Chapter Text
This was the third time Elain had vomited that week. Her hands were trembling, and the foul taste of bile lingered in her throat.
She washed her face with ice-cold water from the sink and sighed. Could she be sick? In the human lands, it was normal to occasionally come down with a virus after eating or drinking something prepared without proper hygiene. But in the faerie realm, that seemed unlikely; everything was magical and sophisticated. Besides, her younger sister had explained how much more resilient her system was now. However, it was certainly still possible for her to get ill—Elain wouldn't consider herself a woman blessed with luck. She gargled with mint syrup and returned to bed. Tomorrow, she would ask her sister about faerie illnesses.
But until tomorrow arrived, the young female contented herself with lying back down among the soft quilts. The fatigue brought on by her sickness lulled her into a restless but swift sleep.
The morning sun woke her like the delicate kisses of a shy lover. It was early autumn, so the star preferred to stay mostly hidden behind the clouds.
Elain took a bath and was grateful she hadn't vomited again. Maybe she was getting better, or perhaps her stomach simply had absolutely nothing left to expel.
The dress she had chosen for the day was simple, a pastel yellow that went down to her feet. The sleeves were made of a nearly transparent fabric, and the bodice was styled like a corset.
As she descended the stairs, she noticed the smell of brewed coffee. About two weeks ago, that scent would have whetted her appetite. But today? It nauseated her, and she had to rush to the nearest bathroom to vomit into the sink once more. Her throat burned, her nose stung. She turned on the tap and watched the residue wash away. At this point, the female suspected she was expelling stomach acid, given the intense burning inside her.
"Elain, are you okay?" Her younger sister's voice broke through the door.
What should she answer? Feyre had probably already heard the noise.
"Not really," admitted the middle sister, once again gargling with a mint solution to chase away the foul taste in her mouth.
She opened the door to find her sister standing there.
"What's wrong? It's not common for faeries to get sick." Her sister's bright blue eyes scanned her; she opened her mouth, then closed it.
"How long have you been like this?" she finally asked.
Elain didn't like the tone of her sister's question.
"Since last week."
Her sister brought a hand to her mouth.
"Elain…" Her name hung in the air between them. "Did you… did you sleep with someone?"
Feyre's question made her cheeks flush; it was certainly a very personal question. But she immediately understood the implication. The idea had crossed her mind, but Elain had forcefully pushed it away, refusing to let herself think something like that could happen to her.
However, her silence, slightly longer than normal, made Feyre understand.
"By the gods… was it with Azriel?" asked her astonished sister. "I know he and Gwyn—"
Elain immediately interrupted her.
"No! Azriel… he is…. He and the priestess have something going on."
The act in question had happened only once, in a moment of loneliness and uncertainty. She had seen her sisters with their partners; Azriel now spent a lot of time with the Valkyrie Gwyn, and everyone except the two of them knew a romance was blooming there. Everyone had someone, except her. But it wasn't supposed to be that way. So, driven by lust and envy, she waited for Lucien to be summoned to Velaris, and when he left the townhouse for his apartment, she followed him. He was very surprised to see her but didn't refuse her. He offered wine and conversation, and then Elain practically threw herself at Lucien, and he reciprocated quickly.
"I… I was with Lucien," she whispered to her sister. "But it was only once."
Feyre held her gaze steadily.
"It's not impossible. Lucien's mother had seven children; the fertility gene is in him."
The young faerie looked at her sister, astonished. Were they really considering this possibility?
"That would be incredibly bad luck," the lady grumbled. "It's not possible."
The High Lady wrinkled her nose slightly.
"Why didn't you go to the apothecary and take care of it?" she inquired, concern in her voice.
"I… well, I didn't think of it. Everyone told me children are rare among faeries, plus I only menstruate twice a year now! There must be something wrong. I just have a virus, or a faerie virus, something like that."
Feyre's tattooed hands went to her shoulders.
"Look, if you… are, but you don't want it, we'll support you, okay?" the High Lady assured her in her very maternal way. "I'll ask Madja to see you."
Elain sat on the sofa, placed her hands on her knees, and sighed.
This wasn't happening. One night of need, a single night to see what would happen, and now… there was a possibility she was pregnant. By all that was sacred, that wasn't fair.
She already had enough battles regarding being accidentally tied to Lucien by the mating bond, and now perhaps the possibility of a child. It was too much bad luck.
Feyre's phrase hung in her mind like a cloud: if she really was in that shitty situation, she could get rid of it, could do it secretly. But would she want that?
Elain had always thought about being a mother; she liked the idea of having something to love unconditionally. But she thought that when she was human. When she thought the father of her children would be Graysen. But… the child would still be hers. She could love it. Lucien didn't need to have anything to do with it.
Surely, if faeries were as free about sex as they seemed, a woman being unmarried and having a child shouldn't be met with as much scandal as it would be back in the human village.
Madja arrived late in the morning, around noon. Only Feyre was present. Rhysand was out walking with Nyx, Nesta and Cassian were at the House of Wind. Amren and Morrigan were in their respective apartments in Velaris. And Azriel… the Cauldron knew where he was. Her sister had also given the servants, including the wraith twins, an unexpected day off.
She lay back against the sofa and took a deep breath, hoping for the relief that it had all been a big mistake.
The old healer passed a glowing sphere all over the faerie's body.
"So?" her sister asked, already impatient.
The old female showed no expression, which made her uneasy.
"Hmm, the scent is already slightly different," Madja began, and her heart sank. "But it's very recent. A month, I'd say."
Of course it had been a month. It had been exactly four weeks since she told Lucien it had been a mistake and hadn't seen him since.
Feyre held her breath.
"Thank you for your services, Madja. I ask for discretion." The High Lady's voice suddenly appeared, professional and pragmatic.
The old healer simply nodded, packing her belongings into her bag.
Both females waited for the elder to leave.
"I'll give you time to think about what you want to do, but I'll support you." That was all the High Lady said before leaving her alone.
The female forced herself to eat some dry bread with tea, as it was the only thing that didn't turn her stomach.
Holy shit, what should she do? Loving the child would be easy; she would have responsibility. Someone to take care of. The problem here was definitely Lucien.
It would be an understatement to say the redhead wouldn't want to be part of the child's life. He was a male… decent, maybe even beyond that. It would be impossible to convince him to stay away.
She went upstairs to the art gallery where she knew the High Lady would be.
"Hi, I've decided. I want to keep the child, but does Lucien need to know?" she asked with a little pout.
Her sister's blue eyes softened.
"Elain, I understand your feelings but… we're talking about Lucien. He might be a libertine, I mean, he was. But he will definitely want to be part of this. He's a male, you're his mate, and now you're pregnant," she explained gently. "We could hide it. I'll ask Rhys to put up shields to mask your scent… but even so, that eye of his might still notice too much."
The lady nodded and moved closer to Feyre.
"I'll tell him then. Do you think I'll be judged? For not being married or something like that."
The High Lady smiled.
"Oh, Elain, you still hold very human values. Faeries are more open. They sleep around, have parties that last for days with various orgies, practically walk around naked," the female declared softly. "Besides, you're Lucien's mate. That alone is more than a marriage, don't worry."
She nodded her head.
"Right, no one will call me a whore," the lady acknowledged. "That's good."
Feyre shook her head.
"Of course not. Besides, you're the High Lady's sister. If anyone says that about you, I'll rip their head off with my teeth." Feyre's smile turned almost diabolical. "And Nesta would help me."
Elain's eyes widened.
"By the Cauldron!" the female exclaimed. "Nesta will cook Lucien alive."
"By the Cauldron, she really will," agreed the younger sister. "Maybe I'll help. He was a huge idiot for not offering something to prevent this."
"Ah, I think after I kicked him out of his own apartment and called the night the worst mistake of my life, he didn't really have time to offer anything." Guilt fractured her voice.
The High Lady sighed in exasperation.
"Yeah… I won't kill him, but maybe Nesta still will."
The High Fae left her sister's gallery and went downstairs. Rhysand had arrived with Nyx.
"Hello, Elain," he said with a gentle smile. "Is Feyre in the gallery?"
Of course Rhysand knew where his mate was; he was just making conversation.
"She is, yes." She held out her arms for her nephew. "Go to her, I'll take care of Nyx."
Rhys winked at her and went upstairs. Did he already know? Feyre and he were always talking mentally anyway.
Her attention shifted when Nyx flapped his delicate wings and placed his tiny hands on Elain's cheeks.
"Pretty," the baby said with a wide grin.
"Thank you!" she said, adjusting him in her arms and heading towards the garden.
"Soon you'll have someone to play with," Elain promised as she carried him to his little play area.