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separatist-apologist · 10 months

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The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

“Jurian, what do you know about sleeping curses?” Elain asked, carefully braiding her pie crust. Jurian glanced over at Elain, seated on the floor as he worked on her overturned chair.

“Does that seem like something I would know a lot about?” he replied dryly, though Elain could see the spark of interest in his brown eyes.

“Well…no,” she admitted, turning back to her pie. “But you do know a lot of things. I thought maybe you’d heard something.”

“What makes you ask?” Jurian returned to his screw driver, though she knew his whole focus was on the conversation unfolding around them. Elain, too, didn’t really want to work on her pie, though it was at least something to do with her hands. Lucien had vanished before she woke. She had the vague memory of his lips on her cheek murmuring he’d be back which might have been a dream. Elain couldn’t be sure.

“I heard the princess was placed under an enchanted sleep,” she told Jurian carefully, noting the way his eyes cut toward her for a moment. “I was just curious how they were broken.”

He grunted in response. There was nothing but silence between them, and the scraping of wood and Elain’s timer for her oven quietly chiming. And then—

“Magic requires balance,” he murmured gruffly, not looking at her at all. “Spells, curses…those sorts of things always have some sort of exploitable loophole. If the princess is trapped, there has to be a way to free her. Otherwise, the caster incurs the cost.”

Elain blinked. Lucien hadn’t said anything about Amarantha being damaged, though she still asked, “Incurs what kind of cost?”

Jurian shrugged. “It depends, I s’pose, on the power. For a sleeping curse…and suspended death? A heavy cost, I would imagine. So most casters, if they’re skilled, build a backdoor into their curses. If they’re very skilled, they’ll create specific conditions under which the curse can be lifted, which appeases nature because there is no permanence to it.”

“You know an awful lot,” Elain said, wondering who Jurian actually was. Hardly the grumpy tradesman working the mines and keeping her alive. This was the sort of knowledge that only someone close to magic, someone with an education, would have.

He did look at her, then. “You have your secrets and I have mine.”

“Do you know what the loophole is?” Elain asked instead, thinking whatever it was could be broken, so long as she knew the exact conditions.

Jurian shook his head. “There’ll be something that tells people, though. If you went to see the princes…a placard, a talking squirrel…something that announced it. Curses are specific like that.”

“That seems too easy,” Elain said, abandoning the pretense of work entirely. “Surely there’s some catch.”

“Well, just because you know how to break the curse doesn’t mean the means to do so will be readily available. Perhaps the thing you need has yet to be invented. Or is so rare you have to make a perilous journey that no one has ever managed to survive. Your savior might be a baby, or some rare seed that only blooms in one place at one time in the year.”

That dampened her spirits a bit. So there was a way to free Nesta, but it was likely to be impossible. Jurian turned back to his chair and Elain left her pie in the oven, scooping bird feed in a bucket to get some fresh air and clear her thoughts. The worst of winter was coming—the longest night of the year would be upon them that night. Feyre’s birthday, she remembered with a pang. Where was she? Had Nesta even found her? Somehow, Elain doubted it. In Amarantha’s bid to remove the three of them, Feyre had been the first to go. Still, Elain was certain Feyre must be alive, just as she was sure Nesta was, too. It was a strange hunch, a feeling she’d always had—some sort of sense that let her know what was happening even when she had no business knowing it.

Just as Elain knew she could trust Lucien, despite being tasked with carving out her heart. He’d take her to Nesta, and together, they’d figure out how to uncurse her—and then, somehow, they’d find Feyre, too. Overthrow Amrantha, though Elain didn’t quite know how they’d do that, too. Only that she knew they would, just as she knew the sun would set and her name was Elain Archeron.

“Don’t open this door for strangers,” Jurian warned her, just as he always did when he left. He checked the hinges, satisfied they weren’t squeaky, and left her just like he always did.

Elain had begun to suspect he didn’t want to see Lucien stroll in, which he did an hour later. Elain smiled, the table already set as Lucien kicked snow off his boots and hung up his cape.

“It’s warm in here,” he said with an easy, handsome smile. “Smells good.”

“I missed you, too,” she replied, delighted when he came into the kitchen. Hands skimming her shoulders, Lucien lowered himself to press a kiss to her cheek. “It's the solstice tonight.”

Something sparked in his gaze. “Yes. I have a gift for you, actually.”

Elain’s heart stumbled. “A gift? For me?”

“Don’t look so surprised, princess,” he teased, beckoning for her to leave the kitchen and join him on the little rundown sofa. She sat beside him, waiting as Lucien procured a little box from his pocket.

“It’s not much,” he began, letting her take that velvet thing from him. Elain opened it, surprised to find a little pearl set atop a simple, silver band. Looking up at him, she found him not sitting on the couch, but on one knee before her.

“You don’t need to marry a foreign prince,” he whispered, holding her gaze with steady, sure eyes. “I’ll protect you. I love you. And I know I’m not much, but–”

“Yes,” she breathed, dropping the box beside her, ring and all, to reach for his face. “Of course, Lucien—yes, I will.”

His smile was like the first spring sun. Blinking away what she suspected were tears, he kissed her softly—at first. Elain forgot all about dinner and everything else when his lips were slanted over her own. Lucien reached for her hair, inadvertently pulling her into his lap on the floor. Elain could taste the apology on his lips, sharp and metallic, which would lead Lucien to setting her back to the sofa and treating her like a princess.

But Elain wasn’t stupid. She knew what men and women did together, and that she was only shielded from it because high born ladies belonged to their husbands long before they ever belonged to themselves. Lucien likely had been with women of his station without treating them like spun glass.

Why not her, too? She’d been trying, and he’d thwarted her at every turn. Not since that first time on that very sofa, but even then he hadn’t taken things all the way. Not how she wanted, at any rate. So when Lucien opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry for being so rough, Elain merely sank her teeth against his bottom lips.

Lucien’s groan reverberated through them both. That’s more like it, she thought with private delight. The proof of his desire was carefully wedged along the curve of her ass, though she suspected Lucien wasn’t aware of that fact. He was too busy kissing like he needed her to breathe. Elain was drunk on the feeling of being in love for the first time in her life and with a man like Lucien, no less. Not the prince she’d once imagined, but better. This was special, and he was special.

Reaching behind her, Elain grasped the ring. “Put it on me” she gasped, watching as Lucien fumbled the little box for a moment before finally—finally—getting that pretty, pearl ring out. He slid it against her third finger, admiring it for just a moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “We should eat—”

“No,” Elain replied, holding his stubbled cheeks beneath her fingers. “Take me upstairs, Lucien. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Elain—”

She didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight, not now. Not ever. Elain captured his mouth before he could truly tell her no and tuck her into bed, scurrying away like a scared little mouse. She wanted him, and judging by the way he was trying to angle his hips away from her, Elain guessed he wanted her, too. It was easy enough to scoot closer until her breasts were flush against his chest and her hands were on his neck.

In another life, he would have been a stranger to her. No one special—the caretaker of the forest and little more. Here, though, in this place, Lucien would be her husband. Elain swore the very world itself offered its approval, though maybe that was just a result of her own rapidly beating heart.

“Elain,” Lucien groaned against her lips. She could have cried, half crushed when he lifted her with such ease, pulling her into his arms like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. It was talent that kept her against him as he walked her up to the loft, especially when her own fingers were undoing his buttons so when he dropped her to the bed, he shrugged it off with a casual elegance that robbed her of breath. She’d hoped to see bare skin, but beneath the jacket was a white shirt, tucked into his laced up pants, the ties undone around his chest.

“Elain—”

“Take it off,” she breathed, propping herself up on her elbows. “I want to see you.”

“I’m not much to look at,” he replied, though he pulled that shirt up over his head all the same. She almost laughed—not at his chiseled, broad body, but his declaration he wasn’t much to look at. Every inch of his golden brown skin was a marvel, so lovely and smooth—even where it was scarred. Elain kept her eyes on him, surprised by how his hands seemed to tremble when he reached for his laces. She’d seen this part of him before. It was nice to see the whole of him, though—muscular and broad, with those strong thighs and the rigid length of him bobbing just between.

Lucien ran a hand over his lower stomach, fingers brushing a trail of auburn hair. “Now you,” he whispered. Elain had half hoped he’d rip her clothes off her body, if only to spare her the embarrassment of disrobing in front of him. What if he didn’t like what he saw? Elain had to trust that no matter what he found lying beneath her clothes, he’d like it.

She had that pearl ring on her finger, afterall. Elain rose, reaching for the ties on her bodice while Lucien gripped the base of his cock, his face ravenous. That helped, she thought. He wanted her just as badly as she did. An ache had begun building between her legs, throbbing impatiently with nothing to alleviate it.

Swallowing, Elain pushed the dress from her shoulders, delighted at the soft whimper that escaped Lucien’s throat. It took only another moment to remove her under things so she was utterly naked before him. They weren’t so close they could touch, though Lucien dared a hesitant step.

And then another.

And another.

Until his fingers brushed the valley between her breasts, skimming over her collarbone, up her neck and beneath her jaw. He tilted her face so she was looking up at him. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “My wife.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that exploded out of her. It was nerves, and his closeness, combined with his very hot erection pushed against her belly. They were doing this. She wanted to do this. “Not yet.”

Lucien brushed an errant curl from her face. “In my head, you already are. Everything else is merely formality.”

She smiled, surging up on her tiptoes to press her mouth to his. “My husband is sentimental, then?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied, his own grin warm and sweet against her lips. Lucien effectively silenced her with a bruising kiss, one hand sliding down her spine while the other remained firmly grasping his cock. Elain couldn’t help her soft moan of pleasure. He was molten, so warm he might have been made of flame, of pure sunlight.

Elain knew no matter how close she got, he wouldn’t burn her. He was safe—he was hers. Elain reached for his shoulders, grazing her nails over his skin gently just because she could. Lucien shuddered, pushing her back to the bed. This time, though, he came with her until his weight was settled over her pleasantly. Elain wiggled, legs parting until he was resting just between the cradle of her thighs. She could feel his cock wedged against her hip, pushing against her stomach when he rolled his hips.

That ache she’d been feeling bloomed, spreading like flower petals in the sun. It was going to consume her if she wasn’t careful. And maybe, just this once, Elain didn’t want to be careful. Everyone else was always urging her to consider the danger of things, to protect herself over everything—at the expense of her own life. Elain wanted to take a risk, to take something for herself, even if it meant getting hurt in return.

He’d let go of his cock in favor of skimming his hands over her body. Elain whimpered when she felt his fingers dragging up the sensitive skin of her thigh, forgetting where his mouth was—currently trailing down her neck.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he whispered, teeth nipping against her collarbone. “Need to taste you or I’ll go out of my mind.”

Elain raked her fingers through his hair, digging at his scalp. “You may do whatever you like to me.”

The groan of need that ripped out of him echoed off the walls. “Too much power will surely go to my head.”

“Take it,” was all she could think to say. Her words were little more than a gasp when that clever mouth of his found the pebbled peak of her nipple and drew it into his mouth. The heat and the slickness of his tongue seemed to draw reactions from her seemingly without her input. Elain’s body bucked against his, delighted when his erection ground against her. He groaned, bracing his body weight on one arm just beside her.

Elain dragged her nails along his bicep. Lucien’s hair fell around her face, smokey and soft just like his mouth, his skin, his hands. She wasn’t the only one unraveling—even as Lucien licked along her skin, fingers pinching the now wet nipple so he could lavish praise and attention on the other, he was all but writhing against her.

“Lucien,” she breathed, lifting her hips in invitation. He didn’t take it, though he looked between their bodies with unmistakable hunger gracing his beautiful face. His need made her blood run hot—this was what she’d dreamt of. Not the sex, but the desire coursing through him, making the careful, clever man she’d fallen in love with a desperate, needy creature. He only moaned his agreement before continuing his slide down her body.

She knew what he intended to do. She understood from the way he kept his tongue on her, eyes locked on her face. Silently informing her that what he’d done with his hands all those nights ago, he now planned to do with his mouth. Elain squirmed under his warm breath and his fingers spreading her wider for his hungry gaze.

She wanted this. All of it. Everything he’d ever imagined, all the things he might have done with other women—she wanted that, too. She wanted to overtake every memory in his mind until she was all he thought about, all he dreamt about. Elain wanted to experience these things, too. If he was going to be her husband and they were going to subvert every expectation she’d grown up with, then Elain wanted to be his equal. Not a doll too precious to mar, or glass that might break, but the person worthy of his devotion.

Carding her fingers through his hair, Elain relaxed for the brief moment before he took that first taste. The moment she felt the softness of his tongue against her cunt, Elain jerked upward, gasping so loud it was almost a scream. Lucien merely pushed her back down, one hand flat against her stomach as the other curled around her hips to draw her closer.

“Just like that,” he whispered, pressing a rather filthy kiss between her legs. Elain thought she’d beg if he stopped, which was lucky given Lucien didn’t seem capable. In fact, the way his mouth had begun moving against her suggested this was a deeply selfish act masquerading as something selfish. Elain had begun to build beneath his skilled tongue—she was going to break apart around him, which was clearly what he wanted. And yet from the way he held her and how his own body was rubbing against the bed, she suspected this was also deeply gratifying for him.

She liked knowing that. Elain let go of all her proprietary and gave in to that same desperate need. It was exciting, her legs wrapped around his face, to grind herself against him in bid to chase that delicious friction. Bossy, too, to try and demand he move to please her rather than remaining still and quiet so he might be pleased instead. Lucien groaned, doing as she wanted with no complaint. Elain had a million questions for him—what did he like so much about this act? It had been suggested men cared only for chasing their own pleasure.

Perhaps he was, then, and she’d just misunderstood what people meant when they said that. It didn’t matter, in the end, because whatever notions she’d had were gone now. Lucien had replaced every fanciful daydream, every hope, every dream. And that was fine because none of it compared to this man—Elain was willing to trade it all to keep him.

“Lucien, please,” she panted, tugging at his hair. Her body was half lifted from the soft mattress, his strong arm wrapped around her. Elain was so close, was practically on fire, burning from the inside out. “Lucien, I—”

He gave her no reprieve, no rest. His tongue worked her frantically, though it was that one, clever finger that slid into her body and curled just inside her body that sent her fracturing over the edge. Elain couldn’t breathe, could barely be contained by her own skin. He didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave of brightly burning pleasure. Elain babbled, begging and repeating his name until she had to kick at his shoulder to pry him off her.

With shining lips and tangled hair, Lucien looked down at her with the sort of reverence reserved only for worshiping the gods. And when he spoke her name, Elain thought it sounded like a prayer.

A song.

“My Elain.”

“Come here,” she whispered, glad to kiss him again, even if all she could taste was her own wet arousal on his tongue. Lucien adjusted himself, slotting the rigid, thick length of his cock just at her opening. He wasn’t going to hurt her—Elain knew that like she knew her own name. And still she braced herself for it, tensing her body as he slid that first inch into her.

Lucien exhaled a shaking breath. “Elain,” he whispered, like it was the only word he knew. It was a tight fit, and not painful. Even when he moved again, and again, again.

Over and over, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her. Lucien looked wild, breathing hard through his mouth. His muscled shoulders rose and fell with each new breath, though he remained utterly still while Elain squeezed around him, adjusting to the new fullness that had invaded her body.

It wasn’t pain, and after a moment of breathing through her nose, it had begun to shift distinctly into pleasure. Experimentally, she lifted her hips just to see. Lucien moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, squeezing tight around his shaft as she repeated the motion.

Lucien lowered himself, chest to chest, so he could kiss her. “You’re what I want,” he said, the foolish romantic. It was his turn to move, withdrawing only to push back in. Elain arched without meaning to, earning a sucking kiss against her neck.

Digging her nails against his chest, Elain rose to meet Lucien with each new thrust, until the pair had fallen into an instinctual rhythm. Gone were her worries she would be bad at this—she could hear his soft moans, his breathless whimpers, given his mouth was pressed right against her ear.

“Lucien,” she whispered, trying so hard to stave off the release rebuilding low in her stomach. She wanted him to slow down, but Lucien understood that pleading note in her voice.

Pushing himself up on his hands, Lucien’s speed increased until Elain was breathless. It was all she could do to grip his arms, holding him for what felt like dear life.

“Come for me, princess,” he grunted, a sheen of sweat misting his forehead. “Let me feel you.”

Elain was so close, practically hanging off the edge. Lucien lowered his mouth, nipping at her sensitive ear. “Let me feel my wife.” It might have been embarrassing, the half scream, half whimpering moan that ripped out of her. Elain’s body was not her own anymore, governed by desperation rather than careful control. She didn’t care, legs wrapped tight around his waist to hold him inside her. Elain barely noticed Lucien’s own loss, his body jerking as he, too, came. For a moment, the only sound was their combined breathing and pounding hearts.

He smiled. Big and unrestrained, and so bright she nearly had to shield her eyes. The huntsman, once sent to carve out her heart, held it in his hands all the same. Did he even realize it? The absurdity of their situation—two people who ought to hate each other, now sharing a body.

Sharing a soul.

Elain kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she said. Lucien’s smile softened.

“I’d do anything for you, Elain. Do you know that?”

Tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, Elain nodded. “I do.”

LUCIEN:

He should have left at sunup. He needed to be at the palace with the deer carcasses he’d caught the day before. He’d hunted extra, drying meat for the journey he and Elain were about to undertake, and he also needed to keep up appearances right up until the very last moment. That might have been possible had he held off on sleeping with his soon-to-be wife.

She’d wanted him, and Lucien had no ability to resist giving her whatever she asked for. Especially if what she wanted happened to be connected to his body, and doubly so when it was the thing he spent all his time fantasizing about, anyway. Case and point—Lucien had Elain on her knees, her face buried in a pillow. Thick, golden curls spilled over her bare shoulders, practically begging him to wrap it around his fist. Lucien would, one day, when she was better adjusted.

Given she’d only just started having sex with him, Lucien was trying to temper the worst of his urges. He’d offered to bring in some freshly fallen snow, wrap it in a cloth, and hold it between her legs which was how they’d ended up here, anyway. Elain’s eyes had welled up with tears as she’d kissed him, breathlessly insisting he was far too kind, and the next thing Lucien knew he was putting her on her hands and knees while he gripped her hips and slid himself back inside her.

He didn’t want to leave. Lucien was certain he belonged firmly at her side, and leaving during the day and hoping nothing happened to her was starting to kill him a little. Elain didn’t realize he was dragging this out, both because the heat of her body clamped around him made him both stupid and crazy, but because the moment he was done, he’d have to put his clothes back on and leave her.

But Lucien was already too close, and Elain had come twice already. He could see the sweat sliding down her spine, could feel the pulsating rhythm of her cunt tight around him. Her release pooled along his balls, dripping to the sheets just below. The sight was too much, coupled with Elain panting his name.

Lucien groaned, spilling into her without a thought other than he needed to immediately have her again.

And again.

She was going to be his wife just as soon as he could drag the local priestess from the village to the cottage. And then….and then. And then what, exactly? He’d tell her the truth about him? That she thought she was defying fate by marrying a lowly huntsman when, in fact, she’d traded one prince for another? A prince without a crown, a kingdom, or a home? What good was he to her if he couldn’t call upon his father for aid to even give Elain back her own crown?

It didn’t help that his letter to Eris had so far gone unanswered. He knew his brother must have received it by then—likely tossed it in the fire with a roll of his eyes. All Lucien had were the friends he’d made as a huntsman, and the skills readily available to him. And while he would have liked to tell Elain he was actually a prince and his kingdom was coming to aid her so she might sit on the throne until Nesta returned, Lucien knew that wasn’t going to happen.

And he needed to get her out of this place before Amarantha truly learned the heart she kept on her desk belonged to an animal. It was that thought that convinced Lucien to pull himself regretfully out of her body. The sight of his come spilling down her thighs nearly undid him—and the urge to use his thumb to push it back into her still fluttering cunt was impossible to resist.

“Careful,” Elain murmured, flipping to her back with a satisfied smile. She was so absurdly beautiful, so lovely it made his chest ache. “That’s how you end up with a child.”

“I could only dream,” Lucien replied, leaning over her to kiss her forehead. “Maybe prop your legs up, just to be safe.”

“Are you trying to trap me?” she laughed, watching as he slid off the bed for his pants.

“That’s what the engagement ring was for.”

Elain’s smile dimmed as Lucien began lacing his trousers. “How long will you be gone?”

“Just long enough to visit the palace,” he promised, hating the hope that flooded her gaze. He knew she wanted to go back—that she wanted him to return and tell her it was safe for her to return. As long Amarantha lived, Elain would never be safe.

Lucien wasn’t convinced Amarantha was someone they could kill. Not between the two of them, at any rate. Maybe, if he could track down Nesta, she could rally the neighboring kingdoms into helping. He didn’t know much about the princess other than what he’d seen, but something told him Eris would find Nesta a lot more compelling.

“Will you check on my father? And…and see if there is any news of Nesta?”

Lucien bowed, snatching up his shirt as he did so. “Anything for you, my lady.”

Elain’s teeth worried at her bottom lip while she watched, dressing herself and trailing after him to the kitchen where she fussed until he finally shoved some stale bread into his mouth. He’d forgotten she’d made dinner the previous night, only for them to abandon it in favor of each other. Lucien’s stomach rebelled, his heart urging him to stay and help her clean up…and maybe eat something else before he went. He’d never leave, and tomorrow when he showed up, someone would want to know why he was late.

Better not to give them any reason to look his way at all. Lucien forced himself to give Elain only the chastest of kisses before stepping into the cold.

“Come back to me,” Elain murmured, her breath curling around her face like shadows. Lucien waved, not daring to turn and look again. He was already struggling to leave her—hearing those soft words, like she didn’t expect him to come back, was enough to break him. He’d be back, he reminded himself. There was nothing that could keep her from him.

Not even death.

Lucien gathered his animals and began the cold, miserable trudge back to the castle. As he walked, he replayed his evening with Elain in the back of his mind. It helped with the cold, and the still falling snow making a mockery of his hair and cloak. By the time Lucien made his way out of the forest, his tracks had been concealed and no one knew where he’d come from.

Though it was forbidden for most to cut through the woods the way he was allowed. Half his job—one he’d been doing badly ever since Elain came crashing into his life—was keeping would be trespassers out.

Black guards stood on either side of the entrance, a new feature to the servants doors. The once bustling halls were sparse and shockingly silent. The scent of blood permeated the air which was never a good sign. Lucien dropped his animals off, too curious not to investigate. Every day was some new horror, he bet. It wouldn’t have surprised Lucien to learn the servants had fled, looking for safer work.

“Lucien,” Vassa hissed, her cerulean eyes wide with surprise. “Prince, what are you—”

Lucien blinked, trying to make sense of Vassa’s sudden slack expression of the ashen look of horror against her usually lively face. He also couldn’t make sense of his own inability to speak, or the blackness dotting his vision. Lucien lurched forward a step, trying to keep the world steady.

But it toppled, and so did he.

Right into darkness.

Lucien woke to a throbbing headache and a dry mouth. His first, terrible thought, was of Elain—she’d asked him to come back, but he was…where was he? Head spinning, Lucien sat up to find Vassa sitting against a cool stone wall. Her once beautiful amethyst dress was filthy, her bouncy curls lifeless around her pretty face.

“You’re alive,” she said dryly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. “I was starting to think you’d die.”

“Where are we?”

Vassa gestured around them, opening and closing her mouth as though it was too painful to speak. Lucien should have known, judging from the bars on the window just overhead and the dark stone that surrounded them, though it was the bolted, iron door that betrayed the dungeons for what they were. He understood why he was here. Amarantha had figured him out, which meant she knew Elain was alive. But Vassa… “Why are you down here?”

“I’m sure her soldiers are sweeping into my kingdom as we speak. I’ve been accused of treason against the crown. Some trumped up, made up charges. This was never about diplomacy.”

The bitter note to Vassa’s voice settled in his chest. When he didn’t speak, she said, “What about you, prince?”

“I did commit treason,” he said without an ounce of regret. Elain was well-hidden. Amarantha wouldn’t find her, and even if she did, Lucien trusted Jurian would intervene before any harm could come to Elain.

“I don’t suppose one of your brothers might intercede on your behalf?” Vassa asked, drawing her knees up to her chin. Lucien scoffed.

“One less contender for the throne.”

“Then we’re on our own,” Vassa whispered, her jaw set with determination. Lucien might have asked what she was planning had the sound of heels clicking against stone not echoed around them. Amarantha was coming, likely to gloat.

Or to kill them. That was a very real possibility, too. Lucien forced himself to his feet, grateful the queen wouldn’t see how he slumped against the wall, head swimming from the blow he’d sustained. It was a problem for another time, because by the time the key slid into the lock, Lucien was fully righted and well aware of the large hunting knife still hidden in his boot. Let that stay a secret as long as he could keep it—he had a feeling he’d need it soon. Vassa remained on the floor, glassy eyed and unwilling to engage in the same posturing Lucien was. Not that it mattered. Amarantha swanned into the dingy, filthy cell like she owned it, too.

Draped in all black, what else was new. Lucien was only barely paying attention because there, hanging from the crook of her arm, was an all-too familiar basket piled with the reddest apples he’d ever seen. Lucien’s stomach lurched. He knew that red and white checkered blanket.

“Oh, good,” Amarantha said with a too sharp smile. “We don’t have to play games. I was worried you’d keep up the pretenses and thats so boring, huntsman. Do you remember the job I gave you?”

“You’ve given me a lot of jobs,” Lucien replied flatly, though his heart was pounding in his throat. He’d seen that basket on Elain’s kitchen counter more often than he could count. And though the only apple orchard he’d ever seen belonged to the king, he’d never once questioned how Elain always had fresh fruit.

He’d just assumed it was Jurian. Gods, but he’d never once questioned anything, so caught up in falling in love that he’d forgotten to be careful.

“This job was special. All you had to do was cut out the heart of one inconsequential girl. A girl who, to my understanding, is so pathetically inept she couldn’t have hurt you even if she’d wanted to. You told me she did. Do you want to know how I knew you’re a liar?”

Lucien kept his mouth resolutely shut. Amarantha didn’t seem to care, one hand wrapped around the pale skin of her elegant throat. She seemed different, somehow. Younger…and yet, not beautiful. Not the way she craved, anyway.

“When I ate it, it made me sick,” she spat, eyes glittering like coal. “How pathetic you are, oh handsome prince of Avalon. You could have had safety from your family. You could have had a long life, and you threw it away for what? A quick lay with a woman who never could have loved you? You should have seen the way she cried when she learned what a liar you are. How she cursed your name…right until the bitter, bloody end. How's that for love, prince? You get to languish in this cell until your father comes to claim you knowing your pretty princess cursed your name with her last, dying breath.”

Vassa cleared her throat, eyes wide. Whatever spell Amarantha had woven around him—the sort that forced him to see her words so clearly—shattered. Elain wouldn’t. Elain wouldn’t.

“You didn’t kill her,” Vassa whispered, her skirts rustling softly. “Just like you haven’t killed us.”

“You have use to me,” Amarantha snapped, blood red lips curling over her teeth. “She is nothing. Worthless. A pretty trinket—”

“Her fathers favorite child,” Vassa interrupted, still quiet. “And the only thing keeping him under that spell. If you kill her, his grief will shatter it.”

“He’ll never know!” Amarantha’s voice was rising with hatred, her panic betraying her. Lucien’s knees, once in danger of giving way, held firm. Elain wasn’t dead. Alive, somehow—though Lucien knew whatever Amarantha had done to her was likely to hurt her. But alive, and if Elain was alive, he could get to her.

“He will, and you know he will,” Vassa murmured, holding Amarantha’s gaze with the same spell-like quality Amarantha had woven over Lucien. “Just like he knows Elain isn’t married to a stable hand, and just like he knows something is wrong with Nesta and Feyre. You can’t kill them…so why are you here? To gloat? When you haven’t even won?”

“We’ll see,” Amarantha snapped, staggering back a step. Lucien had never seen her so shaken. She reached for the handle behind her, dropping an apple on the ground. The fruit bounced, settling around Vassa’s legs. “The truth remains that Elain Archeron is no more and you will return to Avalon, disgraced and in chains. And you will rot here until I no longer have use of you. There is no saving any of you. The Archeron family is over.”

And with that, she slammed the door behind her. Lucien waited for the sound of the key in the lock that never came, holding his breath while he waited for Amarantha to realize her mistake. Vassa, too, waited wide-eyed with fear, neither of them breathing.

They weren’t given long to wait. Lucien had just about convinced himself to surge for the door, unsure what he’d do once he got into the hall. Kill the black guards before they could kill him and…and find Elain. Get on his knees and apologize and hope Amarantha had been lying about that, too.

New, heavier steps began to echo down the halls. Boots, Lucien thought, and the heavy footfalls of someone who was armed. Vassa’s hope quickly shuttered into fear, causing Lucien to step in front of her, one arm thrown out.

“Lucien,” Vassa whispered as the steps came closer.

He took a breath, waiting for the door to push open.

Firelight gilded off a familiar sight. Auburn hair, pushed off a cruel, classically handsome face. A calloused hand rested on the hilt of a sword hanging from the hip of Lucien’s eldest brother. Eris Vanserra stood in that dungeon, chin raised, amber eyes burning with what could only be described as cool amusement.

“What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, little brother?”

#elucien #ignoring the bullshit by posting more writing #also would i put all my plot in one chapter??#yes yes i would

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jasmariswonderland · 2 years

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🌈☁️ for the lovely black swans!!

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