#and elain COULD bring kings to their knees
Text
Bringing People to their Knees, Elain Style
“As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. ”
Chapter 24, ACOWAR
“Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees.”
Chapter 75, ACOWAR
“The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat.”
Azriel POV
Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.
art: bethgilbert_art
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
Elain Archeron~
"Elain's beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees."
I hope I did her justice 😭!
#elain archeron#pro elain#acotar fanart#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#my art#i originally drew rhys but i iked how elain turned out a lot more#also shes just so dear to me
554 notes
·
View notes
Text
“elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees” 🌸💞
#acomaf#acosf#acotar#acowar#acofas#acosf art#acosf fanart#acotar fanart#elain#elain archeron#elain acotar#elain supremacy#elain kingslayer#elain acosf#pro elain
361 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stop Kicking Elain out of the NC
She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to leave her family. The cauldron turning her into high fae was unfortunate, but in typical Elain fashion (my favorite quality of hers) she made the best of a terrible situation and adapted to her new home, her new body, her new life. She has friends. She glows with health. She is mending the relationship with her sisters. The male she loves is there.
Why would she want to leave?
And if anyone brings up the fact that Cassian said she couldn't pull off a black dress - I swear to god I'll be convinced you've never read a book before. Cassian, the Miranda Priestley of Velaris, declaring Elain doesn't look good in black does not mean she is being rejected by the Night Court.
Do people not read? Did you not read how Nesta had to stand out to be Eris-bait, and if Elain, gorgeous, sweet, with beauty-that-could-bring-a-king-to-his-knees Elain was done up like the rest of them, the chances of Eris following after Nesta would have been slim? They had to make her look muted, to purposefully fade her into the background. That is ALL.
Now let's get into the even worse arguments for booting Elain out of the NC. Specifically,
She belongs in Spring (with Lucien)
She belongs in Day (with Lucien)
She belongs in Autumn (with Lucien)
Do you see what all those have in common (other than being surface level awful arguments)? They all center around Lucien. Who currently, Elain avoids like the plague. But I'm getting ahead of myself, lets go one by one, slow and steady:
Elain does NOT belong in spring
Why is this a thing, even? Because she likes flowers and Feyre said "oh elain would like it here?" That's it? Are we reducing people down to their hobbies now? Nesta likes books, should she also move to Day? Mor likes...wine I guess, should she move into a tavern? Amren likes puzzles, ship her to Dawn? Azriel likes Elain, let's put him in the Prison??
Or, oh wait, Tamlin should lose his court and Elain and Lucien will rule? How. Genuinely, how? Lucien is already an heir to Day Court & Autumn Court. How would the magic pick him of all people if Tamlin somehow dies/gives up his court? Wouldn't it pick someone...of Spring Court descent?
P.S Flowers also grow in the Night Court.
Make it make sense.
2. Elain does NOT belong in Day
First of all, right now, nobody knows about Lucien's parentage except for Feyre/Rhys and LoA (maybe). Helion doesn't know. Lucien himself does not know.
For Lucien to become high lord of Day, y'all realize Helion would have to die, right? Why would you ever kill off such an icon? And even if he just casually lives there while Helion still rules...a lot of things would have to happen for this to occur, like: Lucien's parentage is revealed, Helion accepts him as his heir, likely a blood duel between Beron/Helion over LoA, If Beron wins THEN Lucien becomes HL of Day, but if Helion wins then Eris becomes HL of Autumn...all of this would have to be covered in one book before they can even think about moving to Day and living happily ever after. You know, if Elain ever actually gives him the time of...day.
Don't even give me the "but Elain needs sunlight"!!
P.S. The NC also gets sunlight
Elain is not a plant. She does not undergo photosynthesis and need to go to the Day Court to physically be alive. Elain does not need light she IS the light. What's not clicking folks? Her name literally means LIGHT. Some variations say fawn/deer, but mainly she is light.
3. Elain does NOT belong in Autumn
This argument is more rare, but I don't understand it either. Why would she go live in Autumn as the reluctant mate to the 7th son of the awful Autumn HL? Autumn court cannot be this interesting to y'all, that you would be totally okay with not hearing from feyre/rhys/nesta/cassian/any of the IC, just to read a story about Elain avoiding Lucien in different climate/setting? Autumn exists in the NC too, you guys. She can ignore him when the leaves change color there, just as much.
And all of this, is only centered around Lucien. Because if you just asked this sweet flower child what she wanted, I can guarantee you, her answer would be to stay right where she is: home.
If she weren't mated to Lucien, would you still be sending her away to Spring/Day/Autumn?
This isn't even a ship thing at this point, like...Lucien doesn't currently have a home right now? Why are we tearing Elain away from her home to go live with a mate she does not want? If Elucien ever did get together, it would make so much more sense for Lucien to just move to the NC instead. Because Elain sure as hell is not going to live in her ex-fiance's manor, far away from her sisters, with a mate she didn't ask for and his rude bestie who literally made a r*pe joke about her (yeah, not understanding the Jurian & Lucien friendship here either).
Stop kicking my girlie out of the night court. She's staying where she belongs. If she leaves, it will be her choice. Not because her mate lives somewhere else. Not because she likes flowers. If she stays, it will be because that is her choice.
I thought it was obvious.
118 notes
·
View notes
Text
Theories about Koschei
1) the black onyx box is a wyrd key. Hidden inside Beron vanserra.
2). The swans are the actual queens. The ones who are now are pretending to be are relatives of theirs. Or made a deal with koschei to rule. Trapping the rightful queens. Remember Mor said they're all weak .
3). Koschei wants the archeron sisters dead. He possessed Cassian. Cassian was able to overcome because of the mating bond. He's going after Azriel. Putting thoughts in his head and whispering in his sleep. Elain knows this. She knows Azriel will kill her. Because they're not mates. He may also kill Lucien. Because of koschei.
4). Koschei is a valg or Asteri he can control the Illyrians. The creations of the the asteri.
3). Elain knows all this and is biding her time. To find weapons to defeat koschei. Like narbean. Which isn't evil. She's giving Azriel earplugs and headache medicine to prevent him from being possessed.
5) light singers are not evil. A rumor passed down because of koschei influences. Gwyn will be able to break koschei spells on people like the Illyrians.
6). The king of Hybern and Amarantha all of Hybern are with koschei and the asteri. The king was trying to bring back the asteri. Amarantha threw the sword into the sea. Because it wasevil or so she said. Msybe it can defeat koschei
7). Elain broke the darkness in the cauldron because of her kindness. It's been said she's very kind and pure.
8). Nesta took all the asteri power .They infused in the cauldron. plus a gift from the mother
9). Elain has been protecting her family and friends. This entire time. She knows Lucien could be killed by Azriel invoking the blood rite because of koschei.
10). Elain can properly yield truth teller. She gave it back because she didn't need anymore. She saw Bryce needed it for the asteri. She gave back the necklace so he could give it to his mate Gwyn.
11). Elain will kill koschei herself and maybe Beron. She brought kings to their knees. Hybern. I believe she will lock herself in a wall of iron or onyx. Trap koschei there. Draining him.
12). Once this is done. She will release the pockets of magic all throughout their world. What if Elain is a high queen. She makes all the high lords take a blood oath. Plus the leaders of hybern, rask etc. That's my crazy thought in this. Lucien becomes her king consort
#elain archeron#lucien vanserra#eris vanserra#acotar#koschei acotar#valg#asteri#king of hybern#illyrian#Azriel#gwyneth berdara#light singer#narbean#amarantha#nesta acheron#cassian acotar
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
LBTE: Jared (173-174)
In which we prepare for the end by going back to the beginning.
If you'd like to follow along, the series page is here.
Final LBTE the day after tomorrow -- the epilogue itself is tomorrow.
173. Lodestar
He’s already talking about taking next year’s rookies under his wing — taking them out for lunch, inviting them over to play video games, making sure they feel welcome.
Jared terrifying the rookies might put a crimp in Bryce’s rookie mentoring plans.
And — fuck, is Jared going to have to host shit? Jared doesn’t want to host shit. Letting people into his space sounds horrible. Hopefully they’ll get a pass, since there’s no way the team could all fit in their apartment, let alone significant others and kids. They had a few preliminary discussions about getting a house after they re-sign this summer, but no way is that happening if it increases the likelihood of Jared having to endure guests.
Refusing to buy a house solely so no one makes him host anything is the most Jared thing possible.
You’re co-hosting a wine night with me he receives from Stephen, who continues to have the uncanny ability to say the thing that Jared would like to hear least. Jared guesses Gabe told him the news.
Wine nights happen when the Canucks are on the road. Jared replies, rather than ‘I would rather die’, just in case Stephen takes him literally.
Very smart not to tell Stephen your worst fears: he’ll make them happen. Also: you’re co-hosting a wine night with him. It’s inevitable. The rookies may fear Jared, but the WAGs will love him.
The Scouts are flaming out against the Kings, earlier than their typical Stanley Cup Final choking.
This is the Red Wings’ year. So Kings vs Red Wings in the WCF (yes, this 'verse shunted Detroit right back to the west when they finally thought they were safe), then Red Wings vs Lightning in the Finals. Sorry Seb.
Bryce is, but he’s been busy with other things — getting a crash course on what’s involved in wearing the A from Gabe, babysitting the Kurmazov spawn while Dmitry and Oksana pack up their own place for the offseason, bringing some of their extra food over to Elaine’s, and somehow coming home with more shit than he left with, though thankfully all the childhood shit Elaine’s unloading on him is nonperishable.
Seriously, Bryce is 100% living the dream. Mentoring, babysitting, hanging out with his mom.
In one of the boxes is a battered stuffed bear with a bow tie that Bryce greets like an old friend, and now sits with the minor Winnie the Pooh collection in the sulking room. He doesn’t fit thematically, but Jared figures he gets extra points for making Bryce’s eyes light up. His name’s Mr. Bear. Bryce was apparently not a creative child.
Because Bryce was Bear, the Mr. was included to avoid confusion.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asks.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Bryce says.
“Is it your shoulder again?” Jared asks.
“It’s not my shoulder,” Bryce says.
“Is it somewhere else?” Jared asks.
Jared is not a very good listener when he’s panicking.
He’s suddenly terrified Bryce is going to propose or something. Demand they get married again, but in public this time. Fuck, Jared doesn’t want to marry Bryce again. He embarrassed himself in front of enough people last time, and is frankly extremely grateful no video evidence exists. He can’t deny that he cried if there’s a video of him doing exactly that. Not that he’d cry, but—
You’d fucking cry, don’t start.
Also if Bryce knew he could make everybody hold a party for his relationship with Jared? On one knee in a second flat. So Jared will just…never mention the existence of vow renewals in his presence. And quit bugging Gabe and Stephen about when they’re getting married so Stephen doesn’t snap and mention it himself.
Bryce hasn’t shown any signs of stopping to breathe, but Jared doesn’t interrupt him, knows Bryce won’t be able to gather the threads back together if he does, and, more than that, that he’s nervous about this for some reason. Nervous about telling Jared this.
Bryce rambles when he’s nervous and when something’s really important to him. This is both.
Mostly he’s trying to figure out how Bryce did all this without Jared knowing. Like, Jared knew Bryce was keeping busy, but how did he miss a whole ass project? Bryce did financials? He talked to Marc Lapointe?
He had a lot of spare time. Especially during road trips. It wasn’t particularly difficult to keep it on the DL, considering.
“We started in like, January,” Bryce says. “I wanted to have like, a real idea before I told you, make sure I was still like, serious about it. And everyone says to do the research so, like, mom and I did the research. Gabe and Stephen helped too. Stephen was only like, kind of mean about it. Though he kept saying shit about my hair.”
“Babe, saying you have Disney prince hair isn’t an insult, I told you that,” Jared says.
“He says it like an insult,” Bryce says.
Because he’s offended that your hair just DOES that. Stephen is very vain about his own hair, he hates having a competitor.
(It does not just DO that, there is great time and financial investment involved in Bryce’s terrific hair)
“He says everything like an insult,” Jared says. “That’s just the way Stephen communicates.”
“He’s nice to Gabe,” Bryce says.
“Have you ever met anyone who isn’t nice to Gabe?” Jared says. “Even I’m nice to Gabe.”
Er. Nice(r).
But seriously, who’s mean to Gabe? Stephen will kill them.
“I wanted it to be like, fully planned out before I told you,” Bryce says. “You’re always so like — you always think shit through, you know? So I wanted to make sure I thought everything through first. And that took like, way more time than I expected it to. And help. This stuff isn’t like, my thing, you know? But it matters to me, so.”
Bryce trying to make sure he got ahead of every road block and set back so it would be perfect by the time Jared found out about it kills me a little.
“It isn’t?” Bryce says. “I mean, I know it isn’t, I just — you don’t think it’s dumb?”
“Of course I don’t think it’s dumb,” Jared says, and it kind of breaks his heart, how relieved Bryce looks.
Mine too.
“I just don’t want anyone thinking they can have hockey or love but not like, both,” Bryce says. “Like, I’d be a fucking mess without you, and I was kind of a mess without hockey too, and I just—“
Bryce going from someone who can’t even say the word gay out loud to willingly becoming the face of an organization meant for LGBTQ youth athletes — this boy.
“I can’t believe you made a secret club just so you could hang out with your mom,” Jared says.
That’s just a BONUS, Jared.
“I’m not—“ Bryce says. “It’s not a secret club!”
Note there is no denial about the hanging out with his mom part.
“You can join the club,” Bryce says, then, quickly, “But you don’t have to or anything. I know you’re not a joiner.”
“Obviously I want to join your secret club,” Jared says.
“Really?” Bryce asks.
“Duh,” Jared says, kicking Bryce’s foot, and Bryce kicks him back, grinning.
Jared’s evolution has been subtler, but of course he makes an exception for Bryce.
Bryce goes to grab his laptop with this jaunty little trot Jared doesn’t think he’s ever seen him do before, and he smiles down at his hands so he isn’t grinning at Bryce when he returns, just in case Bryce thinks he’s laughing at him.
Another evolution: Jared’s awareness of how easily Bryce’s feelings are hurt, and his efforts to make sure he isn’t the one doing it.
“We can take a break,” Bryce says quickly. Jared decides it wouldn’t be constructive to point out they haven’t actually done anything, form-wise. Certainly wouldn’t get either of them what they want, unless what they want is to be frustrated by bureaucracy.
Excellent work NOT cockblocking yourself with forms, Jared.
For the second time Jared gets to see the jaunty run. It’s a little dorky, but Jared won’t tell Bryce that. If he does, he’ll never see it again, and he’s already fond of it.
Jared getting to see parts of Bryce nobody else does, and being SO SO fond of them.
Jared decides to speed up just a little. If Bryce is going to put on a show, he doesn’t really want to miss it.
Like, yes, this is about sex, but also very much a dynamic that plays out across their relationship, which is great, because Jared doesn’t mind that Bryce is the better player/higher profile/bigger name. In fact, all the extra stuff Bryce deals with because of that is shit Jared is very glad not to deal with. But he loves getting to sit back and watch Bryce do his thing.
174. Starstruck (Redux)
There are so many callbacks in this part it might be easier to point out what isn’t one. One of the great things about doing this liveblogging (I reread the first 102 before I restarted this endeavour) — everything is very fresh when it’s time to wrap things up.
It’s also a really nice way for me to come to terms with finishing things — I get to go back and honour every part of the process, which helps, because this part always hurts. This series has been in my life so long it’d be a first grader by now, so it's been particularly hard to say goodbye to it.
It always feels a little strange now, travelling commercial. Well, strange is putting it nicely. Terrible. It feels terrible. Jared has had five hours of sleep and his Starbucks is burnt and his husband is wearing a toque indoors ‘so people won’t recognise me, J’. He looks ridiculous, and if his coffee’s burnt he can’t taste it, probably because there isn’t much coffee involved in that concoction.
Who says Jared isn’t a morning person (everyone who’s met him, and many would say he’s not an afternoon, evening, or night person either)
“You’re that guy from the Canucks, right?” she asks, inexplicably looking at Jared rather than Bryce.
Guess you should have worn a hat like your genius husband, Jared.
“My friends all think you’re really cute,” she says, then runs back to her group without asking for an autograph or anything, greeted with yells and cheers like she just scored them the OT winner.
She is a god among them.
“Don’t look so douchey in my hat now, do I?” Bryce asks.
“You still do,” Jared says. But he looks like a douche with a good idea.
Shoutout to the time Jared wrote a heartfelt card on his first anniversary that used the word ‘douche’ twice.
“I packed an extra,” Bryce says. “Just in case you changed your mind.”
Jared continues to underestimate how often they’ll be recognized, particularly in Vancouver. Bryce prefers to be prepared so he doesn’t have to take pictures and sign shit when he’s just trying to get a coffee.
Once the plane door shuts, Jared rips the hat off his head. “Is it fixable?”
“I don’t know how you can say I’m vain about my hair,” Bryce murmurs. Jared would tell him it’s because he is, but Bryce is fixing his hair for him at the moment, so it doesn’t seem like the most opportune time to argue.
Jared’s less vain about his hair and more vain about his so called dignity, and messy hair is not dignified. But then, neither is Jared, a lot of the time.
Training with you. I come back to Canada in June.
Absolutely not. Jared texts back.
Chaz and Raf already said OK. So did Arvan. So I’m coming.
Too bad Jared texts back. You’re not invited.
“What’re you so happy about?” Bryce mutters.
Julius officially in the crew and Jared is visibly delighted about it.
“Jared!” Bryce says, grabbing his arm.
There’s a few instances of physical communication between the two of them in this part. Big because it’s always in public/in front of others, and that’s something they’re only recently grown comfortable with.
“Did you know Julius was coming?”
“What, Julius is coming to train?” his dad asks. “That’s news to me.”
“I didn’t mention training,” Jared says.
“Shit,” his dad says, and Jared snorts.
Jared got his terrific lying skills from the best.
“Great,” Jared says. “Wonderful. I’m so happy to be home.”
“We’re as happy to have you as you are to be here,” his dad says.
His chirping skills are mostly from his mom, but sometimes Don comes through.
“Is that where Erin’s taking Bryce?” Jared asks.
“As far as I’m aware,” his dad says.
“Well,” Jared says. “Then I guess that’s where I’m going.”
These two. Two planets orbiting one another.
“I tell you I’m proud of you yet?” his dad asks.
“Not in as many words,” Jared says.
“Well, I am,” his dad says. “Proud of Bryce too.”
Look at Don growing too!!
“Me too,” Jared says. “Next season he’s going to — actually, I’ll let him tell you about it over brunch.”
“The charity thing?” his dad says, then, “Shit.”
“Oh for—“ Jared says. “Come on.”
Elaine got ahead of herself, she’s sorry!
Ashley has a ring on her finger. Grace doesn’t, but judging by Raf going red and hissing ‘shut up’ when Jared asks him about it, that’s changing very shortly.
Raf’s trying to find the perfect moment. Chaz did it in their living room and almost wiped out on one of Maia’s toys when he went to kneel.
“You're pregnant," Bryce says.
"No," Ashley says. "Okay, yes, but—"
Everyone had a couple beers (or spritzers) but her over the afternoon. Bryce noticed, Jared, of course, did not.
“To keep the numbers even we thought that maybe Bryce could be on my side?” Ashley asks. “And you two could partner up. But we don’t want to do that if you’re not—“
“Can I wear a suit that matches the bridesmaid dresses?” Bryce asks.
Ash and Chaz worried he’d feel emasculated, being on the bride’s side. And once upon a time he would have, but now he’s just hyped about a pastel suit.
“So it was Chaz you were hiding it from,” Jared says.
Ashley’s mouth flattens. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It is an excellent instrument,” Chaz says. “You’re just haters.”
If he plays twinkle twinkle little star on that thing one more time…
(And it is always twinkle twinkle little star. Because that is all he knows.)
Jared leans over to Chaz as Bryce and Ashley put their heads together. “Did you steal a toy from your own child?”
“We’re teaching her to share,” Chaz mutters.
Can MAIA play twinkle twinkle little star? No! It’s wasted on her.
Raf proposes, but only after weeks of making everyone around him miserable. To the surprise of absolutely no one but Raf, she says yes. Jared would be more smug about calling it if he hadn’t been the only one blindsided by Raf asking him to be his best man.
Just wait until Jared remembers there’s a speech involved.
Jared’s volunteered to help, mostly to make sure that Julius doesn’t mistake Jared telling him he’s not welcome, and explicitly uninviting him, for actually not wanting him here.
Taking Jared at his word would obviously be a mistake.
“Oh my fucking god,” Jared mutters. Bryce had finally gotten rid of the convertible when he left Calgary, and Jared had figured that was that, because Vancouver’s the opposite of a good place for one. Maybe that was naive. “You’re too old for that car! Also too young!”
Bryce gets out of the front seat, sliding his sunglasses off and tucking them into his polo. He looks like bad porn. Right in front of Jared’s parents, too. Jared glowers at him as he walks up the driveway.
Jared’s anti-convertible gripe turning into ‘how dare you look hot enough that I now want to ride in your dumb car’. In front of his parents, to boot!
“Nice looking car, Bryce,” his dad says.
Bryce grins. “Want to come for a spin?”
“Watch my pots!” his dad says, then literally jogs down the driveway to get in the passenger seat.
Don has dibs though!
Jared exchanges a look with his mom.
“Well,” she says. “It’s nice to see he’s finally gotten over his Bryce related car trauma.”
Growth!
It’s another half hour before Bryce and his mom come back. It doesn’t involve anyone shouting ‘what a rush’ as they come inside, so it’s more subtle than his dad’s return
I love Don.
Jared scoots over, and Bryce lies down beside him. They don’t fit. They never have, really, but now Jared has to put his back against the wall, tangle their legs together so Bryce doesn’t topple right off the bed.
Back in Jared’s high school bed. Every time they do it gets more and more cramped.
“I thought we could get some pizza,” Bryce says. “Sit around at a park or something. It’s a nice day for it.”
“You got a blanket in the trunk too?” Jared says.
“Maybe,” Bryce says. “Not a Flames one, but.”
This boy. This ridiculously romantic boy.
“Absolutely,” Bryce says. As soon as they get outside he jogs ahead. Jared’s about to ask him what he’s in such a hurry for before Bryce opens the passenger door for him, and then he just has to stop everything, take a moment and watch him, golden in the late spring light.
Jared’s still so gone for him.
“You coming?” Bryce asks.
“Yeah,” Jared says. “Yeah, of course I am.”
So gone.
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mini fanfic I wrote of Mama Archeron’s origin story. About a secret hidden deep in her bones, carried in her soul.
A price paid with her name, her blood, and her daughters.
—
Trigger warning: caesarean section, blood, and medical trauma
***
Aradia Archeron knew she was dying. Rotting away from some wretched human plague that eroded her mortal body. Typhus the healer had said, before scuttling away, a rag pressed tightly over her mouth. It was the same sickness that brought the realm to it’s knees and turned once sprawling cities into graveyards.
Her death had been foretold to her on a night as dark and grim as this one. She thought then too she would die. But a voice inside her, one gentle and kind, said, “not yet, not yet.” So she pushed and pushed, blood spilling out of her.
Nesta had slipped out of her, graceful as a dancer, Elain had been birthed gentle and quiet as a fawn. But this one, this one was undoing, the one that would break her. This one was clawing her way out of the womb as if angry at being held in captivity for nine months. Unlike the first two, this one was the daughter that would finally end everything for her.
The corners of the room darkened and she felt the room spinning. The ripping pain between her legs began to fade. “Not yet, not yet.” The voice urged. But she was so tired, and her eyes were so heavy from the weight of it all, so she succumbed to the darkness as the midwife began to cut.
“Aradia.” Who was calling her voice?
“Aradia.” They sounded so insistent. But what could be so important when she was drifting off into the embrace of her subconscious.
“Aradia! Listen to me!” The voice pressed on. Gone was the gentleness, the sweetness, replaced by a voice made of iron and shields, that pierced through the darkness like an arrow.
“Aradia it is time to pay the price.” After all these years, she had thought—no wished—that the promise wasn’t real. The bargain—no the curse—was part of some distant nightmare.
Her mother had always told her she was destined for greatness. That it was in her blood. That her ancestors hailed from a fae-human king and witch queen from another era. Another world.
At first she didn’t believe her. She refused to listen to such nonsense. She would leave such fairytales for the children of the blessed. She had always considered herself clever enough to spot lies.
But then she began to see things and hear things that had her caught between pockets of space and time. She had seen a vision of three fae females, each one more beautiful and cunning than the other. A vision of a city cloaked in starlight. A castle wreathed in roses and a pool that looked as if it were made up of the stars in the sky. She thought she was going mad. So she went to find the only people with whom she might acquire answers, the insipid wretches themselves—the children of the blessed.
The woman before her was draped in gauzy blue robes, bedecked in silver bangles that chimed as she walked. She arranged her face in a way that made her look both virtuous and pious. She was exactly the type of woman Aradia hated.
“What brings you here child?” The woman said, her voice low and shushed as if in constant prayer.
“I need to see the fae.” She demanded. She wondered if she looked insane. Her hair was a mess, she hadn’t bothered to braid it or bathe in days. Her clothes were sweaty and damp. Her family had once been wealthy and respected, but their blue blood only got them so far. They had lost their money, squandered it on trying to keep up with high society, but did not have the acumen to retain their small fortune. All that remained was the family estate, to be fought over by her siblings and uncles, and an acre of ironwood trees.
It was her mother’s wish for her to marry well, so she had introduced her to society at the young age of sixteen, hoping to ensnare a Duke or a Prince with her beauty. No such thing had happened. They had seen right through her and her out-of-season gowns, her satin—not silk—ribbons, her lack of jewels, and her hair plaited into a simple coronet, not an elaborate spiralling concoction like the ladies of the court wore. She had never felt so exposed—so lost. She promised herself she would never be humiliated like that again. And now here she was, dressed in unwashed rags, looking half crazed, begging for help from the children of the blessed. How the mighty have fallen she mused to herself.
“We do not allow just anyone to see the fae.” The priestess before her said, her voice ringing like chimes in the wind.
“I have money.” Aradia said, handing the woman a fistful of coins.
“The fae have no need for your mortal money.” She replied, imperious and graceful all at once.
“Then tell me—tell me what to do.” She pleaded.
—
Aradia didn’t know where she was. The priestess had blindfolded her and brought her to an ancient sanctuary. The building was made of carved stone, with statues of ancient gods long forgotten. Glittering whirls and markings littered the ceiling, giving the appearance of stars trapped in stone.
Rows and rows of acolytes were lying prostrate on the ground, in silent prayer. Before them stood a fae female, imperious and beautiful as the ones she had seen in her visions. She was tall and slender, her blonde hair fell in waves, framing her angular face that looked as if it too was carved of stone. Her eyes were a piercing blue that looked as if they could see her very soul.
“It has been an age since I have seen one of your kind.” The female breathed.
“Who are you?” Aradia said, meeting that females gaze. She would not allow herself to be intimidated or shamed by the likes of the children of the blessed—let alone the fae.
“I am high priestess of Vallahan, but you child—you may call me Ianthe.” She said, her voice resounding through the cave, even though she remained unnaturally still.
”Tell me child what is it your heart desires most.”
She paused for a second, reflecting on all she could ask for and all she knew of the fae and their wicked ways. Riches could come and go, beauty was fleeting. She wanted legacy—true and lasting power. Something that would carry weight, something even a fae priestess could not twist and turn against her.
”Greatness.” She whispered. “Greatness.”
—
The rest of the night was blur. She barely remembered all the sweet promises and lovely words the priestess has bestowed upon her. She had expected treachery, not kindness, from someone like Ianthe. Instead she received blessings of good fortune, healthy children, and a handsome husband. All in exchange for a drop of her blood.
Her blood.
Ianthe had slit her palm with an iron dagger and she watched her blood trickle down, filling the silver chalice Ianthe was clutching. Her blood swirled and bubbled until it turned blue.
The air around them thickened. The burnt offering and spices stung her nose. It was stifling and hot, so close to the flame lit upon the stone alter.
“The iron brings out what is carried in your blood. A bloodline so old I had long thought it lost to history.” Ianthe murmured as she dumped the contents into the fire. As soon as her blood, her life force, touched it, the flames turned silver. The high priestess’s eyes rolled back as they burned with that same sterling fire, her jaw hanging slack, her mouth agape as a voice that was not hers rang out.
“You shall have three daughters, an heir, a spare, and a sacrifice.” The voice told her.
She felt the blood rushing from her face, the thought of one of her daughters destined to be a sacrifice, like some lamb to the slaughter.
“No—not my daughter. Anything but my daughter.” She cried out.
“Child—it is already written in the stars.” The voice crooned.
“You need not worry child. The mother shall take care of her. Shall take care of all of her children.”
The silver fire seemed to grow and stretch, enveloping both of them in flame and plunging them both into an icy darkness that could only be described as a an endless void. She thought she was dying as her veins turned to ice. As a cold so bitter and a darkness so deep swallowed her. Was this death? Was this the end?
The voice made of swords and shields scraped against her mind, “we will return for what is ours. What is owed to us.”
Then everything came rushing back all at once as everything around her came into focus. And that horrible silver fire and endless void was gone.
Ianthe blinked. Her eyes now a deep shade of cerulean, radiant and cruel all at once as she gathered herself. “Come now.” She drawled as she swished past Aradia, as she placed a golden amulet in her palm. “This belongs to you.”
“Your eldest shall be queen, the spare shall be a beauty, and the youngest, a sacrifice and saviour of all.”
Then she had the children of the blessed drape her in silver jewellery and fine silk robes. “You must be given a queens farewell.” Ianthe said, in that clairvoyant voice, offering the smallest slivers of kindness. Kindness that Aradia seldom received. So she did not know that this—that this was far from kindness.
This was a curse. Her undoing.
“But what about my visions?” She asked, voice quiet.
“Let the iron mingle with your blood and they will cease to happen. The dagger is yours to keep.”
—
She had all but forgotten the prophecy and the visions. Cutting herself with the iron dagger had become a small mercy for her. It was like a drug she became addicted to. Years had passed since she had a vision and she seldom needed the blade, but there was something hypnotizing in watching her red blood bloom across her pale skin and then turn into blue rivulets. There something beautiful about the pain she felt, when she was so used to feeling nothing at all.
But now—now she could not make the pain go away. As she soaked her birthing bed in blood. Red blood. Her dagger nowhere to be seen. She was going to die. This would be her end. Just another woman dying while birthing a new life.
She screamed and screamed until she had nothing but a raw burning in her throat left. The midwife already cut her open to get the babe out of her stomach. The child came out silent and limp, she heard someone mutter, “too late.” While she lay there struggling to breathe, slipping in and out of darkness.
She felt herself being pulled, as if her very soul was being sucked out from her body. The room beneath began to wane, as if she was an observer looking down from the heavens.
“It is time to give us what is owed” a voice thundered, it was that same voice of steel and swords that she had heard all those years ago.
“What is it you want?” She whispered, barely able to get the words out.
“The girl.”
“No! Let her live!” She pleaded, desperate for a sign of life, for the kicking and punching she had felt throughout her pregnancy, for the fire that had burned through her during her labour.
“What would you give us in exchange?” The voice scraped at her mind, as if made of knives, slowly cleaving her consciousness.
“Anything.”
The half formed glittering figure seemed to balk, as if weighing her words. “Long ago, your ancestors promised us a sacrifice. A life in payment for their sins. The price was their name—their life.” The glittering figure paused. Blinking. As if assessing her target—her prey. “Will you pay the price? Give us what is owed?”
“Yes.” The words tumbled from her pale lips. Quiet and muffled, for the effort to speak was too great at this point. The stuffy room seemed to swallow her and the form of the midwife seemed to blur and stretch before everything turned completely dark.
“Yes.” She repeated. Unsure if the voice heard her.
“Say it. Say your name. To seal your fate.”
“Aradia Archeron?”
“Not your married name. But your true name. The one that runs through your blood. The one that cursed and condemned us. The one that broke its promise to us all those years ago. We have not forgotten… And in time, you too shall pay the ultimate price. And so shall those who carry it in their bones—with iron and blood. But not yet. Not yet.”
“Aradia Havalliard.” She whispered, weak and desperate, clawing to the last clutches of life, as even her breathing became rattled and heavy.
“It’sss a bargain. Daughter of no one. Heir of bastards. Mother of the sacrifice.” The voice stated. Aradia could have sworn she heard the faint sound of laughter coming from the figure, but it sounded like swords clashing against eachother.
Suddenly she was hurtling back and her pain was gone. All except for a burning feeling that spread across her right palm, as the form of a golden arrow singed itself into her skin, directly over where the iron blade had cut her all those years ago.
A wail broke through the silence as the blood soaked sheets were hastily stripped and replaced with new ones. Somehow the bleeding had stopped and the midwife muttered something about a miracle. A fat, crying babe was shoved in her arms, kicking and punching at the air.
”What is her name?”
She looked down at that perfect form held against her bosom, hoping that it was all some horrible dream, a terrible nightmare she would soon forget.
“Feyre.” Her saviour. Her sacrifice. Her undoing.
#nesta acotar#pro nesta#nesta#nesta archeron#feyre archeron#feyre acotar#elain archeron#archeron sisters#acotar#acosf#ianthe acotar#fanfic#sjm universe#sjm books#sjmaas#sjm#sjm fandom#maasverse#fantasy
28 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi! i’d love to request from the fluff prompt list! i’d love number 11 with azriel !!
have a nice day <3
A/N - Hello! I think this is going to be perfect for Azriel! Thanks for requesting, anon!
Easy
Summary - Azriel knows your pain, and he knows how to bring you peace because of that
Warnings - Angst and Fluff are mixed together in this one, but there is fluff I promise!
"Where is she?"
"In here,"
The door opened, and you were sitting against the wall of the small private library with your head in your hands and your knees drawn to your chest. The small sounds of sniffling and whimpering came from you as you finally looked up from your spot, seeing Azriel with Mor and Feyre right behind him. Azriel was staring at you, fondness and worry in his hazel eyes, his fingers wrapped around the door handle with a fierce grip and his shadows hovering right behind his wings ready to defend. But this was not about defending, it was about comfort.
And Azriel knew you needed comfort.
Feyre ushered Mor out of the way for you and Azriel to be alone, the silence was in the room as Azriel closed the door behind him. With a soft click, Azriel walked over to sit down next to you on the ground, knees touching yours and his shoulder touching yours, almost nuzzling your shoulder with some ease. You both said nothing for a long moment, you both just drank in each other's company as Azriel finally spoke for the first time he saw you on the ground in the library.
"It's today...isn't it?" He asked you tentatively. You nodded silently, feeling a bit more fresh tears hitting your cheeks and your fingers clutching your legs tightly.
You hated this anniversary, more than anything you hated it. 6 years ago you lost your twin brother to the battle against King Hybren, he was a soldier under Cassian's command, a fierce warrior that was devoted to Velaris. Being his twin, he forbad you for being on the front lines.
Even while you were mates of the Spymaster.
You didn't think about it all morning as you were doing your work as the chief financial officer for the High Lord and High Lady of Night Court. You were crunching numbers for them and figuring out where you could send money to the community center. One minute you were working away and getting ready to present the statements to Feyre, the next minute you thought of your brother and you felt your mind going blank.
Within moments, you were curled up in a ball on the ground and crying in heavy breaths and massive tears.
His death hit you hard, you never thought you would lose your brother in such a way. Azriel had to be the one to tell you the news, walking up to you as you waited to hear about what happened. You met him back in Velaris are you shared home, a small little loft you two got when you first got together as a couple and as mates. The first sign that you knew it was serious was the look in his eyes, how they were already broken before he said a word. Still sporting his leathers that were splashed in blood and dirt, Truth Teller strapped to his side on his leg, his fingers stained dark, seeing him alone was far too much. But all he did was take your hand, you feeling the blood touch your own porcelain fingers as he took in a heavy sigh.
Your heart broke, falling to the ground in a scream.
"Love of my life," Azriel cooed, reaching over to lace your fingers together and pulling you gently into his arms. You sighed, your head heavy on his chest and his arm around you gently. His muscles along your cheek, the slightly musk he had on his shirt from trainging and a brief shower, it calmed you instnatly. Even his shadows were licking along your arms and ankles to give you a sense of love and peace in this sensitive moment.
"Come with me, hon," He said to you as he helped you up from the ground then, wrapping his arm around you and walking with you out of the study, "Why don't we have some dinner and then have a tour of the garden that Elaine planted. I know it brightens your day,"
"Thank you, Azriel," You hummed, feeling him reach over to trace away the tears and kiss your nose, "I don't know what came over me--"
"Grief is a funny thing," Azriel gently interrupted you as you both walked down the hall over to the dining room, "Ive felt grief at one time too, as well as Rhsyand adn Feyre adn the rest of the Inner Circle. We all experience it in different ways, but the way we get past it is what makes us who we are in the end."
Azriel never minded talking to you about his mother and what he experienced as a child. You wished to take away that pain as much as you could since you felt he never deserved to feel that as a young child. But he was still strong, not just for Velaris and Night Court but for you as your mate.
So he was guiding you in how to overcome the grief.
When you walked into the dining room, the two chairs that were prepped and ready for you two were already pushed out and ready to be occupied. Two plates filled with your favorite comfort foods, along with a glass of water next to you, made your stomach grumble from breathing in the sweet aroma from the dinner. Azriel held your chair out to have you sit at the head of the table, pushing you in gently before sitting at your side with a small smile on his lips. You had to smile back, seeing Azriel work to help you gently and with patience instead of head-on and fast. He was used to working fast, needing to be on his toes and ready for a threat that could come.
Ever since you buried your brother, one day after Rhysad made the anniversary of the battle a national day of remembrance, you were in a haze of sorts. You didn't feel like you were even in your own body, almost like a ghost as the rest of Velaris started in their healing and moving on with their lives. How could you move on? Your twin was tethered from you from the moment you came out of the womb. He looked out for you when your parents died, and although you had your mate and the inner circle with you, you felt alone.
Yet Azriel stayed.
He made sure you ate, little bits at a time and that you were eating things that were filling and healthy at the same time. Rhysand didn't give him any spying duties at that time, knowing Azriel would not leave your side at any moment while you were overwhelmed and grieving. He even made you a room at The House of Wind, away from distractions adn the chos of Velaris so that you had the space and all the time you needed. Azriel would walk with you around the house and the balcony to get you moving and functioning, he would read to you while you bathed in the master bthroom in the crawl tub, and hold you in bed as you cried in your sleep.
It took some time, but you were healing.
Now 5 years later, you still had those moments. You were in a better place for certain, finding things to make you occupied and bring you joy again. Azriel was your main supporter, along with The High Lord and Lady and the rest of your Inner Circle friends. But there were still moments that made you break your heart all over again, and you were in that bad headspace. The same headspace when you heard about your brother being killed.
Yet those moments were overshadowed by Azriel's love for you and his devotion to you. Even before you were grieving and when your brother was alive, Azriel loved you beyond reason. You both loved each other's company and how you brought out the best in one another, kissing for the first time under the full moon of Winter Solstice when you were invited to the Inner Circle's celebration that night as his date and guest. Azriel was nervous to bring you, High Lord Rhysand and Cassian only knew you as the mysterious girl that had Azriel weak at the knees. But after the party and when you two left to head home, they both knew you two were meant for one another.
Azriel asked your brother for your hand in marriage, not that you needed your twin's permission to marry someone. But he knew you and your bother were thick as thieves and your bother wanted nothing but the best for you. Your brother agreed, but he left Azriel with one request:
"Take care of her? She deserves the world,"
"You have my word,"
Your stomach was nice and full with the delicious dinner that had suddenly vanished in front of you, being replaced with a plate filled with cookies that were fresh and warm to the touch, along with two tall glasses of milk. You sighed with a massive smile, knowing the House of Wind knew that you craved and adored freshly baked cookies as the ideal comfort treat. Taking a small drink from your milk and feeling the ice-cold drink go down your throat, you took the plate in your hand and stood up, Azriel following suit as you both made your way away from the dining room and out onto one of the smaller terraces that overlooked Velaris below.
The twinkling lights from the city paled in comparison to the scattering of stars high above, the three brightest stars over the tall mountaintop right behind the House of Wind, and the small drops of blue and purple touching the sunset sky. It was the perfect spring evening, and the sweet scents of the blossoms were filling your nose.
Elaine made a garden on a small terrace near the main balcony, the small patch of grass was surrounded by beds of flowers and herbs that were both to look at and for practical use. You helped Elaine plant it, her thought of having a small little area to sit in and reconnect to the earth was much needed in the House of Wind. This was the first time you would be here with Azriel, Nesta would read out on the wooden bench from time to time, Feyre would bring Nyx out to play with the small bumble bees that buzzed along the tops of the daisies, and Elaine would come to trim and maintain the herbs that she would take in the kitchen and use in her baking.
Now it was your turn to have your time there with Azriel.
You both sat on the bench, plate of cookies in the middle and you two munching on the cookies from time to time, and you were drinking in the peace of the night that was rolling through Velaris.
"These are rather good," You hummed as you took another bite from the cookie in your hand, "I wonder how Elained baked them,"
"What makes you think she baked them?" Azriel asked in amusement as you rolled your eyes.
"You know what I mean," You replied, "The House must have snooped on her baking them once and copied her recipe,"
"Oh really?" Azriel asked in a challenging tone, a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his face. You had to chuckle, Azriel dusted off his pants and was about to get up from the bench, "Let me go ask her now. Elaine!"
"No!" You stopped him from calling out to get Elaine from inside the house. You shot up and grabbed him, putting your hand over his mouth and hearing him chuckle against your lips as he wrapped his arms around you quickly and with security. He licked your palm, you huffing as you moved your hand away in time for him to kiss you right on the lips.
Azriel knew how to bring you out of the darkness, how to have you find your way out of the grief and into the joy you had deep inside of you. Those moments of joy with Azriel overshadowed the pain ten-fold, you two laughing together and holding each other close. Azriel gently pulling you into your arms to dance with you while listening to the radio, eating meals together, and joking about past stories and past memories. He was always your joy, and it would never face.
The End.
Spring Prompt Session
#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel#azriel x female reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#acotar fluff#acotar fanfiction#acotar fandom
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
Regarding Elain
"The quiet dreamer and she's got a different sort of strength than Nesta and Feyre"
D-I-F-F-E-R-E-N-T
Not only does the author address it in a interview but since book 1, SJM has made it extremely obvious that Elain is not like Feyre and Nesta.
She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger. (and we know the way Nesta viewed the cabin was much more in line with the way Feyre viewed it)
Two in the morning, and yet the party was showing no signs of slowing. My father held court with several other merchants and aristo men to whom I had been introduced but whose names I’d instantly forgotten. Elain was laughing among a circle of beautiful friends, flushed and brilliant. Nesta had silently left at midnight, and I didn’t bother to say good-bye as I finally slipped upstairs (Elain is living her best life while both Feyre and Nesta were over the ball, they barely tolerated it from the start).
She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. “Don’t be afraid of them,” Nesta said beneath lowered brows. If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta … she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. (Feyre belongs in the NC among the warriors. Of the remaining sisters, who also is foreshadowed to fit in?)
Nesta and I climbed inside one of the supply caravan’s covered wagons to change into Illyrian fighting leathers. When we emerged, Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. / Elain … She’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display, and turned crimson. / She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though. Went white as death at the sight of it. / “I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer. Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade. / But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. (SJM could not be any more direct with how different Elain approached the war compared to her sisters especially when you add in how Elain stabbed the King then backed away while Nesta marched on over and cut his head off, how Nesta takes credit for killing the King and Elain downplays her part).
Nesta had only stared at me in that unblinking, cold way. Elain had blushed, muttering about the impropriety of such things.
I laid my hand flat on the table. “I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even.” / “Fucking strangers?” Elain flinched again, her face coloring. Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.”
“No, I don’t. Elain is Elain,” he repeated. “Nesta is … she’s Illyrian. I mean that as a compliment, but she’s an Illyrian at heart. (NESTA IS ILLYRIAN AT HEART AND ELAIN IS NOT, I mean seriously, that tells us all we need to know. End of story, Nesta belongs in the NC and Elain does not).
Where the hell was Elain?
Elain in black was ridiculous.
And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her.
but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her. Nesta in Night Court black threatened to bring him to his knees.
Elain wasn't part of IC business in ACOWAR or Silver Flames yet Nesta and Feyre were. Feyre and Nesta were present for meeting Bryce and Elain was not. Nesta embraced the Illyrian leathers and a weapon in ACOWAR even though in ACOWAR she claimed to have no interest in being a warrior. That last one was 100% foreshadowing people!
SJM is not laying these clues to make Elain the sole peacemaker and gentle nurturer of the IC. She's laying these clues to show us that Elain is different than her sisters and belongs with people who are more like-minded. How sad would it be for Elain to remain in the IC, always the odd man out? The different one?
It is absurd for someone who claims to like Elain to look back over the series and think she's valued in the NC as anything more than a cook and gardener. Those hobbies are all well and good but not FMC energy and not anything the members of the IC really care much about aside from a pat on Elain's head for the things that keep her busy. That fact that she doesn't belong is so clear, it's glass and SF was Feyre trying to bridge the gap with the sister who pushes her away while coming right out and admitting the sister who is willing to have a relationship with her is someone she only considers a pleasant companion.
It's fine that Feyre and Nesta don't connect on a certain level with Elain or view her differently than they view one another, relationships shouldn't be forced and not all siblings are going to be extremely close (though they can still get along). With that said, Elain deserves to find a group of people who see her as a valuable, contributing member. Who don't see her as a last resort and who regularly include her in important Court business. People claim Elain was pushed to the side for Nesta and that's why she was absent in SF but Az got to do important things in SF as a side character. SJM always leaves room for side characters to play an important role in things even if it's not time for their own book.
Elain also deserves to find people who don't choose violence as a means to an end (no shade on the IC for their methods but that's not who Elain is).
Quiet dreamers don't wear daggers that they returned "and didn't look back" strapped to their legs. Quiet dreamers don't wear black when it sucks the life from them. Quiet dreamers don't sneak around in the shadows when they prefer the light.
There's already two sisters and Valkyrie who live that kind of life in this series and when the author tells us Elain is DIFFERENT, I'm not sure why people try to copy and paste Feyre / Nesta / Gwyn / Emerie over her personality.
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
Clear Blue Water
Summary:
In the middle of a storm, Elain Archeron hears a song that pulls her outside. There, laying among the wreckage of the beach, is a dying man who needs to be rescued.
Or is it her who needs to be rescued from the wreckage of her life?
OR: blah blah VANMERMAN blah blah blah
Read on AO3
Elain couldn’t remember the last time she’d witnessed such a vicious, violent storm. As if the god of the sea had opened his yawning mouth and decided to scream his fury, wind and water pounded at the coast line in an endless deluge. At first it was a reprieve—Elain was supposed to be announcing her engagement, officially, that evening. Lord Graysen would make a fine match, even if his motivations were purely money.
He was handsome and he seemed kind, and Elain thought that was the most she could hope for. Certainly better than a match to a man twice her age, if nothing else. And still, Elain was grateful for a little extra time where she could still be just herself, still unattached without the heap of responsibilities about to be placed upon her shoulders. Graysen was merely a lord, while Elain was a princess. He’d inherit her kingdom, her throne, and take over as King Graysen, while she remained merely his queen consort.
She tried to pretend that it didn't disappoint her, if only a little. Her father had loved her mother so deeply that he’d made her his equal until she passed. Graysen, while pleasant, had been quite clear that Elain would only ever be his wife. He’d seemed genuinely surprised to learn she had any training in politics at all
Elain shuddered to imagine what kind of education the women of Graysen’s home were allowed. She supposed she’d learn, and perhaps would be able to sway him in the way that wives could. There was a small amount of peace to that thought. She could still have her say in small ways.
Alone in her bedroom with nothing but the howling wind and pelting rain, Elain could do little more than pace across the marble floors in a thin nightdress. Arms wrapped around her body, hair unbound, feet bare. She had a vision of herself flinging open the double doors of her bedroom balcony and letting the wind sweep her away. Not so she would die, but so she might wake up somewhere else.
She might pretend she was someone else, too.
More than once, Elain reached for the silver handle and almost turned it. And then the wind would knock at the glass, daring her to actually do it. Elain knew the more likely outcome. She’d slip and fall to the river's mouth just below and either drown miserably or dash her head against the rocks.
Among the rageful world was a thread of music—something mournful and sweet. Something that beckoned her to follow through, to go outside and just see. Palm to the cold window, knees drawn to her chest, Elain tucked herself onto the window seat, wrapped in the heavy duvet from her bed, so she could listen.
It might have just been the storm playing tricks on her. But something made her think that there was something out there. Some creature in genuine pain mourning some unspeakable loss. It made her heart ache as she wondered what could produce such sounds, even as her mind screamed that it was just a trick of the trees or some building clinging desperately to its stone foundations.
The night wore on, evidenced by her shrinking candles, until Elain was all but bathed in shadow. She knew the morning would bring gray clouds and destruction—none of which was her problem to solve any longer. Her new soon-to-be husband would be tasked with the cleanup, the rebuild, and everything else. It would be his first test before he ever wore the crown, and if he succeeded, he’d be beloved by a populace otherwise not inclined to trust a mere nobleman’s son.
A nobleman’s son in desperate need of money given how his father had squandered their fortune building his high walls and funding an army of mercenaries.
Now his son would be a king, and his money problems would forever be over. His father could build stone walls to the heavens themselves, and privatize her kingdom's military so they served him first, her people second, and there was nothing Elain could do about it.
Her father was charmed, and every other suitor had been awful.
In the morning, a new engagement party date would be set and the noose around Elain’s neck would begin to tighten again, inching her higher and higher until her legs dangled and she couldn’t catch her breath.
And when the wind seemed to die down, and the rain softened, Elain let the duvet slide from her shoulders, pooling on the floor like gold threaded daylight. She pushed open the door, letting cold air whip the curls of her hair around her face. The wailing was louder, though the notes had begun to shift into something almost joyful. A revelation of the world, as though it knew the sun was coming eventually, that the storm would fade.
Ignoring the rain running over her cheeks, Elain gripped the slipper balcony and looked toward the sandy shoreline. It was hard to make out much in the darkness, but there, among the scattered trees and debris, was a sprawled, glowing object. A beached animal, she thought at first, caught in a silvery beam of moonlight.
But the clouds overhead shrouded any light that might have been had, which meant the light was coming from the creature. Elain leaned forward, trying to make out what sort of fish was slowly dying in the sand. It was too small to be a whale—perhaps a shark? Or a dolphin, even? Though, neither had fins that color, for the creature laying on the beach was covered in what she thought was gold scales.
The music that had beckoned her out abruptly stopped and Elain’s heart ached knowing whatever it had been was finally gone. She stayed, just in case it was merely unable to sing but still needed to die with someone nearby when the creature twisted onto its belly. And she realized it was no sea animal at all, but a human.
A human likely tangled in something gold, which from a distance, made it seem like a fin. Elain gasped, turning back for her bedroom without thinking about anything but helping that injured person. If she’d stopped, she might have remembered she was in a now soaking nightdress or to call for a guard in order to help.
Time felt as though it moved impossibly fast, and every step toward the beach was another that man might die. Elain knew the secret way out, through winding corridors where her bare feet slapped over smooth, dark marble and doors that opened on hinges that were still well-oiled.
Elain was her fathers perfect daughter, in part because she was careful never to get caught.
She wasn’t prepared for the outside world. There was still a storm, even if the worst had died down. Lightning flashed the moment her feet touched spiky grass, bringing with it rumbling thunder and that strange, mournful wail. She knew now it was just the wind and not a dying whale, which made her strangely sad.
Still, she needed to get to the injured man. Elain could bring him inside if she could get him on his feet. He must have washed up from shore, his boat wrecked when it was thrown off course. The docks were far off, further in and impassable given the swirling mouth of the river, and she supposed he’d tried to outrun the wind.
Foolish, but he wasn’t the first to attempt such a thing. She still remembered a shipwreck years before in which bodies washed up on their private beach for months. She didn’t want to see another unmarked grave dug.
Elain’s steps didn’t falter, even when grass became nothing but wet, soft sand. Not even when, certain her eyes were deceiving her, she made out the thick, long outline of a gold-scaled tail. It wasn’t a tail, merely a trick of the light.
Elain fell to her knees beside the man…if that was even what he was. Because surely no man was half as beautiful as the one laying before her, nor had any man ever been born with slits against his neck.
Or scales carved against his warm brown skin. He peered up at her, one eye slashed with a trio of scars, and opened sand caked lips. Auburn hair, tangled around little sticks, fell unbound around his powerful shoulders, just as finely scaled as the rest of him. She caught sight of little fins running the length of his spine, a sight she didn’t know what to make of.
“You,” he whispered, reaching a clammy hand for her cheek. “It’s you.”
Elain blinked. She’d heard stories of creatures like this. Half human, half fish…with a song capable of luring those to a watery grave. She couldn’t move, battered by rain and wind. Not when those cool fingers brushed over her skin, tracing the outline of her bottom lip. A vicious gash was cut over his bare torso, still weeping blood and making a mess of his lovely skin.
She should run—she knew she should. They were too far from the shoreline for a wave to drag them both out now, and he was clearly hurt. If she left him, he might die. The kind thing was the drag him back to the water and hope someday he repaid her for it. That he’d find her near death, clinging to a life raft and settle the score between them.
She looked back at his face, intense despite his wound. Waiting, she realized.
“You need to get back to the water,” she finally managed, inhaling a breath of salty sea air. “Will you let me drag you?”
He hesitated for a moment before raising himself with a loud grunt of paint up on his elbow. “Good,” she said, terrified to touch his skin. Golden scales ran over his naked biceps, powerful and heavily muscled from a life of swimming. His whole body was like that—carved and broad like she imagined a warrior might be.
Perhaps among his kind, he was.
Elain outstretched a hand and he took it without hesitation, though that wariness remained. Together, they managed to drag a path through the storm, leaving the dragging imprint of his tail in the sand. Elain tried hard not to think about that or she might have begun to panic. Only when her feet hit the foamy, debris cluttered water, did she release him.
He vanished for a moment, quicker than she’d thought possible. One moment he’d been sitting in the surf and the next he was gone. Elain waded out just a little, waiting to see blooming red in the water or some proof she’d made things worse and not better.
Nothing but the turbulent water sloshing up to her knees greeted her. Stupid, she thought, to have come out on a night like this. She was soaked to the bone, was likely to catch her death in the cold.
Fingers curled around her ankle the second she started to step away, dragging her under so quickly that when she tried to scream, she nearly inhaled a lungful of sea water. He was going to kill her, then. That was her very first thought. But the next moment her head was back above the waves, her body carefully bracketed in his strong arms.
“No!” she exclaimed, twisting against him to look at the palace in the distance becoming smaller and smaller with each powerful stroke of his tail. “Please, my father—”
He stopped, cocking his head to the side curiously. Waiting, once more, to hear what she had to say.
“My father needs me,” she managed, heart racing in her throat. “I’m supposed to be married—”
A soft, animal-like snarl slipped from his throat. She saw gleaming, sharp teeth in his mouth and shuddered. He didn’t understand, but she wasn’t a meal.
“Please,” she tried again. “You owe me your life.”
He held her gaze in the dark, the only light emanating from his skin. She could just make out the curiosity etched over his features. There was no hatred, no malice.
“Tell me your name, princess,” he finally demanded. His voice was rich and warm and somehow familiar to her.
“Elain,” she said before foolishly asking, “Do you have a name?”
Perhaps fish didn’t get names, after all. Or, mermen, which she assumed he was. He paused again, considering.
“Lucien.”
“Lucien,” she repeated, forcing her best courtiers smile despite her feet dangling in the open ocean and how shivers wracked her body. “That’s a nice name.”
He didn’t respond to that, which left her to repeat her plea. “Please, Lucien. Will you take me home?”
He nodded his head, and all at once they were moving again. Elain clung to his neck, telling herself she was merely afraid she’d slip and vanish to the bottom of the world, though in truth she wanted to know what his scales felt like.
Not much different than those of a fish, she learned. If he knew she was running his fingers over them, he didn’t say anything.
Elain had a million questions, and yet only thought to ask once. Still holding him as tightly as he held her, though she could feel the sand just beneath them, Elain asked, “Were you singing?”
His eyes widened in the dark. “Yes.”
“Why?”
A smile ghosted his features, as both mournful and joyful as the song he’d been singing had been. “It was a mating call. I could sense her near.”
“A…” Elain didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know what he was saying. By the look of understanding, and then satisfaction that seemed to warm his features, Lucien did.
“You’re my mate.”
Elain pushed away from him, slipping from his arms because he allowed it. Lucien merely watched, his auburn hair floating gently in the water which hid his form to his neck. It did little to disguise his gills, his scales, or the strange orangey-brown of his eyes. A lie was forming in her mind as she raced back toward the palace—one that said the whole evening had been a dream. Concocted from the stress of her impending engagement and the storm around her, she’d found a man lying dead in the sand and decided she’d found a merman instead.
But even as she made her way back to her room, leaving a trail of wet footprints against the marble, Elain couldn’t get the feel of those scales off her finger tips.
Nor could she stop his parting words from ringing in her ears.
Mate. You’re my mate.
Elain had been right about one thing—being out in the storm had caused her to wake with a scratchy throat. Bleary eyed in the gloomy morning light, Elain was certain her night had been, for the most part, a dream. There had been no man, no mermaid, no talk of mates. Just her awake too late and scared because of a storm. It made sense the stress of everything would cause her mind to split a little. She needed a hot meal, maybe some tea and honey, and a reminder that things were going to be okay.
Elain got a bath and fussed over by servants who reprimanded her for leaving her balcony doors open in a storm.
You’re so pale, they moaned, touching rouge to her cheeks. Elain didn’t bother mentioning that her father hadn’t allowed her out all last year for fear of her skin freckling. Back then there had been a lot of suitors competing for her hand, and who knew which of them would like a woman who spent so much time in the sun? Better not to risk it, had been her fathers thought.
Elain made her way downstairs where her father, his advisors, her betrothed, and his father all sat at the dining table. They rose, this group of dull-eyed men, the moment she swished into the room.
“Lady Elain,” Graysen said, unaware of how that title made her cringe. She was princess, technically, but Graysen had never addressed her as such. Charitably, Elain had wondered if someone had told Lord Nolan that she didn’t like all the formalities…which would have included lady as well.
But privately Elain suspected he disliked that she outranked him, and so she was restyled to be Lady Elain for Lord Nolan.
Still, Elain let him take her hand and brush a kiss over her knuckles. “You slept late.”
“It seems the storm kept me up,” she admitted, her eyes sliding to her father. Where was she supposed to eat?
He answered before she could ask.
“I’ll have breakfast sent up to your rooms,” her father began carefully as Elain pulled her hand from Graysen’s. “It may be best if you keep to your quarters for a while. Some of the fishermen were displaced and will be staying in the grand hall. I would hate for one of them to harm you.”
“Why would they harm me?” Elain asked, her temper rising in her chest.
“Because you’re so beautiful,” Graysen said quickly, smiling as though she must know it. “Come, it’s only for a short time and then we’ll announce our engagement and everything will be as it was.”
“A masquerade ball, this time,” her father said, eyes sparkling with delight. Just like he’d had with her mother—it was where she’d first met him, hidden behind a mask and unaware she danced with a future king. Her mother had once said that she’d been allowed to fall in love with him as little more than a man, and Elain had always wanted that.
It was a bribe. Her father must have known his request would upset her, so he dangled the promise of getting to know Graysen under the guise of anonymity to pacify her.
All the fight wooshed out of her. ��That sounds lovely,” she told them. “Will you ask for honeyed tea to be sent up as well?”
A nod was all it took to eject her from the room. She wondered what would have happened if she’d pushed, if she’d demanded to be included in the recovery and rebuilding efforts. They didn’t even bother pretending and that was her fault.
She felt anger, but she swallowed it because that was what a good princess would do. What a good wife, a good queen, even, would do. Elain wanted to make her father happy, and as she made her way miserably up the steps, she wondered what would make her happy. Maybe nothing, and she was still a bad daughter and a terrible choice in wife because she couldn’t just be grateful for everything she’d been given.
Elain’s door was ajar when she stepped back inside. A cool, windy draft whistled through the room, and as she made her way through her sitting chamber to her bedroom, she found she wasn’t alone. A man in a rather fine green tunic was crouched beside her balcony doors with a box of tools set just beside gleaming black boots. He seemed too polished to be a repair man, and his clothes far too nice.
“Can I help you?” Elain asked. He turned and her stomach fell to her feet. “You.”
He raised well-groomed, auburn brows. It was the man from the water—the merman, though gone was his tail, the fins, the gills. Replaced by unblemished, warm brown skin and that thick, long auburn hair now neatly pulled off his beautiful face. When he offered her a smile, Elain counted two rows of perfectly normal white teeth.
“Me?” he asked in that same warm, honeyed voice. “Have we met, princess?”
Yes, she wanted to scream. Those russet colored eyes sparkled with mischief, practically daring her to say what she was thinking. Already, Elain was second guessing herself. Maybe she’d seen him around the palace and the whole thing had just been a dream, featuring a normal, if not beautiful, man.
“Yes,” she heard herself say even as she felt that old, familiar temper rising in her chest. Everyone else could make her feel stupid, but not him.
He grinned, twirling a screwdriver in one broad, large hand. “Tell me more. Was it how you came to break the lock on your balcony door?”
She held his gaze. “How is your chest today?”
He ran his free hand over his gold buttons. “Would you like to take a look? The rest of the locks in your suite work quite well, I’m told.”
“Just—” Elain forced herself to take a breath. He knew—he knew, and it hadn’t been a dream, and he knew. “Just tell me your name.”
He took a step toward her, his smile softening into something that made her heart race. “You already know it, princess. I told you last night. Don’t you remember?”
“How are you here, Lucien?”
He shuddered a breath. “You know why I’m here—”
“I’m not your mate,” she hissed, pointing a finger between them. “I’m not your anything. I’m going to be engaged, and I will marry him, so whatever notions you have ought to be abandoned right here, right now.”
There was no growl this time. “Oh? Princess Elain is going to marry the ruined son of some minor nobleman?”
“How do you know that?”
“You fascinate me,” he said simply, daring another step. “What sort of woman runs out in the middle of a deadly storm to risk her own life on another's? You could have been swept away.”
“You lured me,” she accused. His smile faded into something a little darker, something laced with pain.
“How was I to know my mate was you?” he asked her, inching even closer. Close enough he could reach for her pointed finger and hold it gently in his hand. Elain yanked back, stumbling a step to get away from him. “I would have employed more care had I known you were so fragile, so—”
“I’m not fragile!” she snapped, furious he’d think so. She would never have dared to use that tone with Graysen, but with Lucien it was safe. He wouldn’t hurt her, though she couldn’t explain why she thought so. Only that she was certain he wouldn’t—that he couldn’t. And something about the way his eyes sparked when she raised her voice made Elain think he rather liked her irritation.
“No, I suppose you’re not. You haven’t screamed for help, though I am most definitely not supposed to be in here alone. Why is that?”
“You don’t scare me,” Elain told him with all the defiance she could muster. Lucien’s grin returned.
“That makes one of us, then,” he replied, turning back to her door. “I think I fixed it, by the way.”
“So it’ll keep you out?”
He chuckled. “Oh, quite the opposite. You’re not engaged yet. Until you make a choice, I intend to visit you again.”
“What if I don’t want you to? What if I want you to stay out?” she demanded. Lucien picked up his tools, a contemplative look on his face.
“Do you?” he asked.
No. Lucien was, despite being a fish or a monster or a little bit of both, the first person in what felt like forever who’d actually looked at her and heard the words coming out of her mouth. Elain felt the pull to him, but more than that, she didn’t want him to go and leave her to people who looked beyond her, who spoke at her without caring about what she said in return.
“Yes. I do want that.”
He snorted. “Liar. Your breakfast is coming. You should eat.”
Lucien stepped past her, and she thought he might leave without another word. As if he couldn’t resist, he slid a hand around her waist and drew her closer, dipping his head so he could breathe in the scent of her hair.
“You should sleep, too,” he murmured. Elain was suddenly very aware of how close they were. The memory of the night before, of their slick bodies pressed together as he held her tight, flooded through her. Was he thinking about it, too?
Lucien spoke again. “What would it take, princess? To see you smile? What is it that makes you happy?”
She should have told him to shut his mouth. That the only thing that could possibly make her happy was him leaving, swimming back to wherever it was he’d come from. But Elain, perhaps over tired and wrung out, told him the truth. “I want to be outside again. In the sunlight,” she added, just in case he didn’t catch what she meant.
He tugged her close enough she threw her hands out against his chest, leaving a whispered breath between them.
“Doing what?”
Elain thought of her rotted, ruined garden that had once been so beautiful. “I had a garden,” she admitted, holding his gaze. What had caused those scars, she wondered. He’d been lucky to keep his eye, which seemed a brighter shade of gold than the other. Magic, perhaps? Or something else entirely.
His free hand came to her face, stroking her cheek. “What’s stopping you.”
Lie, don’t give him ammunition to use against you, lie— “My skin might freckle.”
He didn’t understand. There was a helplessness in his eyes, an unspoken explain this to me that saw her trying to rationalize her first statement. “I’m to be Graysen’s wife, and the expectations—”
“Fuck his expectations,” Lucien snapped, realization dawning against his features. “Why should he get everything and you get nothing at all?”
“I gain a husband,” she told him, though it was hollow even to her own ears. “And someday, children.”
“Is that all you want?” he asked sharply, eyes searching her expression. The question broke whatever spell had settled around them. Elain shoved at his muscular chest and Lucien released her without complaint.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. You need to leave—don’t come back.”
If her father or Graysen learned she’d entertained a man alone in her bedroom, the whole engagement would be called off and worse still, no other suitor would want her. She could not be a fish man’s bride, nor did she want to be.
“It matters to me,” he said, a ringing finality to the words. “And I will be back. All the things you dream of, princess? We share those dreams. I can give them to you.”
“You can’t give me anything but a miserable, watery death,” Elain snapped, arms crossed over her chest.
Lucien’s smile told her she didn’t know enough. “We’ll see, pretty mate. We’ll see.”
And that was the last thing he said before vanishing through the archway that led to her sitting room. Elain took a breath, and then another before chasing after him, but he was gone and the only tell he’d ever been there at all was a puddle of water sneaking toward a rather nice rug.
Leaving her to once again wonder if she hadn’t made the entire thing up.
One day trapped in her bedroom, and the western wing it was housed in, stretched into two and then three. By day four, Elain woke up burning hot and with a throat so sore she couldn’t stand to speak at all. That was the day Graysen crept up to see her. Under the watchful eye of a servant, Graysen held her hand and urged her not to speak.
“A date has been set for the engagement,” he said in soft tones. His eyes were strangely earnest and though Elain’s body ached and her heart pounded, she wondered if Graysen didn’t prefer her like this. “Once things are settled, I thought you might like to visit my home up north. Spend some time there recovering…and I thought that, once you and I are with child, it would be a good place to convalesce.”
Elain tried to speak, but her throat burned from the effort. Still, she managed a soft spoken, “No.”
Graysen leaned as though he might kiss her before thinking better of it. “You’re delirious. Your father says the commotion of the palace often overwhelms you. Just consider it, Lady Elain. A little solitude up by the mountains…someplace safe, where you can be free to roam the grounds…I think it would do you well.”
Elain merely closed her eyes and drifted back into sleep. Her dreams were fraught, cut by moments of lucidity when a servant would prop her up against a sea of pillows and force broth or water down her throat. Elain did as she was told, still thinking of Graysen.
And when she felt hands on her shoulders, gently propping her up, she blurted out, “Don’t lock me away.”
Cool skin pressed against her hot cheek. “You really don’t understand how the sea works, do you?” An all too familiar voice was teasing her. Exhausted, Elain twisted in the grip of the merman, half naked like before. No tail—he’d shucked on some pants at least. Damp hair told her he’d come from the water some time recently, but not so recent he’d leave her bed wet. Elain reached for the braid arched over his ear. Little gold cuffs jangled softly when he turned his head, metal clanking against metal.
“He’s going to lock me away,” she whispered, letting the monster hold her.
“I’m sure he’ll try,” came Lucien’s murmuring voice. “For now, all you need to worry about is getting well.”
“Why are you here?”
“There is a rumor my princess is sick. I came to see for myself. You should be more careful, running around in storms,” he said, though Elain detected a note of worry in his voice.
“I thought you wanted to eat me,” she grumbled, huddling closer to his body. Elain hadn’t felt anything so deliciously cold in days, and his skin eased some of the burn from the fever.
“You have such tempting ideas,” he replied. “But tonight is for my good ideas. It’s like your human healers have never heard of cold water.”
“What?”
No healers had come to see her. Elain might have told him so, or she might have merely thought it. The world spun, causing her to once again cling to him desperately. Elain understood what he meant when she saw the bathing chamber illuminated by candles.
“Took me forever to haul water in here,” he grumbled, stepping straight into the tub filled with what she assumed was sea water. “Don’t suppose you’d take off your dress?”
“I’ll kill you if you try,” she whispered, knowing full well even at full strength she couldn’t hurt him. Still, the merman merely chuckled.
“I believe you would. Stop thrashing,” he added, perhaps unaware that the sight of his massive, golden tail curled around the large tub had frightened her. When had that changed?
“How do you do it?” she whispered, closing her eyes again. “The tail…the legs?”
“I can call a two-legged form when it suits me, though it’s taxing. I’ve never had to before I met you.”
“How long can you stay like that?”
“Not long,” he murmured into her hair while gently scooping cool water over her shoulders. Elain shivered, though the cold was reprieve from the constant heat. “It risks being trapped this way forever.”
“Why risk it?”
He didn’t answer that. Elain drifted back to sleep, her dreams shifting from high walls and gloom to glittering water and a sun so hot the bridge of her nose was perpetually burned. Elain didn’t feel Lucien return her to bed which was for the best given she woke up in a new, dry night dress. Her body still ached but the burning in her throat and beneath her skin was gone.
Bastard, she thought when she ran her hands over her form. He’d picked the slinkiest he could manage, with thin straps and a short hem. It was designed for summer when the heat was unbearable and there was no one to see her but herself.
Herself and a monster who’d decided they were mates. Maybe letting Graysen send her away was for the best. Lucien wouldn’t be able to get to her behind those high walls. Lucien had said he couldn’t use his legs for long stretches of time, and Elain happened to know that Graysen was landlocked that far into the continent and the river had become foul and polluted. He’d never find her.
The thought filled her with misery. She didn’t want that. And as she dressed that morning, it occurred to Elain that she ought to figure out what she did want, in order to know what she didn’t.
What she wanted was some semblance of freedom. Even if she was only ever consort to Graysen, who took all the things that ought to have been hers by birth, she wanted to remain in her home, wanted to be permitted on her own grounds, where she would raise her own children. Graysen wasn’t allowed to erase her and Elain wouldn’t help him do it, either.
There was no one in the dining room, nor any fishermen in the great hall when she made her way down. Nervous servants averted their eyes when she passed, but otherwise it was as though the castle had been emptied out entirely.
Her slippered feet made no noise as Elain traveled room to room, searching for some sign of her father, her would-be fiance. It was later in the morning, and yet she had the feeling they ought to be out and about. Elain marched into the courtyard. Her garden, wilted and dead as it likely was, should have been just to her left. Just through a low, stone wall and arching, iron gates. All of it was gone, demolished by some unseen hand.
And its place lay rows and rows of tents. Soldiers, she realized with no small amount of horror. Her garden had been torn apart and trampled and she told to stay inside so her father could camp an army within the palace walls. Why?
Elain spun, hiking up her lavender skirts to track him down. She knew if her father wasn’t sitting on his throne hearing out his citizens, then he’d be in his study. Since when did he keep secrets like this?
She flung open his door, stunned by the sight greeting her. There, behind his usual desk, sat her father. He looked exhausted, run down and bone tired. Dark circles lined the hollows of his eyes and his cheeks seemed sunken somehow.
Lord Nolan and his son sat across from her father, the picture of perfect health. Elain was plagued by a vision of what was coming before anyone spoke. Even as they all turned to look at her, sharing mixed expressions of disapproval and curiosity, Elain knew. Somehow the Senior Nolan was behind her fathers appearance, even if his son had no idea. It wouldn’t be long before Graysen ascended to the throne—likely just after an extravagant wedding that cast no doubt over Graysen’s right to rule.
And she already knew her fate. She’d be sent away, far from the water, far from everything she loved.
“Elain?” her father murmured, his voice a soft rasp. “You’re feeling better.”
“Are you?” she asked him bluntly. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do so, to speak so out of turn. “You look like you need rest.”
He waved a hand, earning a smile and an eye roll from the elder Nolan. “Women are so fussy,” he said, dismissing her concerns entirely. Graysen stood, earnest as ever. It was so hard to dislike him, though some small part of her wanted to scream in his face. Don’t you see what he’s doing? Don’t you see how he pulls the strings?
“Come, Lady Elain,” Graysen said in that smooth, placating voice. “Have you eaten?
His hand was on her elbow before she could stop him, leading her back into the hall and toward the dining room. “It’s so lovely to see you again. You look radiant.”
“My father–”
“Stress,” Graysen interrupted smoothly, stroking his thumb over her elbow. “What with the storm, and the protests, and the engagement—”
“What protests?” she demanded, but Graysen merely shook his head.
“It's handled.”
The army, then. The army was putting down these nameless protests against a people who had once loved her father. Elain took a breath, thinking she’d force Lord Nolan to just tell her, when a new idea slithered into her mind.
Lucien.
Surely he’d return. He didn’t seem content to stay away, so why not pry for information? Perhaps he wouldn’t think so much about it, or care given he was merely a fish. She’d get no where with Graysen, and it occurred to Elain that a difficult wife without anyone to protect her wasn’t too difficult to dispose of, one way or the other.
“When is the engagement?”
“In three nights,” Graysen said, his expression relaxing. This was what he wanted. A wife who gave him no trouble, who did exactly as expected. He stopped her just before the doors of the dining room, cupping her cheek with warm, callused hands. What did it say about her that the touch revolted her? It felt all wrong—clammy, somehow, and too rough. “I am looking forward to announcing to the world you will be my wife. I…I have kept my feelings guarded for fear they will not be returned, but I am—I feel—”
What he felt clearly could not be put into words, though Elain thought it didn’t warrant being shoved up against wooden doors and accosted by his mouth. She squeaked with surprise, eyes wide open even when his own shuttered closed. It was strange—like watching someone else be kissed by Graysen rather than experiencing it herself.
But Elain felt nothing but aloof detachment, accompanied by a feeling that it was best not to fight, but to let him get on with it so she could go. It wasn’t pleasant or unpleasant. It just was, like taking a breath or swallowing a glass of tepid water.
He pulled away, breathless and eyes out of focus. “I…” he raked his fingers through his sandy brown hair. “I should go.”
“Yes,” she agreed, fingers touching her lips. “Yes, I think that’s best.”
Graysen shot her one last lingering look, the sort that promised all the things that might happen between them, and then turned without a glance back. Elain watched him though, wondering why she felt nothing at all. Surely she should. He was nice enough, and likely to be a good husband, even if he wasn’t particularly attentive.
It was a question that plagued her long after Graysen had gone.
Lucien, Elain learned, was crawling up her balcony. She waited for him rather than sleep, tucked against the window seat of her bedroom with nothing but a singular candle burning. Not even the fireplace, though the cool air certainly could have benefited from the heat.
She saw his fingers first, gripping the edge of the rail to haul himself up. Legs clad in those same well-fitted brown trousers hid his lower half, but no shoes and no tunic, along with his damp hair, told her he’d gone straight from the beach.
He was surprised to see her, eyes glowing in the dark. The left was practically all gold, glimmering like its own sun against his handsome face. For a moment they merely faced off against the other, staring silently—wordlessly—waiting for the other to speak.
“You look well,” he finally said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though I’d have chosen a different nightdress.”
He was outrageous. “Yes,” she hissed, wrapping her duvet tighter around her body. “You undressed me.”
He didn’t look ashamed at all. “I thought you’d be cross with me if I put you to bed soaking wet. And crosser still if you woke up in a tub with a merman. I could have left you naked, I suppose, but that also seemed undecent.”
It occurred to her that never once had she considered that he might have touched her. Lucien’s expression dared her to ask, but Elain hated to give him any self-righteous satisfaction. So instead, she told him, “There is an army in my fathers courtyard. I heard there are protests across the land. What do you know?”
He shrugged powerful, naked shoulders as he made his way over to her. Lucien dropped on the padded bench while Elain drew her knees closer to her chest. “I’ve heard a lot of things. Things I might be willing to exchange for the right price.”
Elain sighed, exasperated. “What could you possibly want? Krill?”
His laugh was like warm honey dripping down her throat. “Tempting. I do love krill. But no, I was thinking of something different. A kiss,” he added, when she didn’t immediately take his meaning. “And maybe more, if you enjoy it. After all, I hear you’ll be engaged by the end of the week.”
She hadn’t imagined the bitterness that plagued his words, nor the regret etched in his eyes. There was almost a plea to it, as if Elain could ever choose a man who was half fish. Elain swallowed, even as a little thrill raced through her. Where had that been when Graysen kissed her?
“Okay,” she agreed, because she thought it might be fine to kiss him. “A kiss, and nothing more—
“Negotiable,” he interjected smoothly. “I know a lot of things.”
And she didn’t think he was talking about mere politics. Still, Elain nodded her head. He could negotiate to his heart's content. That didn’t mean she’d have to say yes. Just the possibility was enough to settle him, though, as he drew a breath through his mouth and said, “I don’t involve myself much in your kind's business, so long as it doesn’t interfere with mine. I do know your kingdom is very poor, and your people suffer. Marrying the Lord’s son is, supposedly, supposed to make you seem like some kind of champion of the people. But there are revolts, because a marriage doesn’t fill empty bellies, and the Lord is well adept at putting down rebellions. It doesn’t help that two princesses have gone missing to the west and the north, and their kingdoms have fallen to democracy. Elected rulers seem appealing when your king shuts himself up in a castle and allows himself to be guarded by an army of mercenaries.”
“So…so I might marry Graysen, and the kingdom might still fall to revolution?” The thought genuinely scared her.
Lucien merely shrugged. “I can’t tell you the future, princess. You may marry the lord and he might quell the rebellions and you have a long and happy life.”
“And my children…” Elain chewed her lower lip nervously. “It merely delays the inevitable?”
Another shrug. “If you asked me…”
Their eyes met, held in the flickering glow of the candle.
“Asked you what?”
“To help,” he finally said, squeezing his fingers into a nervous fist. “I would.”
She didn’t mean to scoff, but the words tumbled gracelessly from her lips all the same. “What could a fish do to help me?”
She didn’t imagine the pain that flitted over his expression. Elain swallowed—that had been unkind. He was the only person offering her any information, who didn’t treat her like a decoration, and she was venting her anger on him.
“I–”
“I know,” he said, holding up a hand, though Elain didn’t think he did. So instead she scooted a little closer to him, holding his now wary gaze.
“I’ll take that kiss, I think,” she said, hoping to soothe his wounded ego. But Lucien merely shook his head and stood, filling the air with a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
“Not tonight, I think.”
And he would have left. By all rights he should have left. But Elain jumped to her feet, blanket pooling to the ground, and grabbed his wrist.
“Graysen kissed me today,” she told him when he turned his head to look. Anger replaced hurt, which was only a modicum better. “And I felt nothing. I just want to know…”
He waited, his head cocked like it had been that first night they’d met. Curious, again, to see what she might do, what she might say.
Elain took a breath. “I want to know if the problem is me or it's him.”
Lucien turned fully then, his eyes a brand on her body. “And if it’s him?”
“Then you can negotiate for more.” Truly, Elain didn’t know what else to say to him. It was enough to bring that mischievous spark back to his eyes, to draw him closer to her. And Elain, who’d spent so much time alone, found she wanted his attention, though she didn’t know how to admit it.
The thought crawled through her mind before he ever touched her. Don’t leave me.
He ducked his head, one hand cupping her cheek just as Graysen had done. She stiffened, bracing herself to watch another man kiss her. But Lucien didn’t shove her against something, nor did he press his body against her own. He merely threaded his free hand in the unbound curls falling around her face and brought his lips to hers.
It was the softest brush—tentative, a testing to see how he might go about it. Letting her adjust to him being so close, to sharing a breath. Excitement skittered up her spine as warmth spread through her limbs. He was watching her, gauging her reaction.
And Elain knew, mere seconds before he truly kissed her, that when he decided to negotiate with her, he’d have far too much leverage. Need raced through her at that soft touch. Lucien slotted his lips against her own, exhaling a soft breath that could have been a groan, though she wasn’t sure. Elain, who’d kept her arms at her sides, slid her hands up his bare chest without even thinking about it.
And she’d closed her eyes. She didn’t know why—maybe because she thought it would make things feel better, or simply as a reaction to being so close. All Elain knew was it was better to kiss him like this, touching his skin in an attempt to bring them closer. It was her who reached for his neck, and she suspected, her fault that the kiss didn’t stop right there.
A soft sigh escaped him, drawing them flush against the other. It was scandalous, having this half naked man in her bedroom—a fish, as she’d called him earlier. Kissing her like she was sweet, like she was special. He was kissing her like he wanted her to enjoy it, which was a problem because Elain was enjoying it.
What did it say about her that she liked kissing the monster, while kissing Graysen had elicited nothing at all? She had a flash of vision in which she left with Lucien—ran away, leaving this wretched kingdom filled with warmongering men to their fate so she could be with Lucien. And what, then? She’d live in a little cottage by the sea and Lucien would come by when he could? How long before he tired of her, of the novelty of a human? How long—
“Elain,” he groaned, teeth nipping her bottom lip. Elain gasped as pleasure bolted through her and Lucien took advantage of this momentary lapse to slide his tongue into her mouth. It was shockingly ridged but still pleasant, adding to the desire rapidly coiling through her. Tentatively, Elain returned the gesture, meeting him with her own tongue.
She felt his knees buckle. “I want to renegotiate,” he panted, gripping her face in his strong hands. “I need to renegotiate.”
“Okay,” she replied, unsure what else to say. Meeting his gaze, Elain found those mismatched eyes practically burning against her skin. “What do you want?”
He kissed her again, fervent and desperate, his tongue licking her own as his arms wrapped around her body so they were flush, without an inch of space between them. Elain squirmed, needing something to help alleviate the pressure that had begun to build between her legs.
He’d forgotten his negotiation skills or was merely utilizing what he knew worked best. Elain didn’t mind when he swept her up and walked her to the bed, nor did she complain when he joined her, breaking the kiss only long enough to settle beside her. His chest covered her own, one leg through between hers and when he pressed, Elain found it helped with the building need. She arched against him, fingers tangled in his surprisingly soft hair while Lucien groaned and grabbed her hips, stilling them firmly.
“I need to taste you,” Lucien whispered against her throat. She didn’t understand what he meant, though she knew he was asking for more than just kissing. And she wanted that, too—wanted all of it, all of him, which was maybe dangerous. But she blinked up at him, fingertips grazing his soft jaw, and said, “Please.”
Another soft, almost desperate sounding groan fell from his swollen lips. He kissed her again, the sharpness of his real teeth glinting in the dark. Would he transform back into the tail, she wondered? And would she be upset if he did?
No. Elain was so curious how he made any of this work with his tail. Surely his kind must reproduce, and some depraved part of her wanted to know how, exactly. Maybe he’d show her if she asked. Not then, though. Not when he was slowly skimming down her body, his breath shockingly warm through the thin material of her night dress. He didn’t remove it, though she would have let him if he’d wanted to. Instead, he teased her against it, nipping and licking at her breasts while using the fabric to add additional friction. Elain writhed, trying to grind against him only to find there was nothing but air.
And then he was gone, laying between her legs and spreading her wider. Elain leaned up on her elbows, heart banging against her ribcage. “What are you doing?” she whispered. Lucien’s greedy eyes drank her in, realizing she had no underthings on. Not to sleep.
“Tasting you,” he replied, his eyes flicking back to her face. Elain swallowed her nerves while Lucien waited for her to revoke his permission. He seemed to expect it if that carefully guarded expression was anything to go by.
Elain laid back. She trusted the monster not to hurt her, to stop if she told him to. And more than that, Elain wanted to know what he’d do next, what she could expect when it came to the bedroom. She was nervous, but she wasn’t afraid.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, slicking a finger through her. Elain swallowed a gasp though she was unable to hide how much she’d enjoyed that one feather soft touch. Closing her eyes,
Elain rolled her hips in an attempt to get him to touch her again. She’d touched herself, of course—many times throughout her life, though she knew technically she wasn’t supposed to. Who was going to stop her? Her body was her own, not the property of some man she’d never met.
Elain’s thoughts were cut short by a new, wetter, softer touch between her legs. His mouth, she realized when she flew upwards to look. He’d licked her. Their eyes met, his wicked with delight and hers…well…Elain wasn’t quite sure. Heat throbbed through her, prompting her to say, “Do it again.”
It was with a deliberate slowness that he ran that ridged tongue up the length of her. He liked it, she realized with wonder. He liked the taste of her, liked the licking, and if she didn’t make him stop, would keep going until she finished. His mouth was nothing like her fingers—it was better. Lucien didn’t look away as he licked again and again, slow and soft as though working her into the sensation.
Elain reached for a pillow behind her, careful not to disturb her lower body or his clever tongue. She needed to watch him do this, well aware it was heightening her own burning pleasure. Elain intended to commit him to memory just in case it all went wrong. At least she’d have this—something selfish, something that was only for her. If he left, if she ended up with Graysen, she’d at least have this.
A sensual smile spread over his face. “You want to watch, princess?”
“Do it again,” she said instead. And again and again and—
He obliged her, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. She thought she ought to feel outrage that he found this whole thing amusing, but Elain could only feel the burning want coiling through her. Watching him only heightened her pleasure, though she couldn’t quite explain why. Only that the sight of him dragging his tongue over her cunt for the filthiest kiss she’d ever been given was driving her wild.
She was going to come far too quickly. Elain reached between her legs for his hair, still as soft as she remembered. Lucien groaned when she tugged at his hair, urging him to go faster. Elain had only a vague awareness of her own body and the way she was grinding against his face. Desperation clawed at her chest as tension built in her body.
“Please,” she whispered into the darkness. “Lucien, please.”
He drew her clit between his lips and Elain came apart faster than she’d anticipated. Clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to rip from her, Elain clenched her thighs tight around her head. Lucien didn’t stop, licking her through the orgasm until she was exhausted and overwrought.
“No more,” she begged, planting her foot against his shoulder to shove. Lucien pulled away looking wild, more monster than man. It ought to have frightened her, but as he rose up on his knees and she caught sight of the strange bulge in his trousers, it only thrilled her.
“It’s not enough,” Lucien told her, unaware she was thinking of undressing him. He grabbed her face, kissing her so thoroughly Elain didn’t think she’d ever get the taste of herself out of her mouth. The kiss was ruthless, his teeth sharp as they grazed her bottom lip. His tongue pushed and licked and danced with her own, concealing her hands pulling at the laces of his pants.
He gasped at the same time she did. Elain had been pretty sheltered, and what she knew of the male anatomy was limited. However, Elain was positive he was only supposed to have one appendage.
They looked between their bodies, panting heavily at her hand attempting to grip them both. In the dim light and the glow from his skin, Elain could make out a lot of things she didn’t think normal men had. The ridges, for one—and the scales he hadn’t bothered to hide with whatever magic he used to hide the rest of them. Rather than the rounded head she’d been shown in an illicit diagram, his tapered to a point. Thick and long, which the one just beneath a little longer—Elain understood the mechanics well enough.
The purpose, though, not as well.
“I meant,” he gulped, eyes rolling up into his head when she added her other hand so she could hold them both, pressed together as she circled her fingers around him, “To ease you into this knowledge.”
“I’m not fragile,” she replied, though perhaps some warning would have been nice. It was too late now, though, and Elain wanted to see him to completion, too. Besides, curiosity had gotten the better of her, filling her with a million questions. Why? Why could anyone possibly need two cocks?
Lucien quickly pushed off her, spreading his legs wide so she could better stroke him. He liked her touch, clumsy as it was, though she still asked, “Does this please you?”
“Yes,” he groaned, hips bucking into her hands. “Too much.”
The ridges were strange against her hand—firm, yet flexible. Not quite soft, but not so hard she thought they’d hurt. The sensation was rather pleasant against her fingers and Elain could almost imagine them rubbing against her still fluttering cunt.
How had she gotten here, imagining she’d sleep with the mermonster? But Elain wanted to. She almost regretted not offering herself up to him when she’d had the chance. It was too late now, given the pooling fluid at the tapered head of his cocks, beading against her thumb. Elain slicked through it, using his own moisture to help her hands glide over him. Lucien groaned again, throwing his head back as his chest rose and fell rapidly.
Elain had never felt more powerful in her life. He could have drowned her days ago. Could drag her back out to sea if he wanted to. And certainly, the merman possessed a strange sort of magic that allowed him to walk on land for short bursts of time. Something she’d never manage no matter how hard she tried.
And yet he was powerless beneath her, at her mercy as she stroked those double cocks. Lucien’s fingers gripped the silken sheets of her bed, his back arching toward the ceiling as he panted and moaned softly. It seemed obscene for a man to make those kinds of noises and Elain was desperate to hear more of them.
This was her doing.
Lucien came all over her hand, clenching his jaw to keep himself quiet. Elain marveled at the white that coated her skin, matching what she’d gleaned from the library book before it had been banned with reality. Lucien gulped down great breaths of air, relaxing his posture as he fell back to the bed. Elain felt shy, embarrassed almost to be sitting beside a man with his pants tangled around his ankles.
“Come home with me,” he rasped after a moment, his eyes closed.
“I—”
A shuffling in the hall silenced them both.
“Lady Elain?”
Lucien was already dressing himself hastily, eyes wide. Elain smoothed her hands over her nightdress and said nothing. Lucien vanished a moment later, back out the balcony without an answer.
Unaware she was about to tell him yes.
That if he’d offered, she would have left even with the maid just outside her door.
Lucien didn’t return the next night, much to Elain’s dismay. Nor the next, or even the one after that, leaving her to face the masquerade engagement on her own. Elain dreaded what was coming. Graysen was so earnest with his intentions, unaware she was desperate for escape. Elain was forced into a chair for the better part of the day so she could be laced into a dress within an inch of her life. Her face was painted, her hair pinned and a mask carefully glued against the rest of her skin.
And then…and then. It wasn’t quite night, and Elain, desperate to escape, slipped down the same emptied halls in her blush colored gown, thinking that the gold beaded accents reminded her of the monster's skin and scales. She just wanted to see him again. She wanted him to explain how they might be together—how they could make this work.
More than anything, though, Elain wanted him to just come back. Had he left her? Decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, that a mate wasn’t as interesting to him as he’d first thought? Maybe Lucien was filled with regrets that he’d hadn’t been given one of his own and had decided to cut his losses.
The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall sent Elain turning quickly, making her way toward an unused, dark room and then, when she heard the steps hurrying after her, to the balcony just outside. Go away, go away, go away—
“Princess?”
A gruff voice pulled Elain from her thoughts.
“Lord Nolan?”
What was he doing out at such a late hour? Unmasked, but in a finely cut jacket and well-tailored pants. He looked at her, blinking eyes the same shade as his sons. He wasn’t nearly as handsome, wasn’t nearly as kind. Elain’s slippers were made of satin, slick as she stepped toward the stone wall overlooking the sea.
“What are you doing out so late?” he asked, advancing a step. Elain had the sense she ought to run back inside—run straight to his son without looking back. Elain couldn’t help herself, twisting to look at the water lapping far below the marble balcony she stood on. It was a straight drop to the sea below, sparkling beneath the setting sun. This view was beautiful and treacherous.
Nolan was here, too. Casual as he took another step in those polished, dark boots.
“Just taking in some air,” she lied.
He took another step, and then another. Towering over her, he said, “The most curious thing happened today.”
His hand was on her upper arm, tight enough she couldn’t easily pull away, but not so hard he was hurting her. Pink and violet light framed his sharp features, doing very little to soften him.
“What?” she whispered, reading the accusation in his eyes.
“Chests of gold from some far off prince were sent to you.”
Elain blinked. “I…” She didn’t know who would send such a thing, though truthfully was Nolan so surprised? He had no money at all, and princes had been courting her from the moment she developed a woman’s body. “Who?”
“Prince Lucien. From Rhodes. I’ve never heard of such a place,” Nolan said, searching her expression for some answer. Elain was certain her face was too expressive, her shock too easy to read.
Nolan backed her up against the railing, the edge digging painfully against her back.
What could a fish do to help me? She’d demanded. And he’d stood there, hurt and silent, well aware there he could do a lot of things. Prince Lucien. He was no mere fish, then. He was a prince and he’d… “Why would he send gold? Surely he’s heard of my impending engagement.”
Elain knew for a fact Lucien had heard.
“Perhaps he understands what you so obviously do not. You don’t need a husband if a benefactor is willing to dig your kingdom out of poverty. No army to quell the rebellions, no uprisings—”
“You make that seem like it’s a bad thing. People are starving,” Elain interrupted, her heart pounding as she understood the danger she was in. “Our marriage can usher in a new era of peace.”
“When I was a boy,” Nolan interrupted, his voice low and lethal, “my father used to tell me the story of the legendary city of Rhodes. Lost to the sea and built of nothing but gold. Many sailors have gone looking for it…and before yesterday, it was nothing but a myth.”
“I don’t know this prince,” she lied. He knew it, too. His grip tightened on her arm.
“My son doesn’t require you anymore. And frankly, I find you troublesome. Meddlesome,” he added with a soft snarl. “Did you beg the monsters of the sea to help you escape? Is this the price you demanded? Your maids swear they’ve heard a man’s voice in your bedroom at night.”
Elain’s blood froze. “They lie,” she whispered.
He only shook his head. “What a shame to see both the king and the princess die on the same day. What a tragic accident, to slip and fall to your death..”
“Don’t—” Elain’s panicked scream was swallowed by the air as Nolan shoved her back. She almost wished she’d smashed her head, if only to blot out the fear she felt when she hit the cold water. Elain’s dress ballooned around her, dragging her toward the silty bottom. Elain reminded herself she could swim. She could figure this out.
It was the battering waves that were the problem. They shoved her against the slimy wall only to suck her back out, preventing her from reaching the surface for a gulp of air. Elain knew Nolan would be watching, counting the seconds until he was certain she’d drowned. Her body would eventually wash up on shore, given credence to his story that she must have slipped.
Panic flooded her body. Think, she demanded. She reached the wall and clawed at the stone before she was dragged back out, doing little more than slicing open her palm. Salt stung at her wound as blood wound through the water. Relief filled her burning lungs—one more push of the wave, one more pull toward the sea.
And that was all she needed. Elain felt an arm wrap around her waist while a rough, musical voice murmured, “What are you doing down here, princess?”
Lucien.
Elain wrapped her arms around his neck. She needed air or she was going to drown, but the merman kept her below the water. She could see him, hazy under the dimming sun.
“Do you trust me?” he asked her. She nodded, pushing her hair from her face. Lucien opened his mouth, drawing in a watery breath and then, with those viciously sharp teeth, bit the side of her neck. Elain tried to scream, given the pain was no small thing. Jerking in his arms, Elain tried to get away from him, to push toward the surface but he held steadfast, teeth buried in her skin.
Something was happening. Something terrifying, something…something that was filling her with air. Elain took a greedy breath, and then another. The pain subsided even as her vision had become spotty and black around the edges.
Lucien ran his fingers over her neck where her own joined him a few moments later. Little slits, just like the ones against his own, seemed carved into her body. Elain could taste the water the way she’d once tasted the air. Salty at first, and then nothing at all. Just warm air filling her body.
“I’m told the tail takes a little longer,” he said ruefully, looking at her kicking legs. A week to grow in.”
“Where were you?” Elain demanded, tears blurring at her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to be horrified with what he was telling her—he’d changed her. Made her into the same sort of monster he was.
Freed her.
“I had to track someone down,” he replied, raking his fingers through her hair. “My brother took a human as a wife and I needed to know how he managed it. She has the loveliest gold tail now, and has given him several younglings. Did you get my gift?”
Elain twisted. Was Lord Nolan still waiting, counting the time? “He’s going to kill my father,” she said with no context at all. And then, well aware of what she was asking of the scaled, terrifying man still holding her, she added, “Please.”
Lucien’s russet and gold eyes flashed with fury. “Did someone push you?”
“Please,” she repeated.
His lips skimmed her cheek. “Consider this another gift, then.” Lucien paused, face angled toward the surface. “A gift for my new wife.”
He gave her no time to protest, no time to argue. Though, Elain didn’t plan to. She wasn’t going back. Lucien surged upward, bringing her back to the surface. They broke into crisp spring air that tasted foul to her now.
“What are you going to do?” Elain rasped, not wanting to be out here. Lucien looked at her as if she hadn’t just pleaded with him to kill Nolan before he killed her father—well aware it was likely too late. She couldn’t go back, not without acknowledging what she’d become.
And maybe it was better to give the kingdom to Graysen. He’d treat it kindly so long as his father was gone. He’d be fair—and he had Lucien’s gold. Elain had never had the sense that Graysen wanted endless war. When he’d talked to her, he’d spoken of family.
“I’m going to kill him,” Lucien replied evenly, reaching for the cliffside like it was made of putty.
“Not his son!” Elain said, reaching for Lucien’s naked bicep. “Promise you won’t hurt Graysen.”
She could see he didn’t like that—that he didn’t understand why she’d asked that of him. But Graysen had been earnest, had cared for her in his way. He probably would have been a decent husband by all accounts had it not been for Lucien.
Lucien looked at her, his expression unreadable. But finally he nodded his head. “Not his son.”
He left her in the water, crawling up the cliffside toward the palace. Elain watched until the air began to burn and then, because she was curious, dipped her head back beneath the water.
It was an alien world beneath the waves. Where once the salt had stung her eyes, blurring her surroundings, now Elain swore she saw clearer. Saw for miles in every direction, could hear the soft sounds of creatures moving about, of sand shifting and even the waves which reminded her too much of the wind.
Lucien had told her she’d get a tail—that there were others like her, who’d been human once before pulled beneath the depths. Elain wondered where, and if she’d get to meet them. If they’d be friends, even. She wondered how far she’d get before Lucien found her, and without considering what other horrors might be lurking in the now pleasantly warm water, Elain began to swim.
It was a dream, to glide beneath the waves. Even with her kicking feet and her pumping arms, her body seemed designed to cut through the water the way her legs had once run through grass. Would she have fins along her forearms, her neck? Scales like he had? Elain tried to imagine it with delight. No one would ever lament over her beauty, would never try and lock her away like a delicate doll.
She’d have sharp teeth, she’d have fins and scales. Elain would be a monster, too, and after a lifetime of being thought of as fragile, she felt free. She wondered how long it would take Lucien to find her—if he’d be angry that she’d left. That would be the test, she decided. He wanted her as his wife?
Then had to accept she was not his to control. That she would do what she wanted or she’d leave and he wouldn’t have her, either. That was a sticking point, so critical that Elain didn’t realize he’d returned and was looking for her until she felt his arm snag around her waist.
“The son is alive,” he told her, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear. “The father is not. Your father is also alive.”
Elain twisted in his arms. “Really?”
There was no anger on his face, though there was the faintest trace of blood on his teeth. Elain could guess how Lucien had done it, what had motivated him to maximize both fear while prolonging that final moment of death.
And she found she didn’t much care.
“Really,” he agreed. “I’m sure he’ll mourn you, but…”
There was a question hanging at the end of his words. Elain reached for his face, her legs tangled along his powerful tail. “Sometimes I think I should have let you take me that first night.”
“I wish,” he agreed solemnly.
Elain drew a breath of warm water. “But maybe it was better for you to see what life was like for me. So you understand what I can’t go back to.”
Lucien looked beyond her. “The ocean is vast and open. There is nowhere I could cage you, even if I wanted to.”
“And do you?” she questioned, sliding her hand up his bare chest. He wore a golden circlet over his bicep, made of the same gold she supposed he’d paid to her kingdom. A bride price, she realized, done backwards—it should have been her family who paid him.
“I want,” he began, pulling at the laces of her dress. Elain had forgotten she was wearing it—had forgotten about the mask until she reached up and peeled it from her skin. “To show you the world. I want to see your legs gone, replaced by a pretty pink tail—”
“How do you know it’ll be pink?” she demanded.
Lucien huffed out a laugh, bubbles escaping from his lips. “It will be, princess.”
Princess. That reminded her. “Prince,” she replied, catching his flashing grin. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Lucien drew her closer, his fingers combing through her floating, swirling hair. “Would you have liked me better if you’d known?”
“No,” she replied petulantly. His smile didn’t dim.
“So why mention it? It never mattered to me, I suspected it didn’t matter to you. What mattered was the matter of mates,” he replied, lips ghosting her own. “I would have had you regardless of the status you occupied. It might have been easier, in fact, if you’d lived in a little seaside cottage rather than that miserable palace.”
“If you’re a prince, does that make your father a king?” she asked, curious about the sea politics she was about to wade into.
Lucien was still smiling, his hair a halo of red around his beautiful face. “Yes. And my mother is very excited to meet you.”
“No pressure, then,” she murmured, wondering what it would be like to kiss him under water. Lucien reached for her face, holding the entirety of it in his large hand.
“Exactly. Only freedom, exactly as you imagined it.”
“Will you take me to meet the other human?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you like,” he promised before slanting his mouth over her own. Elain tried to imagine that—anywhere she wanted in the entire world, assuming she could move between a tail and legs. They could leave the water and travel on land, or swim through the water.
Together.
Elain’s back pressed against something smooth, pinning her between Lucien’s more powerful frame and wherever he’d brought her. Night had settled, turning the water into an inky abyss without the benefit of a silver hanging moon or twinkling stars. She expected to open her eyes and find the salt stinging her eyes again, but when she did she found Lucien’s glowing, brown skin and his auburn hair floating around his face.
And his tongue, in her mouth. Elain clung to him, drawing him closer and closer until her legs were wrapped around his waist. Using a sharp claw, he shredded the rest of her well-knotted laces, leaving her only in her shift beneath. Elain twisted, watching that gown float away. Would her father find it one day? She hoped so. And she hoped he knew that she was safe somewhere.
“Don’t,” she breathed when he reached for the scooping neckline of the last piece of clothing she owned. “I don’t want to meet your mother naked.”
A bubbling laugh slipped from between his lips. “Okay, princess. But—”
“No buts,” she breathed, running her hands down the length of his chest. Lucien shuddered when her fingers met his scaled tail, beautiful and golden in the otherwise dark water. He was beautiful, so achingly lovely it almost hurt. “Let me have this.”
Holding her face, Lucien swept his thumb over her cheek. “You can have whatever you like.”
She wanted him. Elain made that apparent by pulling him back against her, though not before twisting to see what they were propped against. Behind her lay a sprawling, ruined palace, crumbled and eroded from both the cruel embrace of time and the salty water. Beyond it, though, Elain swore she could see something glittering. Something warm, just like the man holding her.
And she knew without having to ask that they were near his kingdom. She ought to have asked him to take her home, to show her where he lived, where he slept. To have her first time be among the softness of his bed, assuming he had one.
But Elain was tired of waiting. She suspected her arrival would result in a big fuss and by the time her and Lucien were able to find a moment of peace together, they’d be too exhausted for anything but sleep. Elain wanted this. Wanted him.
Wanted the monster.
Their mouths collided with a hunger that should have scared her. Instead, a thrill shivered up her spine. She was far below the surface, so well hidden that no one would ever find her. In the morning, when the sun’s rays cut through the water, she intended to bask in the beams of light and warmth until she couldn’t stand it. She’d float on her back, kicking her legs until her tail finally came in.
And then she’d have Lucien take them everywhere. Places he’d never seen and places he had. Meeting the human who’d become a mermaid, too. But until then, she’d have this and she’d have him. Elain kissed him like he was the only way she could breathe, as if this were the only way to keep air in her lungs. He tasted warm like sunlight, his fingers tangled in her hair.
“How does it work?” she asked him, running her hands back over his stomach, touching the scales where his cock ought to have been. Panting, Lucien looked between them.
“You want to watch?”
“Yes,” she replied brazenly. Just as she’d done before when he’d licked her. Groaning, Lucien shifted, his fin flipping out behind him. Hands braced on the stone structure behind her, he pushed his hips out. Two panels right in the front pushed out, allowing the erect cocks she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since she’d first touched them. Mesmerized, Elain watched them bob like a spring that had been coiled back too far. She reached for them, holding them both in one hand so she stroke them just as she’d done before.
Lucien exhaled another bubbled breath.
“Why do you have two of them?” she asked as his own hand slipped beneath her shift.
“The only way my kind is able to reproduce is if our females enjoy themselves,” he managed, his voice little more than a rough rasp. “I suppose two cocks help maximize pleasure. I’ve never thought much about it. One seems insufficient.”
Elain might have told him one was standard among humanity, but his clever fingers had begun rubbing slow, almost lazy circles around her clit. Perhaps he was right—or maybe she just didn’t care anymore.
“Relax,” he murmured against her neck, teeth grazing her sensitive skin. Elain could feel the pulse point where he’d bitten her throbbing, but when her hands flew to her neck, she found the wound was gone. She’d forgotten about it entirely right until that moment. What sort of magic could do such a thing?
“Relax,” she repeated, capturing his mouth for another messy, desperate kiss.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he groaned, bucking into her slowly stroking hands. “I won’t hurt you.”
One kiss became two, became an eternity of kissing him with nothing but the sound of her own frantic heart and the music of the sea gently churning around them. Elain spread her legs wider, letting Lucien slick his fingers through her own wet heat, spreading it over her clit until she was grinding against his hand.
Elain whined when he pulled away, catching how he brought his finger to his lips for a taste. “It’s better on land, I think,” he said ruefully. Elain supposed the water washed away most of the taste and wondered if that wouldn’t make licking her better—or if he’d miss it. She’d ask him later and perhaps still suggest that little seaside cottage for when they got tired of the water. Even if it was just for a day, it might be nice to put their toes in the sand on occasion.
Lucien reached for her thighs, holding her up until she could feet that tapered tip rubbing against her clit just as his fingers had done. “Take a breath,” he said, head thrown back with obvious pleasure. He wasn’t even inside her yet.
“Do it all at once,” she said, certain it would be worse if he dragged everything out. All Elain had ever heard her entire life was the act of sex hurt, at least the first time. She suspected that might not be entirely true, but just to hedge her bets, Elain wanted to get the first moment of it over quickly.
He pushed, stretching not just her cunt, but her ass, too. Elain hadn’t really considered they’d both go inside her, nor had the thought of the implications beyond just wanting him. For a moment she forgot to breathe while he wedged himself into the tightness of her body, his eyes wide, pupils big and blown out. At no point did he stop, nor did Elain ask him to, though the stretch at one point almost became unmanageable.
Underneath all of it was an undercurrent of pleasure wounding itself tightly in her chest. She tried to keep her discomfort from her face until he gave one last small thrust, seating the largeness of himself entirely within her.
“Breathe,” he ordered and Elain did, sucking in a warm gulp of water.
“I’m fine,” she said, squeezing herself around him in an effort to adjust to the intrusion. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not,” Lucien replied, resting his forehead against his own. “I’m wrecked, Elain. You feel…your body…I…”
She’d never thought she’d see the day the monster was at a loss for words. Reaching for his face, Elain pressed a kiss to his mouth and squeezed again. This time, the fullness only felt good.
The ridges of his cock were nestled against each other, separated by only the thinnest layer of skin. She wanted to feel them rubbing against her.
Elain wanted to know what it was like to be with a man she desperately needed. That she cared about.
That she loved.
She wiggled, snapping him out of whatever trance he’d fallen under. Lucien withdrew nearly to the tip before pushing himself back into her, watching her expression the entire time. He could have gone harder, she reflected. Elain gasped as pleasure spiked in her gut, threatening to overwhelm her. Lucien panted, thrusting into her again all the while watching her expression. Elain had been right—the rubbing ridges was unlike anything she could have imagined. Delicious friction had her tightening both holes around him while Lucien used his hands to spread her wider, which only heightened her pleasure.
“Touch me,” he pleaded, pumping into her with wild, feral abandon. “Please.”
Elain reached up, fingers finding purchase in his hair. Elain pulled, ripping a whine of need from his throat. They collided for another kiss, teeth scraping against her bottom lip, hands digging into her thighs. Elain reveled in the sensation, the fullness of both cocks thrusting in and out of her, of this scaled tail teasing her clit with each pass. She was going to come—and as it built higher and hotter with each wild thrust, Elain decided she was going to be loud.
“Please,” she whispered into the sweetness of his mouth. “Lucien, please.”
Each new stroke was rougher, harder, until it all blended together. Pleasure frazzled through her, unspooling until Elain couldn’t do anything but breathe. Lucien whined, the veins in his neck strained. Elain came with a scream that echoed through the world around her. Lucien fell just behind, filling her with his own vicious orgasm. She could feel it, wet and warm in a way the water wasn’t.
Lucien clutched her to his chest, still buried to the gills in her body. “Mate,” he panted into her hair. “My mate—my wife. I love you, Elain, I—”
“I love you,” she agreed, arms around his neck, kissing just below his jaw. “Lucien?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to take me to meet your mother now?”
He laughed, raising his head to look at her. “Yes. Let’s go meet my mother now, princess.”
“You have to pull out—”
“Let’s meet my mother in a little bit,” he said, his voice dark and sultry. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Elain grinned. “Good.”
119 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prythian without IC part 15
Ok, I lied again. I said the last part would be the final part but I had to write more. Oops.
For those of you who don't know, Lucien is the High Lord of Spring, Nesta is High Lady of Autumn, and Feyre is the High Lady of Night (Rhysand and the IC is dead).
So, Elain did.
Reached for the back of his neck and hauled him to her, lips clashing. And when he kissed her back, Elain moaned, unable to help herself.
He was a good kisser. Too good. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she lost all control of her emotions, and she abandoned any shred of dignity she possessed as she emitted a sound so loud, she could hear servants running away.
Lucien pulled away at that. Frustrated, Elain reached for him, but he moved just out of reach. There was something devilish in his features now, the lazy smile on his face her undoing.
“That’s not a very ladylike sound, Elain,” he whispered. Teasing. He was teasing her-
Elain didn’t even recognize the sound that came out of her mouth at his words, a snarl that was utterly animal. Lucien merely laughed and turned his back to her, walking away. Elain stalked towards him, furious and sexually frustrated.
“You claim to want me, then you walk away?” Elain hissed. Lucien looked entirely unbothered now, peeling a banana while idly sitting on a sofa in his room, one leg extended, the other bent at the knee. One arm moved to rest behind his head. He surveyed her, and while his stance and expression were casual, his eyes devoured every inch of her. Those eyes that were part courtier, part warrior, part High Lord didn’t miss a single detail. Heat flared in her belly as he continued to look his fill.
“I never said that” he replied, and Elain remembered what she had been saying.
“You didn’t need to,” she snapped. “I could feel it in your blood- the need. It’s quite pathetic, actually.”
She didn’t recognize the woman who spoke, the woman whose words were as sharp as a blade, spine as strong as the steel that made it. The red-hot fiery emotion in her blood was a foreign feeling, something typically attributed to her sisters, not her. Yet here it was. The gentleness and kindness had been forgotten in the fire that burned relentlessly through her.
The autumn male’s eyes were practically shut, as if he were bored of her. “It’s just the bond speaking,” he drawled. “Besides, what of your needs, Little Miss Florist?” He tossed the peel of the banana behind him without looking, and it landed with a glorious arc in the waste bin. “You think I can’t feel you too?”
He snorted. “But it’s an Archeron trait, I suppose- to be that stubborn. You’ll feel one way and deny it to your last breath. Feyre was exactly the same; wouldn’t listen to a word of good advice from me or Tamlin. Especially Tamlin. I nearly killed myself trying to protect her from her own idiocy.” He leaned forward now. “So, I shouldn’t be surprised you rebel against your own body.” He smiled in vicious triumph.
Jealousy, irrational and unbidden, surged through her. Her sister had known him first, had been his close friend. And a part of her still wondered if they had ever had anything more than that.
“You do love to bring my sister up in conversation,” Elain said coldly.
Lucien’s eyes widened at the wrath Elain knew must be on her face. The only time a similar wrath had enveloped her, she had stabbed the King of Hybern.
Then he bust out laughing. “By the Cauldron, no. We needed her to fall in love with Tamlin to break the curse. I backed off of my own free well.”
“Backed off? So, she was into you. Or you were into her.”
Lucien shrugged. “She spent more time with me than she did with Tamlin. She gravitated to me first. Maybe she flirted with me at some point, I don’t know. It was only after I shoved the two of them together that the plan finally started to work.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how frustrating it was to hear this male try to flirt? ‘Your hair is clean’ Cauldron boil me I could come up with a better line in my sleep!”
Elain scowled. “So, you’re saying if you hadn’t backed off, Feyre would’ve fallen for you.”
“Your words, sweetheart, not mine.”
Elain’s hands flexed, itching to strangle him or ride him, she didn’t know. “Did you like her? In that way?”
“Tut, tut. So many questions. I ought to ask a price for the answers to them.”
Elain prowled over to him. Put her hand on the rolled arm of the couch and leaned over him. “Don’t try me, Sunny. Answer. The. Question.”
Lucien scoffed. “Well, she looked positively Fae once her bones filled out a little-“ Elain’s mouth twitched. “-and I said some things to her that mayyyyyy be interpreted as flirty-“ Elain gritted her teeth. “But it wasn’t that serious. Even without Tamlin there, nothing would’ve happened. Most likely.”
Elain bared her teeth and Lucien laughed in delight.
“You’re enjoying this, you rake,” Elain said, glaring at him.
His eyes glittered. “I’m having so much fun. Aren’t you?”
Elain climbed on top of him, and he flattened his other leg as she straddled him. “No, I’m not. I do not enjoy hearing you speak of other ladies in this manner, especially not my own sister who is now single and may dally with whoever she chooses.”
“I ought to ask you about the shadowsinger, then.” The question was casual, but there was a slight undertone to his voice and his body tensed up ever so slightly.
Elain smiled sweetly down at Lucien, running a finger down his cheek. “It was nothing. Little more than brushed hands and stolen glances. A way of avoiding my problems. We never even kissed. Besides, he is long gone now.”
“Yes,” he said. His voice was guttural. At last, the snarkiness had dissolved, leaving only raw emotion glistening in his face. Her fingers trailed lower, and her fingers soon turned to her entire hands as they explored the body hidden beneath his robes. He sucked in a breath. The scent of his arousal was intoxicating. His control was breaking. He was incredibly built; he made Graysen seem like a boy in comparison.
She reached the space between his legs, and his control finally broke. In one swift graceful movement, he flipped them over, so he was hovering over her.
“Tell me what you want, Elain,” he breathed. “Exactly what you want.”
Elain couldn’t breathe under his gaze. She swallowed. Made herself meet his eyes. She would not back down now.
“I want you.”
Three weeks later, Elain sat in the front row of an exceptionally beautiful palace. A place that had unfortunately been a prison for her mate but was now going to be a home for someone else. On her right sat Lucien. On her left sat Feyre, her giggling baby in her arms. Feyre looked remarkably well- better than Elain had expected. But then again, she had always been so strong. Elain imagined that it was her child that gave her so much life, so much purpose.
“May I join you?” a quiet voice asked. Elain whipped her head around. It was the Lady of Autumn.
Was she still the lady of autumn, considering the reign change? She was certainly being treated with the same respect. Her mate’s mother looked so delicate- yet to draw the eye of not one, but two High Lords, she must be something really special.
“Momma,” Lucien said, embracing his mother. Elain smiled at the casual affection between them, even as her heart strained, thinking of her late father.
Elain curtseyed deeply as mother and son finally stopped embracing. “Lady.”
“Please,” she said. “Call me Rosario.” She beamed at Elain. “You’re even more beautiful than I expected.”
Elain blushed. “You flatter me.”
“Not at all, dear.” She patted her arm. “It brings me such joy to see you happy, Lucien.”
Her favorite child, Elain recalled. Even if Feyre hadn’t told her so, it would’ve been painfully obvious in the way Lady Rosario looked at her youngest.
“Where are my brothers?” Lucien asked, an edge to his voice. Lucien didn’t have a good relationship with any of them, Elain reminded herself. He had just started to repair his relationship with his oldest brother, the only one who had actually cared. The one who had apparently saved his life many years ago unbeknownst to him.
“They’re not here. After Lady Death seized the throne, they retreated to their caves.” Rosario smiled at Elain. “Your sister can be quite terrifying.”
Elain shrugged. “She never was to me. But to her enemies? Oh yes.”
Rosario smiled slightly at that. “She is as fierce as Eris. They’re a match made in heaven.”
“Or hell,” Lucien said, shuddering. Elain elbowed him, and Lucien put his hands up. Feyre snickered. “Heaven for all who care for them. Absolute hell for all who despise them.”
Lady Rosario noticed the baby in Feyre’s arms then. “May I hold him?” she asked quietly. Feyre nodded assent and carefully transferred him to the Lady of Autumn’s arms. “I always wondered what it was like to fly,” she said.
Feyre smiled. “It’s scary- at first. But then it’s one of the most glorious experiences ever.”
Lucien scowled. “No thanks. I’ve flown twice and I never wish to again.”
Feyre snickered again, this time at Lucien’s expense. “That wasn’t flying, you were in someone else’s arms.”
“And that has disinclined me from ever wishing to fly again!”
All of them laughed at that, but soon quieted as the doors at the end of the hall opened.
Out walked Nesta Archeron, High Lady of the Autumn Court, slayer of Hybern, the Kelpie, Lanthys, Rhysand, and Beron, sister to Feyre Cursebreaker and Seer Elain, savior of Prythian. She was in a stunning wedding dress of cream white, with sworls of red a reminder of the land she now ruled. She looked as Elain always imagined she would on this day: she would be the perfect blushing bride were it not for the “I will slay my enemies” look that graced her face. Fitting for Nesta.
And Eris ate it up as he drank in her presence from the end of the aisle, his desire palpable even from this distance.
And when Nesta reached the end of the aisle, she placed her hand in his and together they walked around a sacrificial fire.
It was funny. Elain was the first to be engaged-and her engagement had fallen apart. Feyre was the first to be married-and her marriage had fallen apart. And now Nesta was getting married. But her relationship would last. Elain had already seen that. She and Lucien were taking it slow, but Elain knew it would soon be her turn. It wasn’t necessary; she and Lucien shared a bond so significant that marriage was deemed unnecessary. But Lucien had promised her that should she wish it, they would have the most ridiculously royal wedding ever seen; because he understood that she had been human for so long and it was what she wanted. That he had realized that had made her teary-eyed.
Nesta and Eris walked around the fire three times, casting aside their engagement rings into the fire as they did so. A priestess came by and recited some words in the ancient language, then handed them their wedding rings.
And when they were pronounced husband and wife, when Elain saw Nesta’s face was filled with the sort of joy she had never seen on her face before, she leaned her head on Lucien’s shoulder and smiled.
Thank you for reading!
SHOULD I ADD ONE MORE CHAPTER WHERE LUCIEN CONFRONTS DADDY HELION?
@impossibelle
#fanfic#elucien#neris#pro elucien#high lady nesta#high lady elain#high lady feyre#pro archeron sisters#pro feyre archeron#pro nesta archeron#pro elain archeron#pro lucien vanserra#pro eris vanserra#anti inner circle#helion spell cleaver
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Archangel (Azriel x reader) Pt. 4
A/N: Okay i took some creative liberties with the Hybern stuff so I am incredibly sorry if its inaccurate. I dont have my books with me presently and its been a minute since I have gone over that scene ; -; I wanted to get this out for you all though so I tried my best <3
Also! At some point today I will be posting a mood board for the series and some outfit details <3333
Warnings: Gore (?), angst, mentions of torture and wounds, Possible inaccuracies (im sorry yall)
WC: 1.7k ish
The throne room was a massacre.
You had not met the king during your internment here, but he was not at all what you expected. The fae sitting upon the throne was tall and lithe, not at all the imposing stature you had envisioned during the days you had spent lying in wait.
When you were pulled into the throws of whatever mess had been occurring, the king’s dark eyes zeroed in on you. The room was littered with fae. Feyre was sobbing on the floor, a puddle of what you assumed was her vomit not far from her. Rhysand stood nearby, restrained by two very terrifying guards who were armed to the teeth. You cocked a brow at the sight of them together, Tamlin was standing across the room looking absolutely furious.
From her position on the floor Feyre was clutching the bloodied body of a tanned fae-male with leathery wings that had been horrifically shredded. The male groaned and sputtered on the floor, failing to sit up no matter how hard he tried.
Your heart flipped upside down and your brows knitted in confusion. Who the fuck were these people? Why the fuck was Feyre here with them and not the man she loved?
And then you saw them.
In a puddle on the floor laid Elain and Nesta Archeron. They were naked and trembling. Something about them had changed, they seemed… it hit you like a ton of bricks. Just as Feyre had been changed so had her sisters.
“How?” You whispered, utterly dumbfounded.
The others took notice of you then, Feyre looked to you and there was no hiding the utter terror in her pretty eyes. From his seat the king let out a choked laugh and clapped his hands.
“Oh, little Beddor you have missed all of the revelry. Adler, please bring her to me.” The King spoke and his voice sent chills through you. All the air in the room seemed to have dissipated and the fae male that held you jerked you forward.
A pained yelp escaped your throat at the sudden white-hot burn that shot down your shredded arm. A deep growl sounded from somewhere amongst the strangers and your eyes met with the deep brown hues of a male near Rhysand.
He had been wrestled to his knees and stared at you briefly before turning his gaze to the King.
“Strip her.”
The words broke you from your daze and you looked to the King frantically. Before you could begin to protest Adler had released your arm and reached for the hem of your shirt.
“N- no…” You were choking on your words, violently thrashing against Adler’s hands. Without a moment of hesitation, he reared back and slapped you. Your ears rang from the impact and you stumbled backwards. Feyre gasped behind you and the guards that restrained Rhysand and his friend struggled as the males reeled.
Successfully stripping you bare, Adler shoved you onto your knees before the King. Warm tears slid down your cheeks and you raised your arms to cover your chest. Your nose was bleeding, and you focused on the crimson drops that fell to the floor, unable to bring your eyes to the fae before you.
“Why are you crying, girl? You should feel lucky to have received an opportunity such as this one.”
“Enough Hybern. She has no part in this, let her go.” Rhysand ground out. His words were met with the sound of bone cracking and the muted scream of his friend slowly bleeding out on the floor. Whoever it was held some weight in Rhysand’s life, enough so that his attempt to help you was not followed by any others.
Your blood was making constellations on the stone below you. It seeped into the cracks of the floor and began to pool. How hard had he hit you? In your bones you could feel the shock beginning to take hold. Your body had been tormented for months and sitting here, naked before the King of Hybern seemed to be its final straw.
Your gaze finally found the King’s and in it you found nothing but evil so intense it made your stomach hurt.
“Just fucking kill me already.” You ground out, anger was taking hold, or was this feeling acceptance? You had survived the mountain and had one? Two hours of freedom? Only to end up here, naked and shaking so violently you felt as though your head was going to fall off of your shoulders. How poetic would that be? To suffer the same fate as Adam had. The same fate your parents had.
The thought made you laugh.
Hybern raised a brow as he stared at you, bleeding and laughing, naked before him.
“Kill you?” He questioned. His gaze now held some sort of fucked up amusement, of course he enjoyed watching your descent into madness.
You dared to turn your head and gaze at those behind you. A red headed male who you had seen under the mountain was crouched beside Nesta and Elain, the former of the two had gained consciousness and was staring directly at you. There was a murderous rage building on her features, and it startled you so much that you returned your gaze to Hybern.
“I’m sick of these stupid fucking Faerie games. Kill. Me.” You had nothing left to say then. You gathered the blood that had pooled in your mouth and spit it directly onto Hybern’s feet. From his position beside the crowned male, Tamlin grimaced.
Hybern merely frowned and nodded his head. You were pulled to your feet by your hair and drug towards Nesta and Elain. The red-headed male beside them was drug backwards by a masked guard, as if he would intervene in whatever the fuck they were about to do to you.
And sitting there, dark and impending was a cauldron.
It was the size of a bathtub and hummed loudly as you approached. As you neared its edge the glint of swirling liquid caught your eye and you reeled.
You planted your heels into the ground and pushed backwards against Adler with every bit of remaining strength you had.
“You wanted death Beddor, here is your chance. From the looks of the wild cat on the floor you might beg the Gods that it does kill you.” Hybern called from his dias.
Another high fae came forward then and helped Adler lift your struggling form. You began to scream then. Your eyes found Feyre’s and she was sobbing. Rhysand looked as if he was being gutted alive as he watched her, and the kneeling male was staring at you with his mouth hanging open. He struggled against the fae holding him.
“Im so sorry.” Feyre repeated those words over and over as the fae holding you shoved you under, and then the whole world went dark.
-
You had never felt a pain like this. Not even the torture you had endured under the mountain had come close to this. You gasped violently and your lungs filled with liquid thicker than mud. There were hands holding you beneath the fluid and as much as you thrashed, they did not release you. They were everywhere, gripping, and pulling, and stroking. Every bone in your body was breaking and knitting back together, your skin felt as though it was peeling off, and all you wanted was to be able to fucking breathe.
You wondered if Clare had been this terrified while she bled to death on the floor of Amarantha’s throne room.
As the pain reached a pounding crescendo you hoped that wherever you went after this life, she and Adam would be waiting for you.
Suddenly, as though it had never begun the pain stopped and the hands lifted. The cauldron was being tipped over and you tumbled from it in a tidal wave of liquid and muck.
Nothing in your body worked, you lay there, eyes unnervingly opened wide and staring at the sky through the throne room’s glass roof. Stars dotted the night outside and twinkled faintly. There was no more pain.
There was nothing at all but you and those tiny stars millions of miles away that twinkled and danced in the night sky.
And then there was Feyre. She stood over you gasping and shaking. Without a word she grabbed your arm. Shaking it violently you realized then that she was calling to you, screaming your name.
“(y/n)! Please! Look at me!”
You began to cough violently, realizing then that you hadn’t been breathing only moments before. Liquid bubbled out of your mouth, Feyre rolled you onto your side and you emptied the slimy contents of your stomach and lungs onto the floor.
“Rhysand I can’t carry her… I can’t- we can’t leave her here.” Feyre was frantic. The red headed male had Elain in his arms and Nesta was staring daggers into his back. You had no clue where Hybern was or even the guards that had been surrounding the small group.
“I can.” It was the male who had been kneeling by Rhysand. He was standing now, and his wings drooped behind him. He looked like hell and when he made to walk towards you, he stumbled greatly.
“Azriel you can hardly hold yourself up-“
“I said I can get her.” He snapped. Feyre’s mouth formed a tight line and she nodded. You were scooped off the floor and cradled against Azriel’s chest.
Wind encased you suddenly and the throne room disappeared, in its place was a new room.
Whatever magic that had been used by Rhysand to get your small group here had nearly killed him it seemed. He collapsed to the opal floor and Feyre rushed to his side. Azriel fell to his knees, still cradling you close.
People were shouting and running back and forth frantically. The male with the shredded wings was being rushed out of the room by a small ebony haired woman and two larger men.
“Are you okay?”
Azriel implored, gently shaking you to grab your attention. You slowly turned your gaze to his and marveled at the color of his eyes, the glint of blood on his forehead, and the way his hair curled slightly. Everything seemed so much more detailed now.
“What happened to me?” You whispered. A stark laugh from nearby caught you off guard and you turned to see Nesta being wrapped in a towel by a wraith like fae.
“The same thing that happened to us. They changed you into one of them.” She ground out.
“I don’t understand.”
“What about it don’t you understand Beddor? You aren’t human anymore.”
----
TAGS:
@wanderer-by-heart
@marigold-morelli
@esposadomd
@blitz-fall
@a-little-disguised
@sevikas-whore
@judig92
@@we-were-beautiful
@willowkirk
@ariaaira
@paasrin
(If I am missing anyone please let me know!)
#azriel spymaster#azriel acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#Helion#sjmaas#azriel smut#batboys#ACOTAR#acofas#acomaf#acosf#rhysand x feyre#rhysand x reader#helion x reader#annwritesarchangel
156 notes
·
View notes
Text
Killing bow
I was rereading acowar and found another foreshadowing for Elain regarding King of Hybern
We all know foreshadowing about how Elain could bring kings to their knees.
But there is another foreshadowing.
But Nesta only asked, “Why not just kill the King of Hybern before he can act?” Utter silence. Amren said a bit softly, “If you want his killing blow, girl, it’s yours.” Nesta’s gaze drifted toward the open interior doors of the dining room. As if she could see all the way to Elain. “What happened to the human queens?”
Amren says if she wants King of Hybern’s killing bow it is Nesta’s but... Nesta’s eyes drift toward to door, as if she could see Elain.
And at the end Elain stepped out of a shadow to stab King of Hybern to save Nesta
Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”
Her foreshadowing is unmatched.
#elain archeron#Elain kingslayer Archeron#she has the best foreshadowing and nobody can convince me otherwise
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
Antis: Elriels are insulting Nesta by saying Elain had to dim her beauty, that’s fanon.
Meanwhile, canon:
“She’d [Elain] always been the most beautiful of us”
“Infinitely beautiful”
“Even wasted away by grief. . . Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees.”
“Devastatingly beautiful”
“Easily prettiest of the three”
The only one of the sisters who’s beauty has been acknowledged by every single member of the IC (Rhys and Amren included)
The only one who’s beauty was commented on by the villain of the og trilogy
The one who, even at her worst, was described as the most beautiful female, mate or not, that a centuries old well traveled high lord’s son had ever seen.
The one who the cauldron found “so lovely”
The one who even at 11 years old, Mama Archeron was planning to use her beauty to make an advantageous match.
The one whose beauty as a preteen intimidated a woman of marrying age.
The one whose beauty was a topic of conversation at the high lord’s meeting by none other than Eris Vanserra himself.
And then there’s that time that Feyre did actually dim Elain’s beauty when she went to the human lands:
Sounds a whole lot like what Cas described at the CoN.
Then there’s the obvious contrast between Elain and Nesta in their wardrobe choices.
Nesta: tiara of black stone and sapphire
Elain: combs of pearl
Nesta: skintight velvet bodice, barely there straps, neckline plunged to her navel with another sapphire
Elain: long sleeved and modest
Nesta: red lips and kohl lined eyes
Elain: no makeup mentioned
This seems rather significant after this comment made by Mor:
And after the CoN, Nesta describes Elain’s dress as “ill suited” which is synonymous with unflattering or unbecoming. It gives a bit of a different take than how Cas describes Elain, and puts the onus on the dress.
Another element of contrast we see between Nes and Elain is how they responded to Eris. When Elain tells the story of Nesta seducing the duke she says:
And isn’t it interesting how Nesta uses the same tactics on Eris while Elain does the opposite:
Admitting to what the text tells us over and over is not “insulting Nesta.” Canonically, all of the Archeron sisters are beautiful; however, Elain’s beauty outshines her sisters. These facts can and do co exist. Accusing real life people interpreting the text, provided for us, as being insulting to a fictional characters’ beauty feels a little bit like projection since it sounds like ya’ll want to downplay Elain’s.
And saying it’s “fanon” to logically assume that Elain purposefully wore something unflattering, per the obvious juxtaposition in the text between the two sisters is really rich coming from the side that believes Elain is snuggling at night with Luc/en’s jacket from ACOMAF.
#the dress#so tired of seeing the stupid takes about this#it has already been argued to death#but here I am 😬#Elriel#pro elriel#anti el*cien#antis said f*ck logic#anti gw/nriel#azriel x elain
139 notes
·
View notes
Text
Both Elain and Eris having no light and no joy:
Even wasted away by grief and despair, Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees. And yet there was no joy in it. No light. No life. (ACOWAR, Pg246)
And there he was, as if her thoughts had conjured him. Eris dressed as immaculately as Rhysand, not a strand of his long red hair out of place. But though Eris’s angular features were handsome, no light shone in his eyes. No joy. (ACOSF, Pg455)
I think I know someone who could help…
#lucien vanserra#elain needs her mate and eris needs his brother 🥺🥺🥺#parallels#elain archeron#eris vanserra#elucien#lucien and eris#elain and lucien#lucien and elain#elain x lucien#lucien acotar#lucien x elain#elain acotar#eris acotar#high lord eris#elain acosf#eris acosf#acosf#a court of silver flames#acowar#a court of wings and ruin#acosf thoughts#acotar ships
282 notes
·
View notes
Note
CBMTHY is quite literally my favorite thing right now, the past 3 parts you've posted I've hidden in the bathroom at work and read (sometimes twice) and I genuinely can't get enough. I love angst and your writing definitely fulfills that craving i have for it (please do more eventually).
You have such a realistic (delightful may i add) portrayal of azriel's not so good tendencies. i feel like he would push away someone who genuinely likes him away in favor of someone unobtainable. especially if she wasnt traditionally beautiful compared to someone like elain who could bring kings to their knees, nesta who is so effortlessly graceful and stoic, and feyre who is literally high lady and bagged not one, not two but THREE highlords (she could've had tarquin if she wanted lets be so forreal).
In comparison anyone would be plain, so reader being overlooked makes sense. And so az getting jealous that she of all people is getting attention from males after learning about her initial attraction to him is PERFECT. Because elain doesn't like him back, not with her having a mate and def not now that she knows her sister likes him. So azriel. to feel better about his rejected advances uses reader's affections to validate himself.
And don't even get me started on Eris 😭 this is the best writing for him ive seen. because hes an ass, he knows hes an ass. but with the way reader fought back against him after the swan incident you can practically FEEL that hes pleasantly surprised because who in their right mind is that unfiltered in front of a future highlord? and its only cemented with the conversation about the orrery. if he knew it bothered azriel on a personal level im sure he would do even more things for reader, (which id love to see), but i think that his gift in this most recent part is evidence enough that he respects her far more than az has in his entire time of knowing reader.
i definitely want to see azriel grovel, but i dont want her to accept it. she deserves to be respected by someone from day one. someone who can challenge her and match her energy, and i think that eris is that person long term. *maybe bas for short term ;) *
anyway, thank you so much if you read this. i look forward to reading your next part while hiding away at work
-a new reader 🤠
🥹🫂 well I really hope it continues to be as fulfilling as you’ve so far found it to be!
‘please do more eventually’
Going down a slightly more depressing path, I have found myself speculating about some other fic ideas that, quite frankly, I’m not sure they would even still count as angst? They seem to be leaning much more into general misery with no redemption? And I’m kind of liking it?
Returning to the whole idea of mental illness within the acotar universe, I’m wondering about self-esteem, too? Everyone in the Inner Circle has a “use” I guess? I’m wondering what it would be like to be surrounded by such powerful, capable people for two years and being the only one who has nothing to show for the time spent feeding off their charity.
Eris really scares me in terms of writing his character with a semblance of realism 😭
We haven’t really gotten a chance to see him being “nice” to anyone which makes me wary of a potential relationship between him and Reader? It’s a stressful like to walk, is what I’m saying, so I’m happy you’re finding it believable 🧡💛
‘if he knew it bothered azriel on a personal level im sure he would do even more things for reader’
Definitely agree with you there 🤭
‘i look forward to reading your next part while hiding away at work’
Well, I’ve been trying to get started on part 7 so hopefully you won’t have to wait too much longer (just make sure you don’t get caught🧡💛)
11 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sakura-iiro
𓄼 Sakuramatoi 2.0 𓄹
artbyellie
i'm both the killer & the final girl
liszterine-returns
new blog of tumblr user liszterine!
pyrrella
Ostrożnie..
catacartas
i.