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Lucien's heart raced as his eyes met Elain’s. It was the same way they always seemed to unite with one another. Him at the end of the staircase near the front doors of the River House, and her at the top of the landing, peering down at him.
However, this time it was different. Where there is usually cool indifference or minor concern in her eyes, there is now warmth and genuine intrigue. He can feel it then through the mating bond. Whether she knew she was sending all those feelings barreling into him or not, he had no idea. Feyre glances between them nervously before making some perfunctory excuse to leave them there alone yet together, staring across the expanse of space.
He swallows the lump in his throat as he places a hand on the end of the banister, still gazing up into her warm honey-brown eyes. Before, she would flinch just slightly, only enough for him to recognize when he would lay his hand there. As if the thought of him coming nearer was abhorrent to her. But this time she stands firm, watching, curious. As he begins to ascend slowly, the anticipation builds with each step. The air seemed charged with a blend of their nervous energy and long-suppressed emotions. He hadn't seen Elain in months since returning to Spring to help Tamlin, and each time he had given the High Lord and Lady a vague report, she was nowhere to be seen. The ache of her absence had lingered each time, like a hole ripped into his soul, a constant reminder of the connection they shared whether she desired it or not. Hell, some days he hadn’t even known if he himself had desired it.
As he finally reached the top of the stairs, his eyes locked onto hers, his russet one smoldering with what could only be described as a long-suffering ache. Elain stood there, bathed in soft light from a sunny hallway window, her presence seeming to cast a spell that held Lucien captive in her magnetic field. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as they stared at one another, the world around them fading away.
A wave of emotion washed over Elain, a mix of relief, longing, and a hint of vulnerability. She had missed him deeply, the ache in her chest growing with each passing day. Secretly, she had been dreaming of him, most nights unable to sleep from the emptiness of her bed and her heart, their bond straining from the distance and the strength of it fading each day, which had ultimately terrified her. Those dreams were her solace; a place where she could act out any situation or fantasy that she had of him with no consequence. Those thoughts plagued her often. Ideations of the male he is, of the connection they have, and of the future laid out before her if she only had the courage to seize it.
Lucien took a step closer, his gaze unwavering as he sucks in a breath, holding it. As if the mere action of breathing around her would make her dissipate into the air or knock her down like a tower of playing cards. The air crackled thickly with everything unsaid and unfelt between them. They stood there, nearly nose to nose, on the very precipice of something that could make or break their very souls. As if the depths of their eyes were the edge of the highest cliffs threatening to give way, toppling them down into jagged rock below. Lucien’s metal eye whirs and fixates on her more closely as a blush taints his cheeks, embarrassed by the noise breaking the taut silence. The echoes of those shared dreams replay in his mind. Those dreams that Elain believed weren’t real. Those godsdamned dreams weren’t dreams at all, but astral projections of them both, lured there by the powers she has yet to learn to control.
Elain's eyes held a different sort of vulnerability than he was used to. She nearly seemed...relieved to see him. Happy even.
He had come here after spending the morning pacing in his room in Tamlin’s Manor, wondering how to address that last meeting from the night before. When Astral Elain had told him that she spent all of the nights he was away yearning for him to arrive in her room and hold her as she slept. How her waking moments recently had been spent yearning for his presence.
The warmth from his cheeks seems to spread through him as a yielding smile spreads across Elain’s face at his shyness. This moment is what they needed after two long years; what their very souls needed after they had been wandering untethered in the absence of each other.
Without uttering a word, Lucien reaches out, his fingers gently grazing hers. It was a simple touch, yet it spoke volumes. In that fleeting touch, it’s as if it sparked something visible and alive that transcended—a language of shared dreams, missed moments, and a love that has yet to see the best of days.
Elain sucks in a breath and Lucien finally allows himself to breathe out, his pinky lightly clasping hers. In the quiet of that moment, it is as if they are for the first time discovering the magic that bound them together. The long hallway became a bridge between the past and the present, and the stairs a pathway to a future where they wouldn't have to endure the pain of separation.
Taking a step to the side, Elain guides him by their loose pinkies down the hallway toward her room. The quiet is comfortable now, replacing the icy silence he had come to expect from her. His body is loose and taut, clammy and cold, nervous and thrilled all at once. A soft grunt escapes his lips as he tries his damnedest to keep hold of his emotions so they don’t flow down that bond and tackle her. Despite his efforts, his all-too-famous control is slipping through his grasp like a greased rope.
Elain chances a glance back at him as they reach her doorway and her brow furrows adorably. Lucien meets her eyes once more and his heart hammers, resounding in his veins and reverberating through his body like the drum beats during Calanmai.
“I—”, he begins, then closes his mouth again. What exactly does he say after all this time? It feels foolish to begin with an apology for the way she makes him feel. He loves that she makes him feel out of control almost as much as he hates it.
She chews on her lower lip, and it takes every single ounce of fight that he has within himself not to draw that lip away from her pearly whites with his own teeth, and tell her that nibbling that plush pink pillow is his job.
Fuck. His cheeks redden further when Elain’s eyes sparkle, looking at him in what he would say was pure amusement. She could definitely scent where his thoughts went.
Opening her door, she leads him into her room. The sunniest room in the entire place. Floor-to-ceiling windows adorned with gauzy pale yellow curtains adorn the far wall, a small desk to the right, and her bed to the left—against the wall. He takes in every inch of the space, all of it screaming with the singular sense of his mate.
When she drops his pinky his gaze shoots to hers, that funnel of warmth immediately missing like a puzzle piece or pipeline had been detached.
“Don’t look so scared”, she whispers, wringing her hands.
He blinks, his eyes adjusting to the light and whirring a bit too loudly again. The fucking thing gets louder the more emotional he gets. He could nearly bet that Nuan did that shit on purpose.
“This thing...”, he scoffs and sighs.
“I don’t think I have ever heard it up close.”
Oh gods, it’s too annoying for her.
“Yes, I-I um...it’s not the most pleasant. Sound-wise”, he cringes at his ridiculousness, stammering over words. “Well...not...look-wise either, I suppose”, he adds.
“I would imagine though, that it is a small price to pay for use of your vision. However that magic works. And if I am being truthful, it does not look bad. Really, it...suits you.”
His brow furrows at that. “It...suits me?”
“Yes. Your coloring. Skin tone. That sunny aura about you. It matches you...seamlessly.”
“I wouldn’t say there was no seam”, he jokes darkly motioning to the thick scar from Amarantha’s fingernail.
She smiles sadly and nods slowly. “Apologies, I did not mean to offend.”
“No, no, you didn’t my Lady. I—you make me nervous in ways nobody else ever has. I am not making the best impression. I’m sorry.”
“I...make you nervous?”
He glances at the ground and rubs his neck. “You’re my mate, and inevitably you will reject me. So...yes.” He swallows hard and Elain’s eyes soften as she takes him in. The slight tremor in his hands alerts her to how deeply he does not want to be left again.
“You think...”
Lucien folds his hands behind his back and straightens. “Sometimes, the signs say everything words can’t. I have known you despised me since the moment you came out of the Cauldron. I had hoped that I could win you over. Hoped beyond any mental reason. But you’re you. And I’m...just me. And just me isn’t enough”, he whispers. “I knew that. I think I always knew that. And I think that I always knew this moment would come, as much as I fought with myself over it.”
He steps forward and takes a deep breath, his russet eye teary and his metal one expressively sad with whatever magic it held. “Knowing you don’t deserve your own mate is its own kind of hell. You are light and grace and beauty and flawlessness”, he murmurs.
Elain stares up at him, lips parting.
“I am despair and brash and scarred and broken”, he lists, his voice breaking at the end. “And you should not have a mate who can never come close to complementing the wonder of you. So I understand why you wanted Azriel. He is brute muscle and mysterious and...all the things that I will never be. Plus, what did I truly think? That you would take a one look at me one day and—” tears well up and he looks out the window to force them down. “And think that I am some sort of attractive? That was taken from me just like everything else. Most days I don’t care too much for vanity, but some days...I wish...” he trails off, his vice shaking now as he mentally scolds himself for losing control in front of her.
“Excuse me”, he mutters, turning to leave. But Elain grasps his hand firmly and tugs him back to her.
“I will not. Excuse you, that is. I want to know. I want to know what is in your mind and in your heart. Continue, so that I can then speak my own peace. Please.”
He looks right at her, that golden eye whirring louder with his distress as he sneers at the sound of it. “I wish that I wasn’t so spectacularly stupid that everyone could see the reminder of my ignorance on my face. I wish that I wasn’t so spectacularly hideous that everywhere I go, they didn’t look at me in question, or unease, or pity. I wish that I could be the kind of male that deserves you and that you could find...handsome. I like to think I used to be, and maybe if you had met me back then...” He presses his lips together to keep the bottom one from trembling a bit, before continuing. “But you came out of that Cauldron thinking I had a hand in it, and I couldn’t tell you the truth. And even before any of those thoughts, you were staring at me.”
He looks down. “Staring at me. With so much fear and resentment and what turned into disgust over the years. Even as I foolishly proclaimed that you were my mate, you kept staring. To me, that was the pinnacle of my life, until it came crashing down on me that I would never deserve you. That I am so incredibly fucked up that you probably cursed the Cauldron wondering why you were stuck with such an ugly and stupid bastard.”
Tears fall down her face slowly and her right hand clutches at her stomach.
“Elain?”, he sniffles, suddenly concerned.
Her lip trembles and tears fall faster. “This is what you feel all of the time?”, she chokes out. “Lost and unworthy and undeserving? Endlessly sad and self-loathing?”
Lucien blushes and rubs a hand over his chest now, realizing all his control had left. That she could feel all of him, unshielded and unyielding through that damned bond.
“It’s awful”, she whimpers. “It’s painful...Lucien...”
“I—I’m sorry. I...”
Elain sinks to the floor and grabs his hand, pulling him down with her. Before he can react, she curls up in his arms and entwines her arms around his neck, her nose finding the crook of his neck. “I am not going to reject you. I know it took me years, and I should have communicated. I had no idea you were in this much pain...no idea that it was centuries more than my own.”
A tear streaks down his face as he bunches his hands in fists at his sides. He wouldn’t dare touch her without permission.
Cupping his face she looks into his eyes. “You are allowed to hug me. Especially if I hug you. Let it all go, Lucien. I’m here now. I want to make it right.”
His arms fly around hers as he fists the fabric of her dress, holding her tightly to him. He buries his face in her neck and breathes in her sweet jasmine scent, those waves of emotions crashing against the inner dam he had built so thoroughly around his heart.
“Let it go, Lucien. I will not break. I will not leave you.”
He shakes his head, the ruby red gleaming in the sunlight from the window. “If I start, I fear I won’t stop.” His breaths come in short gasps.
“I won’t judge you. Please, as your mate, let me hold you. Let me care for you. I have been silently aching for you. I never knew how much damage my own ignorance was doing to you and to myself. I was denying myself something good, and right, and pure to punish myself. To punish the Cauldron. But gods, Lucien, I never meant to punish you. I have wasted years not giving myself what I yearned for, thinking that I was forced into wanting you. But I realized watching my sisters that...the bond doesn’t decide how you feel, it can only urge you. My longings and my dreams and my emptiness...they all reached for you and I was denying myself my mate because I did not believe anything good could come of this life. I was proven wrong. I never meant to hurt you”, she chokes out. “And feeling everything you have pushed down over your lifetime...it’s so heavy”, she whimpers. “So please, allow me to see who my mate really is. Allow me to take all this pain and grief and suffering and replace it.”
Leaning forward, she gently cups his face and kisses a tender trail of kisses down his scar. “You are beautiful, Lucien. Heart, soul, and body”, she sniffles. “I can feel the complexities of your guilt and your pain and your hatred for yourself. You allowed me time and the ability to unload my feelings. Please”, she pleads, “Please let me do the same for you, as your mate.”
With that, the dam crumbles as Lucien begins to sob, tears flowing. Elain cradles him close to her shoulder and soothingly strokes her fingers through his hair as his cries become heavier and unrelenting, letting everything out for the first time in centuries. As he does, Elain is taken through his memories and everything that has ever pained him, as if on a reel, her eyes glazing over as she watches, tears falling from them, her heart aching for her mate.
From the child that was neglected and abused, to the young male who was ripped from his lover and hunted, to the male who defended his friends and got maimed for it, to the mate who was shunned and ignored. All his worst moments skitter across her vision, separated by all the solitary nights he cried himself to sleep in secret only to be the sarcastic optimist for everyone else. He was the shoulder they all cried on, the unbreakable muscle they leaned on, and the heart that beat solely for them, and not himself.
Elain enveloped Lucien closer in the warmth of her arms, the tenderness of her touch a healing shield for the raw wounds etched into his soul. They sat on the carpeted ground, curled around one another like two foxes in a den.
Lucien, his face buried in Elain's neck, continued to unleash the torrent of tears he had held back for far too long. Each sob echoed his lifetime's worth of agony and Elain, with a heart heavy with empathy, only held him tighter, silently promising to help bear the weight of his suffering.
As his tears fell, Elain continued to see the reflections of his memories playing behind his closed eyelids. So much pain from the Autumn Court, his home, that, despite it, he still felt a sickness of longing for. There were faces distorted by cruelty, voices dripping with malice, the tang of raw fear for his safety, and the palpable sting of betrayal were laid bare before her. It was an entire gallery of haunting images and scenes playing out, each frame a testament to the scars that had shaped Lucien's existence, both physical and emotional.
Elain not only saw it all, but she felt it all too— felt that profound ache in her chest, and the grip of it around her heart. The grief, like an invisible tide, pulled at her own emotions, creating a shared space of solace and understanding as she had remembered her own crushing anguish. Her fingertips traced comforting circles on his back, an attempt to calm and soothe him.
Like a heavy fog, the pain clung to Lucien's being, but in Elain's arms, he wasn't alone in navigating his darkness. She whispered words of solace, gentle affirmations, hoping they would find a way through that storm that raged within him. Despite himself, and hating every moment of subjecting her to witnessing this uncouth breakdown, he can’t help but need her. Their bond pulls tightly in their chests, seeming to hum and vibrate with the notion that they are finally joined.
Self-loathing, like an insidious serpent, recoiled slightly in the face of Elain's unwavering support. That is when she realized that while she may have been physically bound, kidnapped, and changed, so had Lucien, emotionally. With each thump of his heartbeat in her ears, she becomes determined to dismantle those invisible chains that bind him, mentally replacing them with a shimmering new thread of love and acceptance.
Though he was still entangled in the webs of his own sadness, Lucien began to feel the tendrils of warmth weaving through the shattered fragments of himself; the feeling of Elain, his mate, the glue, doing her best to piece him back together.
As his cries fade out, the numbness and fatigue begins to take effect and he lets his forehead fall onto her shoulder. “I’m—”
“Don’t you say you’re sorry for something you needed”, she says softly but firmly. She continues to thread her fingers through his hair soothingly. “I suppose it’s my turn”, she tries to joke lightly.
Lucien lifts his head and wipes his cheeks, that stark white scar stretching with the motion as she watches it. He seems to flinch away slightly at the gaze, and she replaces his hands with her own, cupping his face. She trails her thumb over the scar, and she can feel how raw and exposed he feels, the intrinsic feeling of needing to move away, to hide his face. “Don’t hide”, she breathes. “Don’t hide from me. We are mates. I want this, and I-I want you. I wanted to tell you that I decided I want to accept you, not reject you. It’s not because of Azriel and it’s not because of Feyre or Nesta or anyone else. It’s...because my heart recognized how right it was for us to be connected. What scared me, was that my heart had told me once before that something was right, and it ended up breaking me because of it. I was selfish and I did not want to trust it again. I didn’t want to lose again. And I realized recently that foolishly, we are the exact same in that way.”
She moves her hand from his face and intertwines their fingers. “Feyre...she told me about Jesminda once. And I thought that maybe I would never compare to her. I was...believe it or not, jealous. Because there was this female you had loved more than life itself, y’know...and she loved you back that same way and she was stolen from you. I was just...literally thrown at your feet; I wasn’t a choice, not your choice. And for me, I was enraged that neither of us had a choice. But then I had another realization. That I—I already had a choice once. I had put my trust in a man that I thought that I loved, only for him to have never seen me as anything more than a tool for status. And it made me feel so ridiculously stupid”, she says quietly. “For mourning him that long. But especially for letting my heart break for someone like him. My choice is what ultimately destroyed me. My choice was a man who was going to use me and toss me aside. He shattered my heart to bits. So when I was done grieving the loss of him, I had to take a look at myself, and I decided that maybe despite the pain, having a heart that feels so deeply and all-encompassing isn’t always a bad thing. It can be a strength. It just needs someone who will treat it like a gift; the right person who will not handle it with reckless abandon, but someone who would collect all of those tiny shards and try to piece them back together. I need someone who will love my stupidly overbearing, shattered heart as much as I will love their scarred one.” Elain looks at him and leans her forehead on his. “That’s when I knew the Cauldron, in its weird preference for me, gave me everything I needed in you.”
Lucien lets out a breath and strokes her cheek, speechless.
She slowly brushes her lips over his, a ghost of a kiss as her fingertips stroke the sides of his jaw. “I want all the secret wishes within your heart to be written on the lovely mosaic you make from the pieces of mine. Together, we can be whole. Together, we can heal. Together is where we were always meant to be. And I regret fighting it for so long, Lucien.”
He kisses the corner of her mouth and it’s like the whole world stops for that moment, every single sense locking into place and filling him with her. Elain. His Elain. His mate and her secret, lovely, poetic beauty.
Elain grins, matching Lucien’s. “Hm, and you know what?”
“What?”
“You are the most handsome, attractive, lovely work of art I have ever seen. I may be biased, but I think you are perfect as you are now. You are a unique, abstract, and exquisite beauty that I can admire every single day. You look different from everyone else, yes, and I love that. It is a mark of your strength. It is a physical trophy that you made it through pain like that and survived. I never want to hear you talk ill about your looks or your vanity. You are fucking enticing. You should not let what happened to you, take your confidence from you. You are here. She is not. And that says something, Lucien. That is a testament to your grit and your toughness.”
Lucien sniffles and huffs a soft laugh, wiping his face. “I feel ridiculous...but also...lighter”, he tells her. “I was raised that showing emotion as a male was abhorrent. I knew, in some ways that Beron was not normal, he was awful but...that is the general consensus among males. I guess humor was my shield for my pain”, he muses.
Elain snuggles into his lap and he nuzzles his cheek softly. “People call me poetic at times, but nothing I could ever say will match the words you just spoke to me.”
Her cheeks pinken and she looks up at him. “I am not as ignorant as people think.”
“I know you aren’t. I’ve been meeting you in my dreams.”
“Wh—” Her face turns red and she flushes down her chest as she realizes what he means. “No...that—I...”
Lucien blushes slightly and tips her chin. “I just realized last night that those are not normal dreams, but astral projections”, he says softly. “I was there...at least...I was there because your power willed me to be there. I remember everything, Every word, every...touch. Only when you touched my chest and I felt it, did I know that it was no simple dream.”
“Oh, gods”, she mutters, burying her face in her hands.
“That is why I came here today. I…was hoping...”, he trails off. “I wished that you would have the courage to speak to me in our waking lives. For real. This has truly been the best gift...you are my best gift.”
Elain peeks at him and looks into his mismatched eyes, his tenderness showing through that wanton expression of his. A male hoping he could be loved as he is.
Taking a deep breath, she finds that glimmering thread in her chest and caresses it, tugging slightly and grinning as Lucien jerks a bit, eyes widening, and hand flying to his ribs.
“You—”
“Yep”, she smiles proudly. “I tugged you back. Finally.”
Lucien lets out a laugh and envelops her in his arms, his fading chuckles rumbling in her ear as she feels his warm breath. “Elain, I...”
“I know”, she whispers. “I know you are a pure-hearted, good, selfless, loyal, brilliant, strong male. I know that you want to be the best mate for me. And you will be. You are. You were a gift of solace to me, just as I was a gift of hope to you.”
His russet eye softens and the other’s pupil dilates to match, humming. Elain places a kiss over his heart. “I will be your voice when you have days you can’t find it, and you will be my strength when I have days I feel weak. Because you gave me my voice back, and I will give you silent strength to keep caring.”
His forehead rests on her shoulder as he nods quietly, his mind and heart roaring too much to speak.
Chewing her lips softly, she threads her fingers through his hair, giggling at the soft groan from his lips. “I kissed your heart to bless your strength. But curiously, you have yet to kiss my lips to bless my voice.”
Lucien’s head whips up to look at her in surprise as her honey-brown eyes glitter with mischief, a small smirk on her lips. “Wh-what?”
“Oh, I think your fae hearing knows what I said”, she drawls.
He blinks in disbelief. “No, I-I did, my Lady. I’m just rendered stunned by your boldness.”
“Maybe I stole it from you accidentally”, she teases.
Laughing softly, he cups her face, gaze roving over her features. “Perhaps you did. You’ve quite stolen my heart and my mind already, too, as well as my voice.”
Elain giggles softly, that apple-red blush on her pale cheeks.
“There are many things I wish to say to you, many compliments and witty comments. But my heart is so full and beating so fast that it’s affecting my ability to think right, which certainly does not make for great speech”, he says breathlessly as their faces inch closer.
“Might I always have this wanton effect on you, my Lord?”
Lucien grins boyishly, barely suppressing his snort. “I am certainly no Lord”, he murmurs. “I am much too rakish for such a position.”
“Hm, I wouldn’t quite count you out as long as you were a rake for the right female. Namely, your mate”, she whispers back.
Lucien’s breath hitches as their noses brush. “From the exact second I felt it, I’ve only been yours. Your mate. Your male. Never have I strayed. Never have I had the desire for anyone but you, ever since that moment.”
Elain’s eyes brim with tears as she beholds his unique yet utterly ethereal beauty in front of her. “You are the definition of noble, Lucien. I am honored to be yours.”
With that, his lips meet hers and she wraps her arms around him, opening for him so that she may have a taste of him at last, and gift him the same.
Moments later, they pull away, breathless and panting. Lucien’s hands lie at her waist, and hers on his shoulders.
“I believe there is a faerie tradition that needs to be upheld before...indulging in the pleasures of the flesh?”
Lucien shudders and sucks in a breath. “Fuck the traditions.”
Elain bursts out laughing and Lucien joins her, covering his mouth. “Sorry”, he says, muffled.
She shakes her head and giggles, scrambling to her feet and pulling on his hand. “So, mate, let’s make it official.”
“I am much looking forward to your real touches as opposed to the ghostly touches from our...meeting. But I will oblige whatever you deem necessary.” He bows dramatically at the waist and grins. “If I could gift you the sun on a string, I would go to the ends of the universe to do so.”
With that, her grin only widens. “But dear Lucien, you already have.” With a wink, she reaches within herself and tugs on the bond, Lucien grunting softly as he takes a step. “See?”
She moves her hair over one shoulder and smirks at him, skipping out of the room. “Come, my sun!”
Lucien scoffs to himself in disbelief, chuckling before trotting after her down to the River House kitchen. He shakes his head in disbelief as she links her arms with her two shadow-wraith friends and grins up at them. “We are going to make my official mating acceptance treat for Lucien.”
He crosses his arms and leans back against the doorway, crossing one shin over the other. “You’ve no idea what I like, sweet fawn.”
“Don’t I?”
One ruby eyebrow raises, and she blows him a kiss as Feyre appears next to him in the large doorway, mouth agape.
Elain smiles at her, then looks back at Lucien. “Go bother Feyre for a while. And don’t peek in here. I’ll tell you when it’s ready.”
Lucien turns to Feyre beaming and she can’t help the smile that she returns. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her towards the south wing of the home, happiness seeming to roll off of him in waves.
Feyre chuckles. “I admit I questioned it for a moment, but I’m glad you two have finally come to terms with one another.”
Lucien nods as his arm drops back to his side. “I know that me and you have not had the smoothest friendship. It got quite tumultuous...but I—”
She furrows a brow, not used to Lucien struggling to voice his opinion. “You...?”
“I will be a good mate to her. I will do anything I can to deserve her. I know that the people here...your family...I know they are not very keen on me, and I don’t expect them to ever fully trust me. I get that. There’s too much history and too many connections and such. But Elain will be safe with me. I’d do anything for her, Feyre.”
Feyre opens the door to the playroom, and Mor is chuckling, bouncing Nyx in her arms. “Thanks”, Feyre smiles at her and grins. The blonde glances over at Lucien, her amber eyes scrutinizing for a moment before a grin blooms on her blood-red lips.
“Oh! Finally”, she quips. “See, I told you they would both be happy once they figured out their own shit.”
“Baby!”, Feyre hisses, snorting.
“Oops. Their own stuff”, she corrects. “I always knew they’d come together eventually.”
“Here I thought nobody here could stand me,”
Mor smirks. “You’re not so bad, fireling. Your brother on the other hand...”, she shudders. “Thank gods your mother had one decent child. You’ll be good for Elain. That, I know.”
“Thank you”, he replies, dipping his chin politely.
“Sure”, she smiles, handing Nyx to Feyre as he giggles, his tiny wings fluttering.
“I’m going to head out. Rhys needs me to do some research at the library. Are you alright?”
Feyre smiles and tucks Nyx onto her hip, nodding. “Yes. Thanks, Mor.”
She nods and flounces out of the room, closing the door as Nyx squirms out of his mother’s arms, onto the floor, toddling toward the closed door and fidgeting with the doorknob.
“Nyx, no no”, Feyre coos. “We are going to stay here and play.”
Lucien smiles and dips down to the tiny boy’s level, smiling sweetly. “Hey, Lordling”, he winks at Feyre, playing on his own nickname.
Nyx stops playing with the doorknob and looks over, curiously captivated by Lucien’s bright hair and shiny eye as his chubby hands grab for him. Lucien snorts and scoops him up, kissing his head. “I’m a bit too shiny, aren’t I, little one?”
“Wed!”, he squeals, grabbing his hair as he cringes a bit.
“Yes, yes, it’s very red, isn’t it?”
Feyre giggles, covering her mouth.
Lucien gently detangles his fingers from his hair, kissing his hand. “We don’t pull, though, silly.”
Nyx stares up at him, watching his mechanical eye adjust.
“My freakiness is interesting, isn’t it?”, he asks, laughing softly at his awed expression.
Nyx goes to grab at his face and Lucien lets him, but guides his hand so he doesn’t claw at him.
“Gentle, baby”, Feyre says concernedly.
Lucien laughs again as the baby puts his forehead on Lucien’s utterly enraptured by the workings of his eye.
Feyre crosses her arms. “Well gee, if I knew he would be this interested in mechanics I would have had you come and calm him in the middle of the night so I could get some sleep!”
“Maybe he will be a tinkerer one day.” He looks back at Nyx’s blue eyes—Feyre’s eyes. “Is that what you’ll be one day, Nyx? My friend Nuan would love someone as prominent as you under her teaching. Though, I don’t know how your daddy would feel about that. Or your uncles. They’re quite Illyrian traditionalists”, he whispers.
Feyre’s face falls slightly and she bites her lip. “I will accept him, whoever he wants to be. All we can do is guide him.”
Lucien cuddles him on his shoulder as Nyx once again plays with his hair, but not quite yanking it.
“I know you would. But...without overstepping...”
“You can speak freely with me. Always”, she says quietly. “I know I haven’t been a good listener in the past. But I do like to hear what you have to say, even if I may not like it.”
Lucien inclines his head. “Alright...well, Rhys was raised a certain way. I would expect that Nyx and whatever other children you have would be too. That includes the Illyrian training camps...however...archaic and awful the tradition is. His mother did it to him. I would expect that Rhys would want Nyx to learn the ways that he did...”
Feyre looks away. “When the time comes, I will speak to him.”
Lucien squeezes her shoulder. “I wouldn’t assume to tell you what to do, but I do think that conversation should happen sooner rather than later.”
She lets out a breath and swallows, nodding. “He’s just a baby...even at eight, he will still be a baby. I don’t see how any mother could—”, she sighs. “But I look at Rhys, and Cassian, and Azriel. And they are three of the strongest warriors in Prythian.”
“That may be so. But what did they have to suffer to get there?”
Her eyes lower to the ground and she wrings her hands. “A lot.”
“You’re his mother. Rhys is his father. But I think too many fae parents put physical strength over mental and emotional strength. I can tell you firsthand that getting beaten and screamed at from a very young age did not help me want to become stronger. It made me want to fade away. I have no doubt that if you asked Azriel, he would feel the same. Cassian...he was totally alone. They killed his mother and dumped him in that camp. Those war camps and many others, like the ones in Autumn— they don’t just make strong-bodied warriors, Feyre. They break down males until the only thing they can live off is self-preservation. And that is what motivates them to be strong.”
A few tears fall down her face. “I don’t want him to be treated that way so young. But Azriel was older. He was eleven. And they treated him even worse for being older and untrained.”
“All I’m saying is that Rhys wanted to enforce change. But how is change ever going to happen, how are Illyrians ever going to evolve from that horrid, archaic treatment of their children, if it does not start with the High Lord’s son?”
“If we put Nyx through that, how will they ever learn that it’s not okay?”
“Exactly. There has to be a way to reform the training camps so that they can be effective and safe. These tiny, little kids should not be broken or neglected, or left to fend for themselves just to learn skills. There are other ways to teach children without fear and pain.”
“You’re right”, she murmurs softly. “I know you’re right. But the Lords will never go for a reformation program, Lucien. They’ve been here for centuries. Some longer than Rhys.”
“Rhys is still their High Lord. If need be, he should be stripping them of their titles and finding more decent Illyrian males to take their place. New generation, new policies, reformed training for males and females. Hell, I’m sure Cassian would help, and Nesta and the Valkyries could set up a training for the females so they would feel safe while learning self-defense and other skills too.”
Feyre takes a deep breath and smiles slightly. “My comment still stands. You are very High Lord-like. You will make a great one, one day.”
“Will?”, he laughs. “Don’t count Eris out, he will never give up that throne, he’d rather kill me I suspect. Plus, long list of heirs, remember?”
A blush stains her cheeks as she clears her throat. “Right. I-I mean, you would make a good one. If the Mother blessed you with the title one day.”
His eyes narrow a bit, but he brushes it off. “Riiight”, he chuckles. “Well, I won’t pretend I am not well-versed in politics. That is flattering nonetheless.”
“I will speak to Rhys about what needs to be done in the future, but I don’t want to worry about it right now when there is no need to get all riled up. It needs to be a private conversation between us both, anyway.”
“That is true. And I would never tell you how to rule, I just...I know what it’s like to be that child stuck in the middle. Of course, my father always overruled my mother in matters about all of us but...” he trails off.
Feyre squeezes his forearm. “Thank you for the advice, regardless.”
Lucien smirks. “Perhaps we are gaining some propriety after all.”
Feyre narrows her eyes and takes Nyx from him, changing the subject. “And perhaps you’ll have one of these sooner rather than later if the fertility of your family has anything to say about it”, she snarks. “Elain, despite her role during our poverty has always been nurturing. And I have now seen both of you with Nyx.”
“I’m not sure if I would ever be totally ready, but I would not balk from the idea.”
Feyre cringes slightly and watches Nyx as she sets him down with his toys.
“Alright, will you just fu—dging tell me what that face is for? I see you tossing it at me every so often.”
Feyre’s cheeks flush slightly and she averts her gaze from his.
“Feyre”, he says exasperatedly, a bit of a growl to his voice. “Just tell me.”
“Nothing it’s just...a silly rumor I heard about Autumn Court males.”
Lucien raises a brow.
Feyre cleared her throat. “Has to do with er...bedroom prowess. And I would rather not think about my sister being subject to that...heat...every time I look at you but ever since I have been plagued with that thought and subsequently that disturbing image.”
He barks out a laugh and crosses his arms. “I may be quite deprecating about my face, but I do have a fairly great body, if I do say so myself. I should be flattered that you think of me that way.”
Feyre groans and makes a disgusted face as Lucien laughs more. “Hey, you were the one that tried to seduce me falsely back in Spring, must I remind you. You forget that the fox knows all the tricks.”
She groans even more and shakes her head. “Gods, do not remind me. Ever again. For eternity. I wish I could wipe my brain of it.”
“Well, you could always ask Rhys to do so, though then he will see those quite risqué images of me you conjured in your mind and he may be utterly struck with jealousy.” He grins devilishly.
“Doubtful.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I haven’t had any complaints, ever. In fact, most of my old dalliances wanted more than a night or two and had a difficult time with the word no. Flattering, though.”
Feyre rolls her eyes. “You do love to boast about yourself. I think your ego is a bit too inflated for the likes of Elain.”
“She won’t be saying that once she formally accepts me. Mind, soul, and body.”
Feyre shudders in disgust and shakes her head. “Again, don’t want to hear it.”
“Oh, you’ll be hearing it. How many times have I been trapped in this gods-forsaken house with you and Rhys!?”
Feyre narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “It is my house.”
“Yes, and I had nowhere else to go, but let’s not go down that little lane of memory.”
“No, let’s not.”
Lucien smirks a bit. “Who would have thought four years ago that we would be brother and sister-in-law?”
This time Feyre laughs and shakes her head. “Gods help me. And Nesta.”
“Oh, I have a feeling Nesta will quite enjoy having one brother-in-law who isn’t an obnoxious bat.”
“No, just an obnoxious fox.”
He grins. “Seeing as you are officially my little sister within minutes, you best bet I will be pissing you off your entire existence, just as you do to me.”
“Great”, she groans.
“It is, isn’t it?”
Just then, there is a knock on the door and Feyre tells them to come in. One of the shadow-wraith twins float through the closed door and bows to her and Lucien. “Lady Elain is ready for you, Lord Lucien.”
Feyre suppresses her laugh and Lucien’s lips twitch. “You can just call me Lucien. Thank you, Cerridwen.”
She inclines her head and leaves. Feyre turns to him.
“How did you know that was Cerridwen? They are completely identical.”
Lucien winks. “Observations. Nuala tends to wring her hands in front of her body and Cerridwen plays with the hems of her pockets. Their voices are also slightly different. Cerridwen’s voice is a bit smoother and deeper.”
“I...guess I never noticed.”
“Nobody usually notices the servants. When I was young, I befriended many in the Forest House. My brothers certainly didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Feyre nods. “I should try harder. Perhaps I have fallen into complacency.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“Go and get your mate, you prick.”
Lucien tosses her a saccharine smile and winks, rushing down to the kitchen, nearly hopping off the last step, his joy making him as giddy as a child as he heads towards the tall, think double doors. The delicious scent of apples and cinnamon reaches his nose and he hums as he enters the room, eyes immediately locking on Elain’s. They sparkle like honey in the summer sun.
“Elain”, he smiles, folding his hands behind his back, ever the polite courtier.
She looks him over and a faint blush comes to her cheeks. “Lucien”, she smiles.
He nearly shudders simply from his name falling from her lips. She walks up to him and places a hand over his heart, leaning onto her tip toes to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Mate...I have a food offering for you.”
He cups her face and nuzzles her nose with his own, excitement dancing like flame in his russet eye. “Do you now? Then I accept. What did you make, sunshine?”
Elain grins at the pet name and bites her lip. “I hope you like it.”
“I bet I would like anything you made.”
“Well...I had a vision of something and I-I hope it makes you happy rather than upsets you.”
His brow furrows. “Why would it upset me?”
She takes his hand and leads him to the table. The shadow-wraith twins disappear in plumes as he peers down at the dish. He is taken aback, and emotion floods his chest and his eyes as he beholds what she made.
“Apple crisp tart...”, they say in unison, and he peers back at her. He clears his throat.
“I had a vision of your mother making it for you for your birthdays when you were a boy instead of cake...of those small moments of celebration with only her and Eris.”
He swallows hard once more and nods. “It was my favorite. It was passed down to my mother by hers—through the females in her family.”
Elain bites her lip. “I hope that I did not assume anything by making it. I-I didn’t want to steal it or anything I just...I know you haven’t been able to see her in...”, she pauses for a moment. “...in a while, to put it mildly. And I wanted to bring you some joy. To connect you to her too in a way, because I imagine she would be happy for us. Or at least I hoped—”
Lucien tugs her close and kisses her deeply and passionately, his hand cradling her cheek.
Elain melts into him, her fingers tangling in his wine-red hair and her mouth opening just a bit more for him, the bond tugging and his taste utterly intoxicating as she lets out an unincumbered moan.
“She would adore you”, he murmurs, pulling away just enough for them to pant for breath. “I hope you get to meet her one day.”
“If my magic can be trained. My...astral projection, as you called it, perhaps I could sooner rather than later, and I could check on her for us.”
‘For us’. Elain was already speaking as if she was her mother, despite never meeting her, going off of his word and his love for her.
He swallows the lump in his throat and nods slowly, looking her over with reverence as he takes her hands. “I would like that”, he rasps.
Elain’s eyes glimmer with joy and she leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. “Sit, mate. Eat.”
He takes a shaking breath and lets her guide him into a chair, his disbelief still striking his heart that it’s happening.
She grabs a fork and grins brightly as she hands it to him. “Do I have to say any official words or anything?”
Lucien looks up at her, expression swimming with emotion. “No. But...Elain, usually once this happens there’s no going back. The last thing I want is for you to carry any regret.”
Her eyes widen and she lightly plunks herself into his lap, her arms encircling his shoulders as she nuzzles his warm cheek. “I don’t think any female in this world could regret you, Lucien. And as your Mother-blessed mate, I would be an utter fool to let you slip from my fingers any more than I already have. Feyre tried to tell me how good of a male you are, and I refused to listen. I was angry and grief-stricken and traumatized—I was stuck in my own head for far too long, but now everything is clear. You’re the sunshine on a rainy day and the clear sky bursting through fog. You keep my world upright. Your magic keeps mine in check and sings to my own inner light. I think that I have known for a long time that everything felt better with you around...and I hadn’t wanted to admit it. I was wrong. I was foolish. And now I want you. I need you, Now, and forever, until my last breath, if you will have me.”
Lucien traces her lips slowly as if she is the most precious, fragile thing in the world to him. His russet eye glistens with unshed tears and he nods. “I will have you, and you will have me. For the rest of our existence.” He squeezes her hip with his free hand before picking up the fork and digging into the apple crisp tart, picking up a large scoop of the apples and filling topped with perfectly golden crumbles and locks eyes with her as he eats it. His lids flutter as he tastes it and swallows, licking the remnants off of the fork. “I accept you, Elain Archeron as my mate, as my lover, and as half of my very soul.”
Elain beams like the sun itself as she watches, licking her own lips as he licks the fork, heat pooling in her stomach at the thought of what it would be like to taste her confection on his lips, on his tongue. Lucien, that snarky fox, smirks as if he knows what she is thinking.
Then she realizes it’s definitely her scent, not her thoughts, that give her away.
Lucien leans back and lifts a forkful to her lips. “Have a taste of your creation, sunshine.”
Her cheeks flush with color at the pet name but she accepts, drawing the forkful into her mouth, her lips sliding off the fork slowly as well. “Mhh”, she mumbles before swallowing. “I think that I did well. What do you think?”
“I think it matches my mother’s and that brings me joy. But what brings me more joy is that we are now traditionally mated.”
“Elain bites her lip cutely and trails a finger down the vee of his shirt. “And...what about...officially?”
Lucien shudders under her touch and she can’t help the pleased giggle that escapes her. “What, exactly, does that entail?”
He leans forward and brushes his lips against her ear. “I think you know, sweet fawn.”
Goosebumps erupt all over her skin and her breath hitches, her scent getting stronger. Lucien’s does as well, apples mixing with apples and cinnamon—he smells like a godsdamned Autumn orchard and she can’t get enough of the intoxicating aroma.
“Show me”, she murmurs, her words coming out more breathless than she imagined they would.
Lucien lets out a low growl as he scoops her up and faerie speeds to her bedroom, causing her to gasp and clutch his shirt. By the time she shouts his name, they’re already there, and he gives her a cheeky grin.
“Wh-I-...”, she breathes hard from the whirlwind, her head spinning.
“Feyre hated that too the first time.”
Elain’s face turns to rage and she snaps. “When did you hold Feyre!?”
Lucien raises a brow and he coughs back a laugh. “Sunshine, it wasn’t like that. She was just being obnoxious in Spring when she was human and was somewhere she should not have been and I was sent to retrieve her quickly.”
Her face softens as he lets her down and she lets out a breath. “I don’t know where that came from, I’m sorry.”
He chuckles and pulls her flush against him, cradling her cheek. “Mhh, feeling like a possessive little mate, Lady?”
Elain shivers and peers up at him, her eyes the color of honey in the sun. “Perhaps”, she says shyly.
“It’s quite bewitching.”
She blinks, a smile blooming on her lips. “You love to be wanted, hm?”
Lucien turns red and shrugs slightly, shy for the first time since she has met him.
“You deserve to be wanted, Lucien. Gods only know that you have been through way too much in your life, and you deserve...you deserve the best. I don’t know that I qualify as the best, but I want to try. For you. For us.”
“Us”, he repeats, lowering his lips to hers. “I like the sound of that every time you say it.”
Elain presses her lips against his and nimbly unbuttons the buttons on his shirt. “Mhh...us, we, mates...”, she trails off. “I’m just glad that I could win you back before I lost you for good.”
“I have been yours from the first moment my mismatched eyes landed on you in that horrible moment.”
“I have everything I ever wanted now, with you—my sun on a string”, she giggles.
Lucien’s heart swells and Elain rejoices in the racing beat of it as he sweeps her back into his arms. He spins her around as she squeals, plopping her onto the bed and kissing her, loving her senseless and breathless...for the rest of the night and many to come.
.
.
.
Little did Lucien know that a mere eleven months later, Uncle Lucien would become Daddy Lucien, just as Feyre had joked. A beautiful little girl named Lucia, with red hair...and heterochromia— naturally mismatched eyes. Another gift given to him by Elain--the gift of realizing that beauty comes in all forms. Maybe his own face isn’t so bad after all, seeing it mirrored back at him in the form of his perfect little princess.