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Everyone was surprised when Elain threw Cresseida against the wall.
The second-eldest Archeron and Lucien had stayed out in the meadow until well after sunset, adjusting to their new bond with no small amount of enthusiasm. Elain had even persuaded Lucien to conjure some torchlight to lead their way back to Tarquin’s manor. He had not released her waist the whole time they walked back together, and she had kept leaning in to smell him, soaking in their new shared scent.
Lucien had smirked at Elain’s looked of confusion when the lesser faeries outside the manor went scattering. “Is everything all right?” she’d asked, looking at him and then scanning the grounds as though looking for danger.
“For us, more than all right,” Lucien had said, pressing his lips to her temple. “For everyone else . . .” He’d explained the side effects of the bond to her, how everyone could smell what they were now and would not dare crossing either of them until their fervor had subsided. “It can get . . . violent,” Lucien had said, a slight blush coloring his cheekbones.
“Well, I’m not sure about you, but I personally don’t feel like killing anyone,” Elain had protested, and Lucien had laughed and drawn her into a kiss.
They had paused at the bottom of the stairs that led into the residential wing, and Lucien had bit his lip, looking over her. “I want . . . Elain, I don’t want to let you go,” he’d confessed, holding her hand to his chest.
She had closed the space between them. “Then don’t,” she had murmured, and then she had squealed in delight as Lucien swept her into his arms and kissed her all the way up to his room.
They didn’t come out again for a while.
When they finally did emerge, they found Tarquin waiting with Varian and Cresseida in Tarquin’s study. Amren perched in the windowsill like a cat, arm slung over her bent knee. She saw Lucien and Elain enter and flashed one of her dangerous grins. “Good for you, girl,” she crooned. Azriel was there, too, and though his mouth only lifted a fraction as he looked at Lucien and Elain, his eyes twinkled and the shadows around his face were lighter than usual.
Varian was very obviously trying to avoid eye contact with either of them--or Amren--so he was focused instead on picking dirt from under his fingernails with the tip of his dagger. Cresseida sat cross-legged in an arm chair, arms spread out imperiously. She looked them up and down and then turned away as though she noticed nothing remarkable.
Tarquin, however, looked at them both openly and brightly. “I believe a congratulations is in order?” he said, his blue eyes shining. “I wish you both an eternity of happiness.”
Lucien dipped his head. “Thank you, Tarquin.” His grip tightened slightly on Elain’s waist.
“We were waiting for your report all day yesterday,” Varian griped. “What did you encounter in the Spring Court?”
“Hush, Varian. He was understandably a bit occupied,” Tarquin said, glaring at his captain. “Spymaster Azriel has given me an overview. I am eager to hear what Lucien has to add.”
Lucien smiled. “We have ears inside the manor.”
Elain gasped and turned to look at him. “Really? You didn’t mention that!”
Lucien frowned slightly and realized that he had, in fact, forgotten to say it when she’d asked him about his trip. Perhaps he had been too worried that speaking of it would make it fall through, but one look at Azriel had told him that the eyes and ears had held strong since his arrival back. “Some lesser faeries, mostly. The High Fae of the Spring Court are far too loyal to Tamlin and Hybern by extension, but the lesser fae are not noticed. Have you heard anything yet, Azriel?”
Azriel bass voice filled the study. “Mor is alive. Leashed . . . but alive.” The venom in his voice made the hair on the back of Lucien’s neck stand up--as if Amren’s snarl weren’t enough. “Hybern has continued sending soldiers through the gaps in the wall, but he has not yet ordered any attacks. He has not yet mobilized his own ranks to fight against Rhys’s forces because of his bargain with Feyre, but he is furious that he was tricked.”
“So Feyre did save us,” Elain murmured, her fingers going to the mark between her collarbones. If Lucien hadn’t kissed her throat a thousand times by now, he would hate the sight of that mark. A part of him still did--hated the threat that it represented. But things were going well . . . there was still time.
“Have we heard from the High Lady recently?” Cresseida asked, her tone more than a little disdainful. “They’ve been in the Day Court nearly two weeks with no results.”
Lucien glanced at Elain in surprise when he heard a tiny growl in the back of her throat, but she said nothing.
“We have,” Azriel said, “and it’s good that we’re all here, as they discovered critical information in the Hall of Heritage.” The spymaster looked at Lucien and Elain. “You may want to sit down.”
Elain stepped over to a pair of armchairs near a piano and went to sit down, but Lucien snagged a seat first and then pulled Elain onto his lap. She held in a giggle and sobered, granting her attention to Azriel and not to Lucien’s hands around her waist.
Lucien grip became tighter and tighter as Azriel read the letter detailing the fae gifts and the role his mate would play in the upcoming conflict. Elain’s hands covered his and she gripped him, though she did not cringe away or attempt to hide from the brutal truths now confronting her.
“So that song,” she murmured when Azriel finished, “the song my mother sang me . . . it can get Hybern to the Fortunate Isle? He could use me to open the way to the Stone for him?” She trembled and Lucien rubbed her back, working every moment at holding in the wrath that was building in his blood at the thought of anyone using his mate for such a purpose. The song that she had sung him in the meadow--that was theirs. That was not a tool for conquering kingdoms. It was pure, good, and lovely . . . and Lucien would be damned if he let anything corrupt this beautiful woman that the Mother had blessed him with.
“That’s right,” Amren said, swinging her legs to hang from the windowsill. “I suspected the fae gifts would come into play, especially when the Cauldron fused with Nesta.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Elain asked.
Amren actually looked ashamed. “I didn’t know for sure. I didn’t want to frighten you.”
Elain growled. “I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can’t handle the world!” she snapped. “No one treats Feyre like that, or Nesta. If I’m going to be a part of this, I’m going to be a part, and I refuse to sit around and do nothing while everyone else determines what’s best for me!” Almost everyone in the room looked abashed, and Elain’s brown eyes burned.
“What’s next, then?” Lucien murmured, his hand rubbing small circles on Elain’s back. Through their bond, he sent her soothing feelings--I’m here for you. I love you. We’re in this together. He wasn’t sure that she heard the words, but he felt her back relax a touch beneath his hand.
“We received word that the Dawn Court is planning to launch an attack on the Night Court,” Azriel said. “Rhys knows. They’re traveling to the Court of Nightmares to ready them and call upon more Illyrians--they’ll send some our way as well. We need the reinforcements.” Azriel’s hazel eyes looked at Lucien. “You and I have discussed treating with Kallias. Are you ready to go?”
“Kallias hasn’t answered any of my letters,” Tarquin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He seems absolutely set against involving himself this time.” His looked darkened. “I blame myself. Our failure Under the Mountain was my fault.”
“Don’t say that,” Cresseida argued. “You did what you could. It’s Kallias’s cowardice that is preventing him from engaging himself.”
“Kallias is not making any decision that you would not make yourself if it were up to you, Cresseida,” Lucien said, looking over the princess with a cold stare. “Had it been your decision, you would have locked yourself away in Adriata and refused to help if you had thought it would protect your people.”
Cresseida sneered. “How quaint. An emissary thinks he knows a thing about ruling.”
Elain snarled and shot to her feet, tearing away from Lucien’s hands. “Don’t talk to him like that,” she warned.
Cresseida scoffed and looked away. Lucien saw the vines around Elain’s fingers begin to twist faster. He reached for her hand, but she kept him from taking it, fixing her deep brown eyes on Cresseida as Tarquin continued, “Lucien, you’ve treated with them before, correct?”
Lucien nodded, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from his mate. “I’m still friends with his nephew Masaru. I’ll write to him and request a visit. They may be more likely to invite me because of my history with them.”
“Yes,” Cresseida said, snapping her face back to Lucien. “All your history with every court is certainly coming in handy, Lucien. I am sure I am not the only one wondering where your true loyalties lie.”
“Be quiet,” Elain hissed, and everyone’s eyes went wide at the threat in those two words.
Varian scratched the back of his neck--undoubtedly remembering the last time he had pissed Elain off. “Cresseida,” he said with a grimace.
“I will certainly not be quiet,” Cresseida declared, rising from her chair and approaching Lucien. “I am not comfortable at all with the idea of entrusting the future of my court to someone with no clear allegiance. You left Autumn Court, Lucien. You’ve betrayed Spring Court. You’re residing in Summer and have been offered sanctuary by the Night Court, though you have not accepted it. And now you’ve mated with someone who belongs to no court at all. A former human. If someone would please enlighten me as to why we’re placing the future of Prythian in such disloyal hands I’ll--”
Cresseida could not finish her sentence before Elain tackled her.
Cresseida screamed as Elain seized her hair and pulled, and she kicked Elain off of her. Elain went stumbling back into the piano but quickly righted herself again. As Cresseida came bounding at her, Elain twisted her hand and the ivy that clung to the windows outside came bursting into the room, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. The ivy wrapped around Cresseida’s limbs and jerked her against the wall, causing decorations to crash to the floor. “Don’t ever,” Elain growled, “speak of me or my mate that way again.”
Lucien stared at Elain, open-mouthed as she defended him the way no one ever had before. Not since Tamlin, and never with such furious love. “Elain,” he breathed, and her smoldering brown eyes flicked to him. At the expression on his face, she softened, and the vines pinning Cresseida to the wall relaxed, allowing the princess to slide to the floor.
With a tiny gasp Elain threw herself at Lucien and he wrapped her in his arms. “I’m sorry, I . . . I don’t know what came over me.”
Lucien kissed the top of her head. “Someone threatened your mate.” His metal and russet eyes scanned everyone else in the room over her head. “You reacted. It’s natural.” Natural. It was natural for someone to defend him. Even as he said it, he didn’t quite believe it--didn’t quite believe that someone would fight for him for no other reason than that they loved him.
Cresseida gasped on the floor and Tarquin just shook his head. “You Archerons may have your charms . . . but you’re all terrible house guests.”
Lucien looked at the High Lord and was surprised to see entertainment there. He knew as well as the rest of them that Cresseida had deserved it. But did you really have to break the window? the line of his mouth seemed to say.
“I’ll write to Masaru today,” Lucien said quietly, not releasing Elain from his embrace. “I’ll go as soon as possible and try to win him to our cause.” Then, he gently led Elain from the room and back up to their own quarters for some peace and quiet.
Elain let out a long sigh and collapsed onto an ottoman. “I am so embarrassed,” she moaned, burying her face in her hands. “I know you said . . . but I thought it was only males who got . . . aggressive.”
Lucien came up behind her and ran his hands through her golden hair, twisting it into loose braids as he combed it. She sighed and leaned into his touch. “I have always seen it that way, but . . .” He trailed off and laughed. “It’s good to know that I have someone to protect me from any danger.”
“I would,” Elain said seriously, turning to face him. “I feel like no one has ever protected you, Lucien, and I’ll be that person. I’m your mate, after all.”
Lucien sank to his knees before her and looped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her abdomen. “You are,” he murmured. “You’re my mate, Elain. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“You exist,” Elain said, stroking his long red hair with both hands. “You deserve love because you exist. Everyone deserves love. And we’ve been lucky enough to find it.” He laughed against her and she said, “You’re taking me to the Winter Court, right?”
He frowned and looked up at her. “Do you . . . do you want to come?”
“You really think I’m going to sit here and miss out on all of this for days on end?” She bent down and kissed his forehead. “I am not anywhere near done kissing you yet.”
Lucien rose on his knees and pressed his mouth to hers. She smiled and deepened the kiss, pulling him closer to her with the finger still entwined in his hair. He chuckled and pulled away enough to say, “I don’t think I’m done kissing you yet, either.”
“Good,” Elain said. “Then it’s settled. I think I’d like to start meeting some of your friends, after all.”
Lucien growled and pulled her off the ottoman so she tumbled down to the floor on top of him, getting tangled in his lap. She squeaked in surprise and then broke into peals of laughter. “As long as all of my friends know you’re mine,” Lucien purred in her ear, “then I will take you anywhere.” And he laid her on the floor and kissed her until she was gasping his name.
-
Two days later, Lucien stood with Elain at the edge of a frozen lake, staring across the sleek surface at a towering tiered palace. Beside them was Cresseida--who had insisted on coming.
She had graciously ‘forgiven’ Elain for her response, and she had requested to come along to the Winter Court as an attempt to make it up to them--though Lucien knew it was just an excuse for her to keep an eye on the negotiations and the conversations that took place between Lucien and the High Lord of Winter.
“It’s beautiful,” Elain breathed, her breath puffing out of her lips in a cloud.
“You’re not too cold, are you?” Lucien asked, fussing with the fur collar of her coat.
Elain gave him a look. “I’ve been colder, Lucien,” she said, and he grimaced. She had. He sometimes found it difficult to remember that she’d seen and known hardship. He found it hard to believe that something as perfect as her could have seen and experienced such poverty and come out so soft and gentle. He wished that he could say the same of himself.
Soft flurries of snow blew through the air, catching the mid-morning light and glittering in the atmosphere. Through the white mist, Lucien saw a group of people approaching them. At the head of the group was a tall, lean High Fae with chin-length dark hair, high cheekbones, and narrow, silver eyes. He was exquisitely handsome--even Lucien could comfortably admit that--and his soft mouth turned up as he paused before them.
“Prince Masaru,” Lucien said with a bow. Elain followed his lead and bowed as well.
“Lucien,” Prince Masaru said, smiling at him. His silver eyes fell on Elain and they brightened, but it only took one whiff for him to smell her bond with Lucien, and he demurred. Those same eyes flicked to Cresseida, and he bowed. “Princess Cresseida.”
Cresseida grinned tightly, cringing from the cold. As a princess of summer, she was more inclined to dislike the climate. “Thank you for having us, Prince Masaru,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I have been eager to see my friend Lucien again,” Prince Masaru said with a friendly grin. “It’s been a long time.” His silver eyes flashed and Lucien knew what he was remembering--what he was remembering as well. The last time he’d seen Masaru was Under the Mountain, when he’d tossed Lucien a sword to pass Tamlin. That same sword had plunged through Amarantha’s skull.
His one bit of revenge for all she’d wrought.
“Who might be your companion?” Masaru asked, looking warmly at Elain.
“This is my mate, Elain Archeron,” Lucien replied. “Elain, this is Prince Yuki Masaru of the Winter Court, nephew of High Lord Yuki Kallias.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Elain,” Prince Masaru said. “Please, follow me. My uncles are as eager to greet you as I am. Then later, my Uncle Akihiro has prepared a ball in your honor.”
Lucien led Elain across the icy surface of the lake, but an enchantment on the ice prevented them from slipping. “He’s prepared a ball for us?” Elain murmured. “We’re not royalty.”
Lucien smirked. “Lord Akihiro has always enjoyed balls and he accepts any reason to throw one. But in addition . . . Masaru and I have been friends a while.”
“You’ve never mentioned him,” Elain said.
Lucien’s expression darkened. “Things changed, after . . . after Amarantha. Sometimes it’s hard to remember the way things were.”
He could remember the days of gallivanting through the Winter Court cities with Masaru, drinking and flirting and raising hell, only to crawl back to Kallias’s palace in the morning, miserable but grinning ear-to-ear. They had both smiled so easily once. But the past fifty years had changed much, and though Lucien had glimpsed his friend Under the Mountain, they had been kept separate--perhaps because their reputation had preceded them. The unspoken memories lingered between them even now. Lucien knew Masaru had been forced to watch as he had been tied down and threatened with a slow and painful death. He knew Masaru had been there when Rhys had nearly crushed his mind. And Lucien had been unable to help his friend in the aftermath of the slaughter of his court’s children.
Lucien hoped he could recover the relationship he’d once had with the Winter prince. He missed those days, when he’d had little to burden him but Tamlin’s chores. Now there was so much more at stake.
Masaru led them across the frozen lake and up a set of crystal stairs into the snow-covered tiered palace. The large, diamond-encrusted doors at the top of the stairs opened straight into the royal hall, which had a towering ceiling, white drapes hanging from the ceiling beams, and silver lampposts lined down the entire hall.
A large dais stood at the other end, and perched upon it was a massive throne carved of ice. The intricacies of the carving were breathtaking even now. Two smaller thrones sat on either side, no less grand. All three thrones seemed to glow with an inner light, and ice webbed in intricate patterns up the walls and across the windows.
The center throne was occupied by an elegant, strong-jawed man with the same narrow eyes as Masaru and coiffed black hair. His mouth was set in a thin line and a crown of towering spikes of ice sat upon his head. He was garbed in thick, flowing robes of white and silver, and the tips of his fingers seemed iced as they drummed against the arms of his throne.
Beside him sat another, equally beautiful man with a smaller crown of ice upon his head. This man had a thinner, more elegant look to him, with high cheekbones and full, soft lips. His piercing blue eyes scanned over the court and those full lips were slightly quirked in amusement, but otherwise he was as stoic as the High Lord.
Masaru swept into a deep bow before his uncle, and Lucien, Elain, and Cresseida followed suit. “Presenting Princess Cresseida of Adriata, Prince Lucien of the Autumn Court, and his mate, Princess Elain Archeron.’’
Princess Cresseida’s nostrils flared and Elain dared to glance at Lucien in surprise, but he could not meet her glance. Prince Lucien. He had not been called that in . . . centuries. Not since before Elspeth. But when he had been friends with Masaru . . . that long ago, he had been a prince. And he had stopped identifying by that title, stopped wanting it, years and years ago. Hearing his mate referred to as ‘Princess,’ however . . . his princess, Elain. He thought for half a moment that he might like to be a prince again if it meant his love could be a princess.
As they rose from their bows, Lucien wrapped his fingers around Elain’s and met the silver eyes of the High Lord of Winter.
“High Lord Yuki Kallias of the Winter Court,” Masaru announced, “and his mate and consort, Lord Yuki Akihiro. My uncles.”
“Welcome, Prince Lucien,” High Lord Kallias said, his voice a smooth baritone that echoed throughout the hall. “It has been a long time since we have seen you here.”
“Thank you for agreeing to host me,” Lucien said with a respectful nod.
“Congratulations on your mating,” Lord Akihiro said, his voice a reedy tenor that contrasted with his husband’s. “It seems quite . . . recent.” He leaned forward just slightly, as though to get a better smell of their bond. Lucien squeezed Elain’s hand tighter and swallowed back the entirely unnecessary territorial edge that had risen in him.
Princess Cresseida tipped her chin up. “My High Lord has been eager to communicate with you, High Lord Kallias,” she said. “I am pleased to be here in his stead.”
Kallias’s thick eyebrows rose slowly. “The invitation was for Prince Lucien,” he said slowly. “I do wonder at your business here, Princess.”
The smugness slid from Cresseida’s face. “War is coming,” she murmured, sounding offended. “We need help. My city . . .”
“I’m impressed, Kallias. You’ve made the Princess of Adriata beg already. It usually takes you a little longer to get me begging,” Akihiro mused, his soft mouth twisting into a wicked grin, flashing straight, even teeth.
Cresseida sucked in a horrified breath and Lucien went stiff. Elain let out the tiniest of squeaks. A heavy, terrified silence fell over all three of them.
Then Masaru started laughing.
A clear, ringing sound that filled the hall. Suddenly all the spectators joined in. Lucien laughed along with his old friend--he had to admit that he was pleased to see the look on Cresseida’s face. Elain even giggled and the relief in the room was palpable. Kallias’s firm mouth broke into a smile and he leaned forward. “We can deal with business later, Princess Cresseida,” Lord Kallias said. “For now, I invite you to get comfortable in the quarters we have prepared and join us out on the lake for some festivities.” His silver eyes shone with entertainment as they moved to Lucien. “We have a lot to catch up on, Prince Lucien. I look forward to speaking more to you . . . and becoming better acquainted with your mate.”
Elain blushed and dipped a curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you High Lord Kallias. And you, Lord Akihiro.”
Akihiro’s smile broadened. “I like her, Kallias,” he said.
Kallias smirked. “I’ll yet reserve judgment. But, to all of you I say . . . Welcome to the Winter Court.”