effort, but Elain is able to lift herself out of the tub just enough to press her body against Lucien’s. She tucks her head against his shoulder, draping her arms around his neck like the world’s weakest hug. “Not every time,” she mumbles. “Only if I do it for too long, or multiple times a day.”
A hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, stroking her hair. “How can I help, hm?”
She can’t help it, his earnest tone triggers a flood of tears. Lucien looks down at her, concern filling his eyes, which just makes her cry harder. Ever since she was a child, Elain found she cried when she felt frustrated or angry, but it was always worst when she felt sick. Her younger self would get worked up into a frenzy, the combination of tears and illness rendering her completely out of sorts. Their mother had had no patience for it, shooing her off to the children’s nanny at the first sign of tears, which usually just made her cry more.
There is a certain comfort in being taken care of, Elain has realized as she’s gotten older. She did not necessarily receive it from her mother, but Nesta had stepped into her place and always took care of her. Now, she thinks, Lucien looks out for her too. He always has, from the moment she was dumped out of the Cauldron and he wrapped her in his coat to preserve what little modesty she had left.
In less drastic times, he is no less thoughtful. He strokes her hair as she cries, scooping her out of the tub with her blanket still wrapped around her. What an off picture they must make, she thinks, as Lucien cradles her in his arms as he walks out of the bathroom and into her bed chambers, murmuring sweet words to her in an effort to calm her down. He places her on the bed, tucking the fluffy blanket around her body and perching himself along the edge of the mattress.
“Can you come closer, please?” she asks tearfully, moving one of her hands out from her duvet cocoon to reach for his. Twining their fingers together, Lucien kicks off his boots before climbing gracefully onto the bed. Elain wiggles closer to him, maneuvering awkwardly until she is wrapped under his arm with her head tucked into his neck. It doesn’t escape her notice that he doesn’t let go of her hand, even for a second.
His free hand toys with the ends of her hair, occasionally moving to rub a soothing circle over her back. Her tears have seemingly dried up, thank the Mother, so now she just sniffles pitifully. It’s not the impression she wants to make, but Lucien doesn’t seem to mind. “That’s it, just relax, dove. Would shutting your eyes help?”
She can’t do much more than nod, the pain in her head overwhelming her entirely.
“Alright, keep them closed as long as you need. Can I get you anything else? Some tea perhaps?”
Tea sounded nice, but she really didn’t want to be left alone. “Maybe later,” she said, toying with the ring on his thumb blindly. His hands were big, much bigger than Grayson’s had been, and she tries to not imagine them on her, moving over her body while his lips grazed over her skin.
That was a thought for late at night only.
Lucien simply hummed in response, moving his free hand to cup her jaw. He stroked his fingertips along her temple, the feeling soothing enough to make her drift off to sleep.
“Take a nap, dove,” he murmured, his fingers never stilling. “I’ll be here when you wake.” She lets herself drift off at that, listening to his gentle humming and thinking of how right it feels to be in Lucien’s arms.
When she opens her eyes again, the window in her room reveals a dark sky. The fae light on her bedside table has been turned on, making it bright enough to peer up at Lucien’s face. His mouth is twisted in concentration, which is odd considering he’s simply staring at a wall. Elain reaches up to touch his cheek and he startles, looking down at where her head is curled against his chest.
“Sorry about that, I was engaged in quite the game of mental-chess with your sister.” He brushes a lock of hair out of her face gently, before dipping to kiss her forehead. “How’re you feeling? Bit better?”
Despite being curled up against him, Elain feels the need to get closer, as close as possible. Her headache is gone but the part of her that is a little bit starved for his touch remains. She sits up and swings a leg over his lap, settling in with a content sigh. Lucien looks surprised by the development, but happy nonetheless, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“Much better, thank you. Has anyone ever told you that you would make a lovely nurse?”
He snorts, shaking his head at her. “Never, my darling. These skills are for your benefit only.” Lucien reaches for a mug on the side table beside her bed, passing the steaming cup to her with a steady hand. “Nuala dropped this off for you earlier, chamomile with honey. I’ve kept it warm for you.”
Taking a long sip, Elain sighs in contentment. Nuala has a lot of talents, but her ability to brew the perfect cup of tea is Elain’s favourite. She makes a mental note to thank the twins tomorrow, knowing that Cerridwen, being the romantic that she is, probably spent the afternoon keeping the others away from Elain’s room so that she could recover with Lucien in peace.
They fall into a comfortable silence, Elain sipping her tea while Lucien twirled a curl of her hair around his finger. She let herself take in his appearance for the first time that day, running a hand over the thick knit sweater he wore.
“This is nice,” she murmured. “I like it.”
“Thank you, dove.” Lucien looked almost shy as she put her mug back down on the bedside table and ran a hand up and down his arm, appreciating the muscle she felt under the sweater’s thick wool.
“So handsome,” she breathed, watching as his face flushed and his cheeks turned a rosy brown. Raising her hand to comb gently through the loose hair around his shoulder, she continued. “You always look handsome, and clean. I like Cassian, I really do, but must he always turn up to family dinners with some sort of blood on his shirt? Last week he told me it wasn’t a big deal because it was at least his blood.”
Lucien threw his head back with a warm cackle, startling Elain and ending her little tangent. The arm around her waist tugged her closer and the male dropped a succession of soft kisses along her hairline.
“I love hearing your thoughts like this, you know,” he murmured, his lips still pressed to her head. “You could babble about anything and I would be hooked on every word.”
“That’s good to know,” Elain replied, still combing her fingers through the ends of his hair. “Because I happen to have a lot of thoughts on frogs, but no one else seems inclined to listen.”
“I will always listen to you,” Lucien says fiercely. “Even if it’s not what I want to hear. I swear it, Elain.”
His vow leaves her feeling breathless, like the moment after a winnow. Taking his face in her hands, Elain leans her forehead against his. “I know, my love. I know.”