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Lucien had been at court most of his life. He’d learned at an early age the power and currency of information, and how to retrieve it from whomever he needed to. He made friends easily and could create associates out of thin air. A little flirting, a little drinking, a little dancing, and he could pull secrets from even the most rigid of courtiers.
It was a talent.
He thrived in the controlled chaos of court politics.
“Lord Aodhan, please let me carry that. I know you must be exhausted after last night’s revelry.”
But Elain? Elain excelled.
He watched her swoop in, long golden-brown hair tied half up with a dark grey ribbon to match her low cut grey gown, and take the stack of papers out of his brother’s hands. Aodhan was careless, ignorant, vain even. He would assume Elain meant to serve him, as any female in Autumn would have been expected to, regardless of their status. He let her take the papers with little more than a curt nod and a grunt.
Of all his brothers, Aodhan was the least civilized and the closest to him in age. Half a head shorter than himself, Aodhan was the spitting image of a younger Beron. He had rich brown hair and eyes so dark they were nearly black. He was rangy and, if Lucien were being honest, had a feral look to him at times. With the exception of a crooked nose gifted to him by his father as a child, one could easily mistake him for the deceased High Lord.
“I thought you were kicked out of this court?” Aodhan huffed out. His voice was always hoarse, as if he had a constant sore throat. Though Lucien suspected it was because the male rarely spoke.
Lucien caught Elain’s surreptitious glances at the papers in her hand as Aodhan returned to conversation with him. They were on their way to a meeting between Night and Autumn in the Hewn City, where they were expected to gather information from Eris’ courtiers while Rhysand attempted to shore up whatever alliance he and the newly crowned High Lord had once had.
He’d thought the work assigned to him was more suited for the shadowsinger. Courtiers networked. This was pure spy work. Alas, old habits die hard and as long as Eris was in the city, Azriel would not leave Mor’s side.
Elain was the one who’d suggested Aodhan as the weak link. She’d watched him the previous night, ducking into corners and standing apart. He didn’t join the revelry, but he did drink. That had made her believe he wasn’t abstaining to keep a clear head. “Perhaps he might feel uncomfortable enough to make mistakes, give us what we want,” she’d explained her reasoning to him that morning.
Lucien had already known this. He’d already targeted Aodhan himself, if only because this brother was the least likely of his four remaining brothers to try and stab him for saying hello. Two of the four hated his guts, and Eris would stab him for shits and giggles.
He let Elain plead her case though and never said a word. He’d watched Elain all night. She’d barely given anything away as she stood above the denizens of the Hewn City, looking bored and out of place. She was a good actress. She continually gave the appearance of a trembling fawn in a room full of wolves. Lucien, though, had already learned what fire lay beneath those doe eyes of hers.
Still, the act was enough to keep eyes off of her. She was a novelty, not a threat or even good entertainment, to the mountain dwelling fae.
“Brother, please, I’ve never been kicked out of any court,” Lucien crooned at the older male. He kept a lazy grin on his face. “I’ve left on my own two feet every time. So what if I burned a few bridges on my way out? I’ve yet to be kept from anywhere.”
Aodhan snorted. “If you say so.” Lucien knew what his brother implied.
“I chose never to go back home,” he said nonchalantly, waving a large hand in front of them. It was a half-truth. They both knew it. “Autumn females are all the same anyway.”
He heard a tiny squeak behind him, glancing to see Elain glare at him. His brother, seeming not to notice, merely grunted in reply.
Lucien chanced to look at Elain again, trailing a respectful distance behind them as if she were serving the two males. She looked the part, demure and respectful, as she followed them through the dimly lit halls of Rhysand’s Nightmare Court. He could barely make out the little wrinkle between her brows, betraying her efforts to concentrate.
She had been working hard since Koschei’s defeat to harness her gifts more properly. She had learned that by concentrating on certain items, she could call up visions. Lucien knew that was the true intent beyond taking the stack of papers from Aodhan. Elain was trying to track the magic – whether it be a glimpse of the writer, or a indication of the intent behind it.
A very handy gift, she had.
“Are you coming home for Eris’ birthday party?” Aodhan asked, breaking his reverie. They were standing outside the carved doors to the meeting room.
Lucien blinked, speechless. What had he just asked? Aodhan looked at him, face unreadable.
“Father’s dead, Lucy,” Aodhan said in that quiet, hoarse voice of his, using the nickname they’d given him as a youngling. “You can come home.”
He was stunned, mouth parted in slight shock. He didn’t know what to say. Of his remaining brothers, Aodhan was least likely to kill him. He was also unlikely to stop anyone else from doing the job. Life had sucked all the compassion out of his brother long ago, or so he thought. So, for the shorter male to extend the invitation…Lucien truly didn’t know how to react.
“Will there be cake?” Elain interjected brightly.
The two males turned to her. Her face had lit up. She cradled the papers in her arms, her smile disarming.
Aodhan looked at her for a long moment. He just seemed to realize she was there, and that she was not dressed as a servant. Her low-cut grey gown was unassuming at first glance but on closer inspection it was brilliantly tailored, with fine black embroidery along the hemline. Lucien watched as the male finally grasped that he was standing next to the High Lady’s sister, the seer, essentially a princess of the night court – and his brother’s mate.
“Y-yes, my lady,” his brother answered, taking a moment to clear his throat. “A spiced rum cake. We will also have cinnamon apple tarts and fresh cider. And the finest wine in Autumn for your drinking pleasure.”
“I prefer whiskey,” Elain shrugged, still smiling.
Aodhan’s face split into a wide toothy grin – maybe the first Lucien had ever seen on his brother that wasn’t a result of some terrible thing. He almost looked handsome that way. “Oh, I like her Lucy,” he addressed Lucien first, still smiling at Elain. “Autumn’s Fire Whiskey is unmatched in all of Prythian, Lady Elain.”
“Then we will have to go!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. Lucien was dumbfounded. What just happened? “Won’t we…Lucy?”
“If my lady wishes,” he replied, shooting her a scowl over his brother’s head. That better not stick.
“She wishes,” Elain replied cheekily. She nodded towards the large doors they were still in front of. “We’ve arrived, Lord Aodhan. If you want to take your papers and go in, I’m sure the meeting will start shortly.”
His brother nodded, taking the stack from Elain’s arms. He was no longer smiling, but his visage seemed more at ease. He cocked his head slightly, brown waves brushing across his forehead. “You will not be joining us?”
Elain shook her head, waving an elegant hand. “No, I’m not much for court politics if I’m being honest.” Liar. “Though I’m sure I’ll see you at dinner?” She phrased it as a question.
“If you’ll have me, Lady Elain.”
“Of course we’ll have you! I’ll inform the High Lord and Lady immediately. What is your favorite meal, my lord?”
Cauldron she was good at this.
Aodhan stuttered and had to clear his throat a second time. “I don’t want to inconvenience you, my lady.”
Mother’s tits, was he blushing? Lucien had never once known the male to blush or stutter or even treat a female with such…respect. Sure, they’d had etiquette drilled into them from birth, but Aodhan was…Aodhan. He was feral, vain, ignorant.
He was a stuttering, blushing, idiot over Lucien’s mate.
Lucien had to tamp down the urge to rip his brother’s throat out. Ruse or not, he was jealous.
“Nonsense!” Elain touched his arm, her hand lingering for a moment. “You are my guest tonight, Aodhan. Now tell me, what will you have?”
“I like roast duck,” Aodhan stated a little shyly. The tips of his arched ears were turning red.
Lucien was two short steps from losing his shit in this hallway.
“Then I will inform the cooks immediately. You will have to give me details about the party this evening, Lord Aodhan. I’ll need to start preparing as soon as possible. You’ll give me ideas for gifts for your brother, wont you?” Elain grinned widely.
“Humiliate Lucien,” Aodhan threw him a smirk. “That would make Eris’ night.”
Elain laughed, her head thrown back exposing a long column of creamy white skin and cascading golden brown curls. Lucien couldn’t tear his eyes away.
She was so fucking good at this.
“Thank you, brother. She’ll be a menace now,” Lucien said drily. “Now if you’ll please go in, I need a word with Lady Elain before she leaves.”
Aodhan glared at him. “Fine, I’ll see you in there.” He turned to Elain and dipped his head. “A pleasure, my lady.”
She curtsied, dark navy gown flaring.
As soon as the wooden doors were closed, Lucien threw up a ward silencing them. “What the hell was that?”
Elain’s grin could’ve split her face in two. “Everyone is going to be so drunk at Eris’ party, it’d be the perfect opportunity for us to gather some information. Rhysand is worried that Eris is going to rescind his part of the treaty over Montserre and what better opportunity than –”
“You were flirting with him,” Lucien interrupted with a snarl. He didn’t give a flying fuck about politics or treaties or stupid fucking parties. “You touched him.”
“I did,” she challenged, grin still plastered to her face. “And I will do it again if it gets us what we want.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he gritted out. He was trying to be impassive. But his mate was touching another male – his brother, even – in front of him.
Elain stepped so close that she had to tilt her head up to see him, so close that with every breath her chest brushed against his. “I’m just doing what you taught me,” she crooned, tongue darting out to lick the corner of her lips. “Now be a good boy, and don’t fuck up my progress.”
Gods, but he loved her mouth.
Lucien froze. Every muscle in his body went taut, the golden thread between them humming as it made its presence known again.
He loved her.
Lucien Vanserra loved his mate.
He was so stunned, so…amazed at how simple that fact was that he was too petrified to do a damn thing about it.
Lucien, you ready? Feyre’s voice broke in. We’re waiting on you.
“I’m…just joking, Lucien,” she stammered, withdrawing. She looked small, timid again. Not the fierce courtier he’d just seen.
“No! No no!” He nearly shouted, grabbing her shoulders. He rubbed at them awkwardly but couldn’t bring himself to drop his hands. “Feyre, um…they’re ready for me.”
“Oh!” she breathed a soft sigh. Then, she laughed softly under her breath. “Don’t you hate when they do that?”
“I loathe it,” Lucien grinned, brushing his hands along her arms as he dropped them. He could feel the goosebumps erupt on her skin, watch the rising blush along her neck. “Am I allowed at dinner, too?”
“Of course!” Elain smiled at him. Her face was glowing. “I’m still learning how to be a good courtier, of course. I need to observe a master at work.”
“You’re already perfect, Elain,” he told her softly, truthfully.
Her breath hitched. He felt her end of the bond grow warm.
“I’ll see you this evening,” she said breathlessly. Elain turned and fled down the hall as the doors began to creak open.
Lucien could see everyone gathered beyond the arching doorway. They were waiting for him.
He just had to look at her one more time.
Elain had turned back, face blushed, lips parted into the widest smile he’d ever seen.
She was beautiful. She was brilliant.
One day, somehow, she’d be his.