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acourtofthought · 7 months

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242 Reasons Why Lucien is the GOAT of the ACOTAR Series

“I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

Lucien smirked. “Apologies, Feyre.”

I finally found Lucien astride a black gelding, grinning down at me with too-white teeth.

“I admire your balls, Feyre—I really do. Or maybe it’s stupidity

“A valiant effort,” Lucien said with a smirk.

Lucien snorted but didn’t say anything else

“I might die of surprise,” Lucien said behind me. “You made a joke, Feyre.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

Lucien remained sitting on the blanket and lifted the bottle of wine in salute. He took a slug from it as he sprawled on his back and gazed at the green canopy.

He sighed, looking skyward before he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus.

I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

“I didn’t keep my mouth shut when I should have, and was punished for it.”

“Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn’t. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day.”

He winced. “Shit, Feyre—I’m not that old.”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons.”

“Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

Lucien sighed as he looked me over. “Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?”. “Do you ever stop being such a prick?” I snapped back. But Lucien grinned at me. “Much better.”

The face of Tamlin’s emissary—more court-trained and calculating than I’d seen him yet.

In lieu of a pretty breakfast table by the window, a worn worktable dominated the space, covered in various weapons.

It was there he sat, wearing only a white shirt and trousers, his red hair unbound and gleaming like liquid fire. Tamlin’s court-trained emissary, but a warrior in his own right.

“I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border—official emissary business,” he said, setting down the hunting knife he’d been cleaning, a long, vicious blade.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, smiling with feline delight.

Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—

he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people.

Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment.

The metal eye narrowed on me while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

The look he gave me was more contemplative than any he’d given me before. “I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.”

He reached for something at his side and tossed it to me. I had to fight to stay in the saddle as I fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife. / I’d never held one so finely crafted, so perfectly balanced.

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin.

“Idiot!” he yelled at me, then glanced behind him toward where the other faeries stared. “Useless human fool.” Without further word, he slung me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of potatoes.

I found that he was running—fast. Faster than anything should be able to move.

I could have sworn that Lucien was sleeping upright, fork in hand.

Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.

“Faerie pig!” I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

Lucien, claiming that he had miserable emissary business to attend to,

Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t.

“I see,” I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it

He used the dagger to clean his nails. “I’ve been busy. So have you, I take it.”

Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. “She looks positively Fae.”

“Unfortunately for you and your neck,” Lucien countered, “tonight’s just a party.” “Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?” Lucien winked at me.

“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. “And dallying,” he added with a wicked grin.

“Remember the last time you ignored my warning?” He poked me in the neck, and I batted his hand away.

“I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself,” I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I’d had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick—enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool.

His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge.

“Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered,

“Idiot,” he said when he looked at my face. “Drunken idiot.”

I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said

Lucien lead me to the window, where he pushed me against the velvet drapes. / The tang of magic shoved itself up my nostrils. Though his sword was pointed at the floor, Lucien’s grip tightened on it until his knuckles turned white. Magic—a glamour. To conceal me, to make me a part of Lucien—invisible, hidden by the faerie’s magic and scent.

Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand. “Watch your filthy mouth.”

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us.

“You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leeched from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground.

Lucien stared him down for a moment, spat on the ground, and stormed up the stairs.

“Well, at least we don’t have to lie to you anymore. Let’s clean you up a bit.”

“Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me.

“Her name, Emissary?” Amarantha asked of Lucien. But Lucien only glanced at Tamlin before closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue.” Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self, into dust.

Then, shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

She listened, of course—but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

He unclasped his cloak and set it around my shoulders.

“It’s why I couldn’t come sooner,” he said, his throat bobbing. “She used her—used our powers to keep my back from healing. I haven’t been able to move until today.”

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

“Tam!” Lucien cried over the chaos. A sword hurtled through the air, a shooting star of steel.

Lucien hunted down five naga yesterday.”

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

Last week, I’d finally asked him if she’d set her sights on him, and Lucien had merely given me a look, snarling softly, before stalking off

the right hand of a High Lord and another High Lord’s son.

“I didn’t lie,” Lucien said tightly. “I technically did fall off my horse.” He patted his mount’s flank. “After one of them tackled me off her.”

I am the first one the others look to—I set the example.

“I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

“Please,” Lucien said, bowing his head gracefully. “The effort to rebuild is our burden to share. It would be our honor.”

He assured me that he hated the gatherings as much as I did, and that Lucien was the only one who really enjoyed himself,

Lucien intervened calmly, “I already have my sources looking into it.”

Lucien sighed a bit and said to Tamlin, “If we perhaps trained her in secret—”

Lucien muttered something that sounded like a plea to the Cauldron.

Lucien took a deep breath that sounded a lot like: “Here we go.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “She meant no harm, Tam.”/ Lucien held his gaze. “Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.”

Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless—

“How long have the claws been appearing?” he said softly. "There's only so much I can do,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll ask him tonight. About the training. The powers will manifest whether we train you or not, no matter who is around. I’ll ask him tonight,” he repeated.

They will hunt her, and kill her, Ianthe had hissed at Lucien. Lucien had growled back, They’ll do it anyway, so what’s the difference?

We are not assassins, Lucien had cut in. Rhys is what he is, but who would take his place—. Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading, Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance...

His red hair was tied back, and there wasn’t a hint of finery on him: just armored leather, swords, knives

Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this.”

“That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron.

Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

“She is no such thing,” she said, and shoved him again. Lucien didn’t move an inch.

Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place.

But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.

It was Lucien who answered, studying my painting as if it held the proof I knew he was searching for.

Lucien remained leaning against the door across from mine. His room. I didn’t doubt he’d ensured I now stayed across from him. Didn’t doubt that the metal eye he possessed was always turned toward my own chambers, even while he slept.

“She’s going to spin a story that you’ll want to hear,” Lucien warned. / Lucien halted me with a hand around my elbow. “You’re smarter than that.” I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” / “Tell me anyway. List all of them.”. “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.”

Lucien only nodded. But I felt his gaze on my back, fixed right on my spine, as I headed downstairs

Lucien answered, “If you expect our gratitude, you’ll be waiting a while, Ianthe.”

Lucien seemed to be trying very, very hard not to roll his eyes.

I could practically feel the snide remark simmering in Lucien.

“My emissary knows the wall as well as any sentry.”

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.”

I was fairly certain that only centuries of training kept Lucien from leaping over the table to rip out Jurian’s throat.

“The gap in the wall is right up here,” Lucien was saying, sounding about as thrilled as me to be in such company.

Brannagh studied how closely I stood to Lucien; how he shifted slightly to shield me, too.

Lucien sat against a nearby tree, folding one booted ankle over another. “Whatever you’re planning, it’ll land us knee-deep in shit.”

“I would have been a part of the human-Fae alliance.”

“I did it for you, too, you know.” Cold, hard words. “I went with him to get you back.”

But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

“This situation is terrible,” I said, and it was the truth. A low snort.

And despite Jurian, despite the sneering royals, a corner of Lucien’s mouth tugged upward.

I gave Lucien a subtle, pleading look, and he barely hid his smirk as he sauntered over to me. Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse.

Ever the courtier, he bowed back.

He flat-out refused to participate. I replaced him in the Rite, but …” I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court.

I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it. Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

I kept close to Lucien, who was inclined to indulge me.

Lucien answered on the second knock. “I heard you—what’s wrong.” He scanned me, russet eye wide as he noted my disheveled hair, my sweaty nightgown. / I swallowed, a silent question on my face, and he nodded, retreating into the room to let me inside. Bare from the waist up, he’d managed to haul on a pair of pants before opening the door, and hastily buttoned them as I strode past.

“What did you dream of tonight?” he asked quietly./ Lucien rose, stalking to me. / Lucien paused half a foot from me. He didn’t so much as object as I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm, bare chest. / Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back

His red hair gleamed in the faint firelight.

His silence was heavy—sad. I hated the lie, hated it for how filthy it felt to wield it. “I’m sorry,” he said

It’s why we avoid bargains unless it’s necessary: even the scholars at the Day Court don’t know how it works. Believe me, I’ve asked.” “For me—you asked them for me.”. “Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I—we didn’t want to give you false hope. And we didn’t dare let Rhysand get wind of what we were doing, in case he found a way to interfere. To stop it.”

“You didn’t stop him.” “I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.”

“Even if they’re now our allies,” I mumbled, “I still hate them.” A snort. “Me too.”

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”

Then at us, their eyes widening further as they noted Lucien’s cruel beauty.

Lucien stared him down. “We accept no tribute from the human lands. Least of all children.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, well aware that Lucien carefully watched from the shade of a nearby oak.

Lucien had gone to the stream to get more water

Lucien woke me the next morning with a hand over my mouth, warning gleaming in his russet eye. I smelled it a moment later: the coppery tang of blood. / Lucien slid from the tent, limbs loose and ready to shift into a defensive position. He’d been trained, he once told me—at the Autumn Court and at this one. Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien laid his own cloak across the remains of the two young women.

“They are our allies,” he growled at me, at Lucien, both of us seated in armchairs flanking the mantel. / “And you should have left it alone for me to deal with.” Tamlin heaved a jagged breath. “Not retaliated like children.” He threw a glare in Lucien’s direction. “I expected better from you.” / “You sent the Bogge after them!” Tamlin roared. /Lucien had tracked it down—and we’d lured it, carefully, over hours, back to that camp. Right to where Dagdan and Brannagh had been gloating over their kill. / Lucien cleared his throat. Stood as well. “Tam—those humans were barely more than children. Feyre gave the royals an order to stand down. They ignored it. If we let Hybern walk all over us, we stand to lose more than their alliance. The Bogge reminded them that we aren’t without our claws, too.”

He exploded. Furniture splintered and went flying, windows cracked and shattered. / My knees slammed into the carpeted floor, and Tamlin was instantly in front of me, hands shaking— The doors burst open. “What have you done,” Lucien breathed, and Tamlin’s face was the picture of devastation as Lucien shoved him aside. He let Lucien shove him aside and help me stand. / “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Lucien said, an arm around my shoulders as he eased me from the room.

the broad panes of his chest, his stomach.

But Lucien was there. Her focus wholly on me, on taking from me the beauty I’d burned from her, Brannagh did not see him winnow until it was too late. Until Lucien’s sword refracted the light of the sun leaking through the canopy. And then met flesh and bone.

“I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

“I know a place,” Lucien said, walking toward the cave that would take us to his home.

I let Lucien lead the way,

“It doesn’t lead anywhere. It curves away in the back—it’ll keep us out of sight.” I let him go inside first nonetheless.

Flint struck, and I found myself gazing at a makeshift camp of sorts. The candle Lucien had ignited sat on a natural stone ledge, and on the floor nearby lay three bedrolls and old blankets, crusted with leaves and cobwebs. A little fire pit lay in the sloped center of the space, the ceiling above it charred. No one had been here in months. Years. “I used to stay here while hunting. Before—I left,” he said,

“It’s too risky to eat,” I admitted, evading his question. Lucien was having none of it. “I knew. I knew you were lying the moment you unleashed that light in Hybern. My friend at the Dawn Court has the same power—her light is identical. And it does not do whatever horseshit you lied about it doing.”

His eye seemed to simmer. As if being in his own lands set that molten ore inside him rising to the surface, even with the damper on his power. “Glad to see the mask is off, at least.”

“You have the gall to question my priorities regarding Elain—yet what was your motive where I was concerned? Did you plan to spare me from your path of destruction because of any genuine friendship, or simply for fear of what it might do to her?”

His woods, by blood and law. He was a son of this forest, and here … He looked crafted from it. For it. Even that gold eye.

he waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands. He’d tied his hair up, a few strands of it falling into his face as he swooped down again and threw a second trout onto the sandy bank where I’d been trying to find a substitute for fishing twine. / Lucien picked them up by their tails, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He might very well have, right here in this stream. “I’ll clean them while you start the fire.” I

“As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.” He eased to his feet with a groan, his unbound hair glimmering as the midday sun overhead set the blood and wine hues aglow. “I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.” A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch.

he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket.

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.” “We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

he saw the sweat beading on my temple, my upper lip, as my blood heated. A slight bob of his chin was his only sign of understanding.

“Run,” I gasped out, but Lucien was already at my side, a steadying hand under my arm as I burned that flame hotter and hotter. It wouldn’t keep them contained for long, and I could indeed feel someone’s power rising to challenge mine. But there was another force to wield. Lucien understood the same moment I did. Sweat simmered on Lucien’s brow as a pulse of flame-licked power slammed into the stones just above us. Dust and debris rained down. I threw any trickle of magic into Lucien’s next blow. His next. / Lucien and I brought down the cave ceiling.

I’d been wearing my cloak, but … he’d indeed given me his. He shivered against the cold as we dragged and clawed our way up the mountain slope, and did not dare stop.

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly.

“And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

“You left us.” Us. Not Tamlin. Us. The words echoed into the dark,

"You fit into the Spring Court as little as I did, Lucien. You enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.”

“Run,” Lucien breathed. / “Faster,” Lucien ordered. “Don’t look!” he barked as I began to turn my head to see if they’d followed. He lashed out a hand to grip my elbow, steadying me before I could even register that I’d stumbled. / “Zag,” Lucien panted. “We need to—” He shoved me aside, and I staggered, arms wheeling. Just as an arrow ricocheted off the ice where I’d been standing. “Faster,” Lucien snapped, and I didn’t hesitate.

Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two.

I think Lucien shouted my name.

“Which one?” I asked carefully. Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. I almost pitied Lucien for the weight in her gaze, the utter judgment. The stare of the Morrigan—whose gift was pure truth. Whatever she beheld in Lucien was enough for her to say, “The town house. You have someone waiting there for you.”

Lucien survey our surroundings.

But their watchful silence was indication enough: let him decide his own fate. At last, Lucien looked at me. At us. He said, “There are children laughing in the streets.” I blinked. He said it with such … quiet surprise. As if he hadn’t heard the sound in a long, long time.

“I see you brought home a new pet,” she said, nose crinkling with distaste. / Before I could introduce him, Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply / Amren smiled slightly. “Already trained, I see.”

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians. The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death. The painting flashed into my mind.

Lucien only shifted on his feet. Wary. Considering. I counted the heartbeats, debating how much I’d interfere if he said something truly stupid, when he at last murmured, “There is a longer story to be told, it seems.” Smart answer.

Lucien weighed my offer—and the three males monitoring his every blink and breath. He only nodded. Another wise decision.

“And you love him. And he—he truly does love you.” Lucien dragged a hand through his red hair. “And all these people I have spent my centuries hating, even fearing … They are your family.”

And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

We were almost to the door, Cassian already in the hall, when Lucien said to me, “Thank you.” I didn’t dare ask him for what.

"set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn"

“What did you do with yourself this afternoon?” “Slept,” he said. “Washed. Sat on my ass.”

His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise.

Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them. He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien considered. “Can I offer my unsolicited advice?” / Lucien studied my mate, then me. “I assume Feyre is going.” / “Are you planning to hide her powers?” / Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.” / Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows—if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Rhys swirled his wine once, set it down, and said to Lucien, “You and Azriel should talk. Tomorrow.” Lucien glanced toward the shadowsinger—who only nodded at him. “I’m at your disposal.”

He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows, “After lunch, we’ll meet.

“You trust Lucien.” Rhys angled his head at the not-quite question. “I trust in the fact that we currently have possession of the one thing he wants above all else. And as long as that remains, he’ll try to stay on our good side. But if that changes … His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.”

“He’s not a bad person—he’s not evil.” “He certainly isn’t.”

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn’t yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough. Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

Azriel seemed like a decent enough male

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. This entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness.

An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug. Forced his hands to be steady while he poured himself a cup of tea and sat in the chair opposite Nesta’s vacated one. “There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing. He’d told the shadowsinger all he knew—of his surviving brothers, of his father. His mother … he’d kept some details, irrelevant and utterly personal, to himself. Everything else—his father’s closest allies, the most conniving courtiers and lords … He’d handed it over. Granted, it was dated by a few centuries, but in his time as emissary, from the information he’d gathered, not much had changed. They’d all acted the same Under the Mountain, anyway. And after what had happened with his brothers a few days ago … There was no tinge of guilt when he told Azriel what he knew. None of what he felt when he looked toward the south—toward both of the courts he’d called home.

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart. The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” / “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.” Then he walked away.

“Mother above,” Lucien said, dragging a hand through his hair.

Lucien had offered to make himself useful while we were gone by reading through some of the texts now piled on the tables throughout the sitting room.

But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

It wasn’t just about what he thought—it was the … feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing

Cassian had come off the roof at some point to join Lucien in the sitting room, the books from the wall spread on the low-lying table between them

It felt like days ago. I rested my head against the embroidered back of the chair and watched Lucien take a seat on the rolled arm of the nearest couch. “Long day?” I grunted my response.

He weighed my tone, and crossed his arms. “Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.” I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

Madja didn’t deign to answer Nesta until we were at the bottom of the steps. Lucien was already waiting in the sitting room, Mor still lingering in the dining room. Both of them rose to their feet.

Lucien muttered something about not needing to be monitored, and we all looked at him with raised brows. He just lifted his hands, claimed he wanted to freshen up, and headed down the hall.

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” “It—it was a tug. On the bond.” / Then Nesta was standing in the threshold. “What did you do.” The words were as sharp as a blade. Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

“And I got to Elain’s end of it when she ran off.” “Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

Lucien’s attention slid behind me, to the various letters on different styles and makes of paper. That golden eye narrowed. As Tamlin’s emissary, he no doubt recognized them. “Let me guess: they said yes, but picking the location is now going to be the headache.” Mor frowned. “Any suggestions?” Lucien tied back his hair with a strap of brown leather. “Do you have a map?”

Lucien had indeed given us an initial location, and several more when those were struck down. But that was to be expected, Lucien had said, as if he’d arranged such things countless times. Rhys had only nodded in agreement—and approval.

Especially since Lucien had left before breakfast for a library across the city to look up anything in regard to fixing the wall, a task I’d been more than willing to hand over. I might have felt guilty for never giving him a proper tour of Velaris, but … he seemed eager. More than eager—he seemed to be itching to head into the city on his own.

Lucien, stationed by the front window, turned from watching the street. Monitoring it. A sword and dagger hung from his belt. No humor, no warmth graced his face—only fierce, grim determination.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.” / “What makes you think you could find her?” Rhys asked. Not rudely, but—from a commander’s perspective. Sizing up the skills Lucien offered against the risks, the potential benefits. “This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others … can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” He offered me a grim smile. “I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said. “But I cannot sit here and do nothing. Those queens with their armies—there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can … bring help.” / “You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.” My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

Lucien had indeed been studying all those maps lately. Perhaps at the quiet behest of whatever force had guided us all. My mate added, “Thank you.” Lucien shrugged. And it was that gesture alone that made me say at last, “Are you sure?” He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions. “Yes. Let me help in whatever way I can.”

I asked Lucien, “When do you want to leave?” “Tomorrow.” I hadn’t heard him sound so assertive in … a long time. “I’ll prepare for the rest of today, and leave after breakfast tomorrow morning.” He added to Rhys, “If that works for you.”

Cassian had given him free rein yesterday afternoon to loot his personal cache of weapons, though my friend had been economical about which ones he’d selected. The blade, plus a short sword, plus an assortment of daggers. A quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow were tied to his pack.

“You know precisely where you want Rhys to take you?” I asked at last. Lucien nodded, glancing to where my mate now waited by the front door. He’d bring Lucien to the edge of the human continent—to wherever Lucien had decided would be the best landing spot. No farther, Azriel had insisted. His reports indicated it was too watched, too dangerous. Even for one of our own. Even for the most powerful High Lord in history.

“It was time,” Lucien said quietly, giving me a squeeze. “For me to do something.”

Rhys extended a hand to Lucien. Lucien studied it—then my mate’s face. I could nearly see all the hateful words they’d spoken. Dangling between them, between that outstretched hand and Lucien’s own. But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.

Their gazes locked and held. / Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

“I—heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after … what happened.” She still didn’t look at Tamlin, who remained silent and brooding. “I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you,” she added quickly to Rhysand, “because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I’d found a solution.” No wonder he’d been so eager to head alone into Velaris that day he’d gone to help us research. I shot a look at Rhys. Seems like Lucien can still play the fox. Rhys didn’t look at me, though his lips twitched as he replied, Indeed.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him. His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir.

“Lucien,” I breathed. “Who?” Drakon’s brows narrowed. “Oh, the male with the eye. No. He met up with them later on—told them where to go. To come now, actually. So pushy, you Prythian males.

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips. But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, “I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

“I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you,” he said, squeezing me tightly. “And don’t be surprised if Vassa corners you as soon as the ships are sorted. And the sun sets.” “Is she really—” “Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” / “The human queens are still out there,” I said. Maybe I’d hunt them down. “Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.” “You sound like an acolyte.” Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.” I nudged him in the ribs. But Lucien again looked at that singed grass, and his blood-splattered face turned solemn. “He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

I said to him, “So where now? Off with Vassa?” I wondered if he’d heard of Tamlin’s role—the help he’d given us. A look at my friend showed me he had. Someone, perhaps my mate, had informed him. Lucien shrugged. “First—here. To help. Then …” Another glance at Elain. “Who knows?” I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.” He saw all of it, but nodded graciously. “It would be my pleasure.”

Tamlin just shook his head, loathing simmering in his green eyes, and walked past. Not a word. I looked at Lucien in time to see the guilt, the devastation, flicker in that russet eye.

But Lucien remained standing with us as Tamlin found his place in the sitting room to our right. Did not glance at his friend even once. Lucien wasn’t foolish enough to beg for forgiveness.

I didn’t dare look through the ruined doorway to where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side

Lucien had remained behind to help with any of the human wounded still needing Fae healing

Another tidbit that Lucien had told us.

Send Lucien then. As our human emissary.

"Where's our dear friend Lucien?" "Off hunting for dinner."

"You brought presents". "It's Solstice tradition here, but isn't it?"

An uncontrollable instinct - for a male to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair

Somehow in living with Jurian and Vassa in the manor, he'd run into Elain's former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

The corded muscle of his forearm shifted beneath the fine silk of his sapphire jacket.

"He is a good male", I repeated.

He raised his fist to the door, but the wooden slab pulled away before he could touch it. Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared, his golden eye whirring. “I thought I sensed someone else arriving.”

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

“Easy,” Lucien said. Cassian snarled. “Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten—

“No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. “We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

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sarahsoba · 11 months

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Lucien=Jesus

#acotar #acotar fanart #acotarfandom #acourtofthornsandroses #a court of thorns and roses #fanart #digital art #art #bookstagram #booktok #lucien vanserra #lucien spell cleaver #lucienweek2023

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artinelysian · 7 months

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I had so much fun doing this piece of my favourite fox for Lucien Week!

I tried out a different art process, new art style, and I’ve been trying my best to improve my anatomy! Overall super happy with how this turned out!

Total time: 2 hr 25 min

@lucienweekofficial

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #pro lucien #lucien vanserra fanart #lucien vanserra art #lucien week 2023 #lucienweek2023 #digital art #procreate #acotar art #digital illustration #digital painting #artist illustration #acotar #acotar fanart #artist #a court of thorns and roses #sjmaas

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positivewitch · 7 months

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Elain x Lucien

@lucienweekofficial Day 6 - Romance

@positivewitch

#she is playing with his hair #well if i was her I would play with his hair 👀✨#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #keeping up with the vanserras #lucien acotar #elucien fanart #acotar #acotar fanart #ella art ✨#lucien week 2023 #lucien week #lucienweek2023

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areyoudreaminof · 7 months

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A Symphony of Crickets

Late at night, Lucien talks with his infant daughter and reflects on his newfound family. @lucienweekofficial Day 5: Family

“Bah! Bah bah bah!”

Resting on his upturned knees, the fat, red headed baby stared back at Lucien with the same russet eyes he had.

His daughter.

“Bah awah!” She squealed, her eyes wide, her fat little legs kicking every which way.

“It’s too late for that little cricket! We need to sleep.” he laughed, kissing her small, chubby fists.

The clock had just struck midnight, Elain had dozed off next to him in their bed after nursing their daughter. But the little girl didn’t want to sleep, oh no, she took after her grandfather in that respect. She refused to sleep at night, she wanted to play and talk. She chirped and babbled like a cricket as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. So, in the dim Fae lights, listening to the soft nocturnal noise outside, Lucien talked with his daughter.

“Did you have fun with Uncle Eris today, little cricket? He brought you more toys than you need.” he laughed softly as she squealed in agreement.

Six months had flown by, she was happy and lively and Lucien couldn’t believe he had helped make her, that she was a part of him. Her skin was golden and soft, red hair sat on her head in a thicket of curls. His own russet eyes stared back at him, rimmed with thick brown lashes but she had Elain’s nose and rosebud lips. She even had the same dimples on both cheeks. The healers said she’d be petite like her mother. Beneath her new baby sent, she smelled of honeysuckles and fresh grass, something so uniquely her.

They had not expected a child so quickly, certainly not after Koschei and the lake, and not after finding out that Helion was his true father and being declared as the heir to the Day Court. Elain and Lucien had been thrust from one change to another in such rapid succession that it felt like a dream, half expecting they’d wake up back at the manor again. They’d only accepted their bond a few months before they faced Koschei and they had just been happy to survive that ordeal. They had never expected all of this.

He and Elain had expressed their fears to each other throughout the entire pregnancy. Elain did not want to be as neglectful and cold as her own mother, and Lucien’s blood ran cold thinking of how Beron treated him. Would he have had this fear if he had been raised by Helion? He knew he would never, could never treat any child like Beron had treated him, but the fear still whispered in his ear late at night, on the edge of sleep.

Then, on a warm spring morning, she was born, screaming and healthy. Her arrival came with the dawn, the sun's rays seeming to stretch just for her. The world stopped as the healer placed his daughter in his arms for the first time. Another golden thread wrapped around his heart, a thread old and ancient. In that moment, Lucien knew he would be, that he was better than Beron. He could be the father he always wanted and he would never, ever let his daughter feel unloved for a moment. He and Elain had done a very good job of it so far, he thought. Despite her fears, Elain took to motherhood as easy as breathing. And Lucien felt so much peace and love amidst the sleepless nights. He had a family. A mate and a child, he had a father that claimed him, and his mother was here. He even had his eldest brother again.

In a strange way, his daughter had brought them all together.

Helion had sobbed when he held her for the first time. The High Lord of Day, his father, had expressed his own regret and loss for not knowing of Lucien’s true connection to him, but the beginning of their relationship was awkward as his son was now a grown male. But Helion swore he would not miss a moment for his granddaughter. He had wanted to throw the biggest party the Day Court had ever seen, but Lucien and Elain declined, simply wanting their daughter to be with her grandfather, without the pomp and circumstance.

No, Feyre, Rhys and the entire Inner Circle had brought their own pomp and circumstance for their new niece and cousin. Nyx refused to let anyone else hold the baby when he was around. “She’s my baby!” The toddler had hissed at anyone who walked by. Feyre and Nesta bawled and bickered over her, while Cassian swooped in and stole the little bundle from their arms at random. And Rhys, the High Lord of the Night Court, had spared no expense at providing his new niece with the most elaborate cradle of pine, carved with foxes chasing the sun. Mor had supplied a very frilly and pink wardrobe for the first year. “Oh, a little girl!” She had sighed, as she clapped her red lacquered nails together. Even Azriel had come, presenting a small, soft floral blanket with little rabbits and foxes running through the stems.

Jurian and Vassa, far off as Queen and General Regent of Scythia could not come, due to Vassa being far into her own pregnancy, but they wrote and promised to see each other again as soon as they were able. Lucien missed his old Band of Exiles, and he and Elain were desperate to meet their son, Altan and introduce their daughter to her human family.

Eris came alone when she was a week old. He left his new High Lord duties behind at the Forest House. Lucien had not seen him since the lake, when Eris struck down Beron in the throws of that final bloody battle at dawn. His stoic and cold older brother wept silently when the little babe opened her eyes and curled her small hand around his pale finger. “He lost Lucien,” Eris had said as he stared into her open eyes, “He doesn’t get her. He doesn’t get us anymore. He will never corrupt her.” Eris had come every week since, just to hold her, talk to her, and now as she grew, play with her. Today, he had walked her around the gardens, “I had a very terrible meeting with the courtiers today, dearest.” Lucien had heard him say to the baby, as she cooed and babbled in sympathy. He had officially announced her birth at court, giving his daughter full Autumn citizenship, much to everyone’s shock.

But it was when he presented the baby to his mother, placing her first grandchild in her arms and telling her he and Elain had named the babe for the sister she had lost so long ago, Mathilde, that Lucien felt the weight of the world off his shoulders. His mother’s face, closed off for so long, opened in a way Lucien had never seen. Lucien could not recall his mother smiling in quite the same way before. “She is perfect.” His mother had whispered, “Just perfect.” Now, his mother officially lived at the palace, finally able to accept her bond with Helion, living the peaceful life she had always deserved.

Next to him, Elain stirred. “Is she still awake?” she asked sluggishly, “She can’t still be hungry.”

“No, our little cricket was just telling me all about the Autumn Court secrets Uncle Eris shared with her.” Lucien said as he tickled her fat little tummy, delighting in the deep belly laugh she unleashed.

“Cricket, huh? I really like that.” Elain mused as she snuggled closer into Lucien, and swept back Mathilde’s curls. “It suits her.”

“Are you Cricket then, my darling?” Lucien asked. The baby babbled in a reply, “Well, I think that settles it. Now, if you can say Papa, we can sleep!” Lucien wanted to be Papa, not Father, a title so stiff and formal. Likewise Elain preferred Mama, and they had taken bets of who would get that first word.

“Hmmm, you keep telling yourself that, Lucien. Ma-Ma.” Elain said, emphasizing the m as Cricket stared at her with a wide eyed expression. Lucien grasped her chubby legs, getting her attention. “Pa-Pa, Cricket! Pa-Pa.”

“Pah-bah!”

His heart stopped at first, then rapidly began to beat. He heard Elain gasp, before he heard it again.

“Pah-bah! Pah-bah!” Cricket sang as she smiled and waved her limbs around. “Pah-bah!”

Lucien felt the tears stream down his cheeks before he registered he was crying. Sweeping his daughter up, he and Elain kissed her over and over again. Defeating a death god, escaping his brothers, being thrown out of home and land, Lucien forgot it all. No old guilt and anxiety festered deep in the corners of his thoughts. No memories sought to poison his happiness. No, it was pure joy Lucien felt the moment he heard his daughter say Papa with recognition and delight in her eyes.

Lucien only knew he was here with his mate, who loved him, and his daughter who knew him.

His Elain and his little Cricket.

Taglist: @xtaketwox @wilde-knight @bellatrixship @carmasi @conebrain @corcracrow @damedechance @exinewine @foundress0fnothing @goddess-aelin @gaeleria @itsthedoodle @kataravimes-of-the-shire @krem-does-stuff @kingofsummer93 @lidiacervos @lucienarcheron @labellefleur-sauvage @lovingelucien @melting-houses-of-gold @mossytrashcan @octobers-veryown @popjunkie42-blog @panicatthenightcourt @reverie-tales @rosanna-writer @spell-cleavers @starsreminisce @separatist-apologist @thesistersarcheron @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @ultadverb @vulpes-fennec @velidewrites @fieldofdaisiies @c-e-d-dreamer @asnowfern @sanfangirl @secret-third-thing @witch-and-her-witcher @iftheshoef1tz @talons-and-teeth

#how cricket got her nickname #lucienweek2023 #Lucien #Elucien

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copypastus · 7 months

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@lucienweekofficial Day 5 - Family

I wanted to do different families Lucien had over the years. So we have: 1. Baby Lucien with his mom 2. Lucien with Jesminda 3. Lucien with Tamlin 4. Lucien with his Band of Exiles

#my art #acotar #acotar fanart #lucien vanserra #lucienweek2023 #lady of the autumn court #jesminda #acotar jesminda #tamlin #jurian #vassa #jurian acotar #vassa acotar #it's all fun and games until you remember he lost 3/4 of those families #i'm glad he has his friends now #lucien deserves to be with people who like him and want to be around him #happieness for lucien 2023

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octobers-veryown · 7 months

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LUCIEN VANSERRA

People hate me and they love me at the same time.

I guess I'm everything and nothing at the same time.

@lucienweekofficial 🤎

#lucienweek2023 #day 7: free day #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #acotar #lucien vanserra edit #acotar moodboard #acotar edit

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fieldofdaisiies · 7 months

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𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝟔: 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

love languages of Elain and Lucien for @lucienweekofficial🧡 dedicating this to @the-lonelybarricade for her birthday🧡 warning, nsfw content

• ──────────────────── •

"I am home, El—"

The middle Archeron sister is already running to the door, to her mate, then bounces on her toes, her arms wrapping around Lucien's neck, and she kisses his cheek.

With a happy sigh slipping through his lips, Lucien wraps both his arms, also the one holding the huge bouquet, around his mate.

Lucien rests his head onto top of hers when Elain snuggles against his chest, inhaling his scent — woodsy, like the earth after the first rain, and sun-kissed skin with a hint of a musky undertone.

"I missed you," Elain whispers into the fabric of his shirt.

Lucien releases a long exhale, his whole body vidibly relaxing now that he is in his mate's arms. "I am sure I missed you more, dove."

Elain giggles, tips her head back and looks up at him through furrowed brows. "Not possible, because I missed you so tremendously much."

A beautiful grin spreads over Lucien's face, one eye of russet and one of metal sparkling brightly. "And still I missed you more."

"You are impossible, my lord." Elain steps away from the embrace, immediately feeling a little cooler now that she is no longer in her mate's arms. "We need to eat, I made your favourite meal and—" She blabbers but soon cuts herself of when her eyes fall onto the huge bouquet in Lucien's hand.

Her eyes widen and she reaches her hands forward, a surprised smile parting her lips. She is still not used to Lucien's kindness, his thoughtfulness. Not once does he come home without anything he brought for her. But still, she somehow hasn't got used to it, and is surprised and absolutely happy every time. "For me?" she asks in a breathy voice.

"No, for Cassian, you know how much he loves the pollen."

"Impossible!" Elain shakes her head, grinning as she takes the bouquet from Lucien's hand and inhales the scents of the various flowers. She hums as she closes her eyes. "I love it. Thank you so much."

It is a big bouquet - a bunch of colourful flowers woven together, all perfectly fitting the other flowers and Elain wonders if Lucien bought if for her or picked the flowers himself.

"Did you…?" she raises a brow and a sheepish smile plays on her lips.

Lucien moves closer to her, threading his fingers through hers, and brings her hand up to his lips. "Did I…?" he drawls and kisses her knuckles, his soft lips brushing her skin, but making heat flood through her entire being. It has been too long without her mate, her whole entire being craves him.

"Make it myself?" he finally finishes his sentence, still holding her hand.

Elain nods.

"I did. Picked the flowers before I got on board of the ship back here."

Elain's smile turns even more radiant and she wiggles her whole body out of happiness. "Gods, I love you so much!"

Leaning down, Lucien's answer is to kiss her, their lips melding, meeting in a soft yet passionate kiss. Finally their souls are reunited, their hearts once again beating in the same, steady rhythm.

But Elain's heart beat doesn't stay steady for all too long, the more Lucien deepens the kiss, the faster her heart beats, her knees turning a little wobbly. And as she gives fully in to the kiss, the hand that does not hold the bouquet sliding up Lucien's chest, she feels damp heat slick between her thighs. She knows Lucien can scent her arousal, but she doesn't care. Actually, she finds it amazing — he should know how much she missed him.

Their lips part, but neither of them opens their eyes immediately. Lucien leans his forehead against Elain's, bending slightly at the waist so it works.

His hands are on Elain's hips, holding her close.

"There was not a single moment I did not think about you during my time away." "I always thought about you too, Lucien. Night and day."

Lucien sighs, a happy and relieved sound, his warm breath tingling Elain's skin. The fire burning in the fire place creates a warm atmosphere in the living room. Neither of them makes a move to step away from the other, revelling in the closeness of the other's body, the warmth, the other's scent. The only sound that interrupts their peaceful solitude is the grumbling of Lucien's stomach, that signals Elain that her mate is close to starving.

"Food!" she expresses, "I nearly forgot now. I made your favourite meals, come on."

She tugs at Lucien's hand, pulling him after her into the kitchen where she already set the table. There are many pots and pans on the oven, and also quite a few bowls on the table.

"I made bread, your favourite one, the rosemary one. And roasted meat and roasted veggies, and for later on your favourite apple pie, with some extra apple sauce. And I got some good wine, Mor suggested it to me. I hope you enjoy it."

"As if there could ever be a meal of yours I would not enjoy, dove." He shakes his head and laughs at the blush that graces Elain's cheeks.

But then she remembers the bouquet in her hands — Lucien's appearance always just makes her forget about everything. It is like he eliminates every other thought and there is just him on her mind anymore.

Elain swirls around, hastily running through the kitchen, in search of a vase for the bouquet. Lucien comes up to her, already knowing she can't reach up to the top shelf.

The Vanserra male chuckles lowly when he sees her attempt to reach up, getting on her tiptoes, and stretching her arms high up in the air.

His front touches her back when Lucien closes the distance between them, reaches up to shelf from behind her, not even having to try hard to grab the vase. "My lovely little mate," he drawls and hands her the vase.

"I guess I am just hopeless without you."

"You are not, only when it comes to the top shelves."

Lucien grins, but quickly lifts his hand when he sees the challenge in his mate's eyes. "And no, I don't ever again want you climbing onto the counter and then grab things from the shelf. Remember what happened the other day, where you practically fell into my arms and nearly broke every single bone in your body." Lucien raises a warning brow, but Elain can only laugh.

"Maybe I just like to be in your arms," Elain muses, smiling smugly and finally putting the flowers into the vase she filled with water.

"Of course you do, my lady."

With a little difficulty as the table is crammed with food and plates, Elain finds a place for the vase amongst all the dishes, and then they are ready to eat.

Lucien immediately dives in, savouring every bit of the delicious meals his mate has cooked for him. At some point throughout the dinner he reaches out, grabbing the hand Elain is not using to hold her fork. He just holds her hand in his and that is it. But he wants to feel her, wants it so he knows she is here, here in his life. Here with him. His mate, the love of his life, and all he could have ever hoped for.

"So, how was the trip?" Elain asks.

Lucien strokes his thumb over the back of her hand, and for a moment her eyes move there. She smiles to herself and waits for Lucien to tell her about the trip.

"Where do I start?" He ponders for a moment and the begins to tell her about the storm that was raging when he set out for the continent. For a split second, Elain stops eating, eyes widening about the imminent danger Lucien had been in. But thank the Cauldron, everything turned out good. "Then we arrived there, and I was immediately picked up by some court officials. The room I got at the kingdom was really nice, you would have liked it, it overlooked the palace gardens. "

He smiles and then shoves another piece of meat into his mouth. "The talks were just about business, nothing special and unfortunately also nothing too interesting or new. I collected some information I will give to Rhys and my brother tomorrow."

Elain nods, also scooping up a piece of meat.

"How was it here? Anything special happened?" Elain meets his gaze for a second, and slowly shakes her head. "Not much except for the usual chaos."

Lucien has to laugh at that, the sound so warm and rich it brushes Elain's skin like a soft cloth.

Elain tells him a little about what has been going on with Nyx, as he and Feyre came over the previous day and spent a day with Elain. She tells her mate about how he already talks a little, and how they played together. Lucien listens, hand never letting go off Elain's.

When done with dinner, they clean up together, do the dishes and then tidy the kitchen.

Lucien leans against the counter and takes Elain's hands into his, bringing her close to him.

"What do you think of a bath, my lovely lady?"

Elain's eyes sparkle in anticipation, and she nods eagerly. "I would love that."

Steam rises from bathtub, that already magically filled with water. Lucien and Elain add some oils and rose petals, finishing up the wonderful bath, ready for them to climb in.

"What you like to undress me, my lord?" Elain grins up at her mate, mischief sparkling in her doe eyes. Lucien's eyes dip to her cleavage for a second, and he knows she put this damnable dress on just for him. It accentuates every curve of her wonderful body, fits her like a second skin, and makes her whole being glow.

"Nothing I would rather do," Lucien hums, fingers already finding their place on the laces in the front of the dress. With some quick and coordinated movements the laces are loose and he can slowly start to undress his beautiful mate. "While I was away I was thinking about doing this more than is healthy."

Elain giggles. "Did you?" she teases, leaning in a little. Lucien does as well, fingers opening the front of the dress when his lips touch Elain's ear.

"Especially at night." He kisses her ear, loving how she shudders a little.

His own passion and desire are just as acute as hers. His cock almost painful strains against his breeches and he can't wait for her to undress him.

The bodice of the dress loosens, and Lucien careful shoves each strap down Elain's delicate shoulders, until the dress pools at her hips. Lucien sneaks his hands around her waist, bringing her in for a short kiss.

"You are so beautiful," he hums, nose brushing hers. Elain's smile is radiant, and lights up the whole room. His hands move lower, and he pulls the dress down until it falls to the floor, pooling around Elain's feet. Her undergarments are gone with the next movement, and finally he can cup her rear in his broad hands. "I was also thinking about this more than is healthy." "My butt?" Elain chuckles, softly kissing her mate's neck.

"Yes, your butt, my lady."

Her joyful laughter fills the whole room, and Lucien once again is reminded that this sound is his most favourite in the whole entire world — more beautiful than any melody musicians could create.

The Vanserra male steps away a little, opening his arms wide, a full toothy grin on his lips. "Your turn."

Excitement is etched upon her features, and Elain quickly closes the distance between them once again. She pulls on the laces of his shirt, opening them up slowly, until inch by inch of Lucien's marvellous chest is revealed to her. His chest is a sculpted masterpiece, with well-defined muscles that seem to ripple beneath his bronze, sun-kissed skin.

Elain leans in, trailing kisses down from his pectoral to his navel, the soft vibrations of her giggle making goosebumps appear on Lucien's skin.

He shrugs the shirt of, and a low groan escapes his lips when Elain finally curls her fingers around the edge of his breeches, slowly pulling them down Lucien's strong thighs. She bites down on her lip when his obvious excitement springs free, hard and proud.

"Someone's eager," she quips and tips her head back to meet Lucien's.

"Says my lovely mate whose arousal I have been able to scent since the first moment I stepped into our home this evening."

Elain fights the urge to roll her eyes, and rather closes the distance between them, kissing him with all the hunger and passion she is feeling in this moment.

Lucien's hands once again move to her rear, and without any conversation needed, Elain jumps and he cradles her in his arms, her legs curling around his waist.

The strong Vanserra male carries her to the bath, slowly sinking into the delicate, hot liquid. A moan parts Elain's lips, accompanying Lucien's sigh when the liquid embraces them.

Their bodies meld as they continue to kiss, Elain's hands buried in Lucien's hair, his hands on her waist, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance.

Lucien's tongue carefully parts her lips, sweeping in, brushes against her gums and then meets hers with every stroke.

Elain, one hand still in her mate's hair, the other braced on his shoulder, pushes up a little, and then lets herself sink down on his hard dick, until he slid into the hilt.

She breaks the kiss, her head lolling back, eyes rolling back in her head, and a low moan escapes her.

"Gods!" she expresses, already drunk on love and passion.

Lucien's grip on her hips tighten as he slowly begins to move her on top of him. "Ride me, my lady."

Elain rolls her hips against his, leaning in once again so their mouths meet in another searing kiss. She increases her pace, his cock stretching her out so blissfully good, she soon finds herself entering a delirious state where there is nothing but Lucien etched into every fibre of her being.

"Yes," she cries out, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Lucien's jaw. "Right there."

Water splashes against the tub walls and over them, some petals flowing out as well, but magic will clean that up easily. She rocks against him, a little harder and faster now, and Lucien's meets each roll of her hips with a coordinated thrust, that touches the oh so damnable good spot inside of her.

Lucien feels how Elain squeezes his cock, growing closer to her climax. He knows she is close, also feels this through the bond. His own height is nearing as well, gathering in his spine.

"Let go," he whispers, "Come for me, my lovely mate."

And Elain does, not having to be told twice. She lets go, falling over the edge with a cry of pure pleasure, her eyes rolling back in her head, her back arching, chest pressing against Lucien's. Soon she feels his hot seed fill her, his cock throbbing. He came with a shout, finger tips digging into Elain's soft skin. "Every damn time," Lucien rasps and claims her mouth in another kiss.

"Every damn time, I just want you more. I just desire you more. I just love you more."

He kisses her swollen lips. "My wonderful mate."

~~~~~~~ @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#elucien #elain x lucien #lucien vanserra #lucienweek2023 #lucienweek #acotar #acosf

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c-e-d-dreamer · 7 months

Text

Home Is Where Your Heart Is Set In Stone

A/N: Happy @lucienweekofficial, lovelies! Lucien certainly wears plenty of masks, but what about a mask of stone? ;) Our favorite foxy boi is next up for my Gargoyles series, and I hope everyone enjoys! You don't need to have read Gargoyle Cassian to understand, but it can make it more fun. Also, this fic is especially dedicated to @separatist-apologist! Happy birthday-eve! What better way to celebrate and to honor you than with monster Lucien 😇 Warnings for smut and monster-fucking and all that jazz :)

Read on AO3

As the elevator doors close, Elain slumps back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment and letting out a quiet sigh. Despite only riding the elevator up to the eighth floor, she briefly considers sliding down to sit on the floor, wonders if anyone would judge her for it. They shouldn’t. It was a long day at the bakery today, and her feet ache.

All Elain can think about is kicking off her shoes and collapsing onto the sofa. Maybe Nesta will be okay with her locking herself away in the bathroom and taking a long, soothing bath. Maybe they can break out a bottle of wine and watch some silly comedy that Elain will only have to half pay attention to and will take her mind off of the big mother-baby group in need of mid-walk treats, off the father who needed extra last minute cupcakes for a birthday party, off the women who needed almost one of everything for a brunch.

The elevator doors ding and slide open, and Elain heaves herself out and into the hall. Thankfully, it’s just a few steps down the hall before she reaches the apartment door, but Elain has to think for a moment about which key is the correct one for the apartment door and which is for the apartment complex entrance. Is it the key on the right? No. The key on the left?

Elain tries the key on the left of the keychain Nesta had given her, but while it slides in, the lock doesn’t turn. With a frustrated huff, she yanks the key back out. Just her luck, it seems, after the day she’s had. She adjusts her grip to switch to the key on the right when a sound from inside the apartment has her pausing. A giggle. Elain is confident that the last time she ever heard her older sister giggle was when they were both still girls, but there’s no mistaking the sound, nor the low, deep chuckle that follows.

Taking a deep breath and settling her expression into cool neutrality, Elain slides the correct key into the lock and opens the door. Nesta is perched on her kitchen counter, Cassian standing cradled between her thighs and leaning against his hands either side of her hip. The sound of the door has Nesta snapping her attention toward Elain, has her tugging the collar of her tee–or more likely, Cassian’s tee judging by the size–back up and over her shoulder.

“Hey, Elain,” Nesta greets easily, offering a small if not slightly embarrassed smile. “How was the bakery today?”

“It was fine,” Elain dismisses with a shrug, going over to where her bags live and crouching down to root through them aimlessly.

With her back turned, Elain is able to relax her face. She doesn’t have to worry about hiding her pinched lips and cool expression. It’s not that she isn’t happy for Nesta. She is, truly. Even if she’s still not fully sure where Cassian even came from, her sister’s boyfriend seeming to pop up one day and the two of them suddenly in love despite Nesta never mentioning him. Ever. But, it’s clear that her sister is happy, clear that Cassian loves her and respects her, clear that he’s exponentially better than Tomas Mandray ever was. But every time Elain sees the way Cassian looks at Nesta, sees the soft adoration shining in his eyes, it has her heart squeezing painfully between her ribs.

Graysen never looked at her like that.

Perhaps that should have clued her in sooner, should have been a sign of the messy end that was to come. She had just been so sure that Graysen was the one for her, that he was her true love, her soulmate, just like the princess books she read when she was little. But clearly that was an absurd notion, and all that love she held for him only led to her being blind. It only led to her coming home to their apartment and finding Graysen in their bed with his secretary.

The memories rushing back to the forefront of her mind has rage flaring back to life within her. It burns hot on the back of her tongue, sends sparks of red skittering through her veins, and Elain clenches her fists around the fabric in her hands. Fuck Graysen. Fuck him for disrespecting her like that. Fuck him for throwing away everything they had. Fuck him for having the nerve to kick her out of their apartment after what he did.

“Cassian made lasagna for dinner,” Nesta continues, unaware of Elain's tumbling thoughts.

“That’s alright. I have plans with Vassa,” Elain tells her, pulling out a simple sundress from her bag. “Just came back to change first.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Elain scurries off to the bathroom. Her sister doesn’t need to know that it’s a lie, doesn’t need to know that she has zero interest in being an awkward third wheel. Again. As grateful as she is for Nesta allowing her to crash on her sofa until Elain figures out her own place, spending every night watching her sister and her boyfriend make obvious heart eyes that often lead to obvious heated stares at each other is not exactly Elain’s idea of fun.

Which is why Elain keeps up the pretense of plans with her best friend as she washes the flour from her hair and makes sure the strands fall in soft curls around her shoulders. Why she keeps up the pretense and changes into the sundress she grabbed. Why she keeps up the pretense and waves goodbye to Nesta and Cassian and walks right out the apartment even though she has nowhere to actually go.

The door closes with a soft snick behind Elain, and she lets out a quiet sigh. Now, she just needs actual evening plans. She supposes she could try one of the local bars down the road, but she doesn’t have an interest in listening to cheesy pick-up lines all night. She could text Vassa, maybe give some credibility to her lie, but then she’d just be trading in one third wheeling evening for another.

As Elain continues to contemplate her options, she hears the distinct ding of the elevator doors opening. Not wanting to be caught awkwardly in the hall by one of Nesta’s neighbors, Elain rushes away and pushes open the door to the stairwell, hiding out of sight. She presses her back against the wall and holds her breath, listening and waiting for any sounds out in the hallway. Voices coming from the stairwell just a floor below her have Elain scrambling up the stairs. She rushes up and up until the regular stairs end, until she reaches some sort of winding, rickety looking set of stairs.

Elain had almost forgotten that the apartment complex has roof access. She knew that Nesta was fond of spending time up there. Perhaps the roof could offer Elain the same escape. Testing the first step to make sure it’s actually steady and secure, Elain pads her way up to the large, metal door at the top. It takes a bit of force to get it to open, Elain having to practically throw her entire weight into it, but with a creak of the hinges, the door gives way, and she steps out into the evening air.

A quiet gasp tears its way free from Elain as she takes in her surroundings, the view. The city stretches out all around her, but it’s the sky that truly captures her attention. Streaks of pinks and purples through the clouds, the whole sky a golden orange hue as the sun sets. Elain’s feet are carrying her closer before she knows it, leaning against the western ledge to get a better look.

She reaches for her phone to take a photo, her arm brushing against something cold and hard. Elain looks to her left only to come face to face with a large gargoyle. She almost falls back on her ass as she jumps back and away in alarm. She’s not sure how she didn’t notice the gargoyle before. How she didn’t notice any of the gargoyles. Now that she really takes a look around the roof, she realizes there’s three. It seems odd to have an odd number, but perhaps it’s a lucky number?

Daring to step closer again, Elain takes a better look at the gargoyle facing the sunset. It seems to have some sort of strange carvings into the knees, and with the sun setting in front of it, the gargoyle’s face is cast in shadow in a way that’s almost unnerving. With a shudder, Elain turns away, focusing her attention on the other two gargoyles. The one facing south has large wings stretched behind its back that are just as unnerving, but the one facing east doesn’t look as ominous.

She walks over to the gargoyle and peers up at it, tilting her head as she admires the craftsmanship that must have gone into creating it. The gargoyle has been carved with almost a curtain of hair hanging down to the shoulders, and Elain realizes there’s horns too. She reaches her hand up, following the slightly ridged curve of them where they curl down toward the ears. Her fingers continue to trace a path to the face, to the lines that run like scars from eyebrow to cheek.

For a moment, Elain swears that she can hear a soft sigh on the wind, swears the stone almost seems to shudder beneath her touch. It has Elain snatching her hand back and cradling it to her chest. She spins back around to continue watching the sunset, but as the sun fades fully from view, the shadows and inky darkness of night start to creep in. Even with the full moon coming to life overhead, the darkness presses in from all around, leaving anxiety swirling in her gut.

Elain doesn’t know what it is, but it almost feels like there’s someone watching her, that she’s not alone. She wraps her arms around herself and tries to fight off a shiver, reminding herself that that thought is absurd, but she still can’t quite shake it. No matter what her rational mind says, her heart still ticks up between her ribs, the hairs on the back of her neck still stand on end.

She swears she feels the whisper of a touch along her arms, the warm presence of someone behind her, and Elain has officially had enough. She stomps toward the roof door and yanks it open, stepping back inside and into the safety of the apartment complex. She follows the steps down and down and down until she reaches the ground floor, putting as much distance between her and the roof, between that trepidation that had seized her, as possible.

She pushes out the backdoor of the complex and into the courtyard garden instead, taking in a deep breath of the sweet scent of begonias, of coreopsis and daisies. Now this is where she feels the most at home, the most comfortable. She follows the winding path deeper, toward the trees that mark the end of the courtyard and the property, and leans down to slide her fingers along the silky petals of the hydrangeas.

“My love.”

Elain jolts at the sound of a voice, at the strange nickname. She whirls around to find a man standing in the shadows just inside the tree line. He’s tall. Even from this distance, Elain can tell he must have over a head on her, and his eyes are pinned solely on her.

Elain has to swallow hard before she’s able to find her voice again. “Hello?”

The man steps forward, into the moonlight, and Elain realizes with a strike of fear that he’s not a man at all. He’s a monster. His fingers stretch down into points, into claws, and Elain notes the tail that swishes back and forth just behind his legs. Large, purple-ish horns curl up and over the deep, red strands of hair hanging around his face. He’s like something straight out of a storybook, out of a horror novel, and yet there’s something familiar about this monster, something that tugs and thrums deep within Elain’s chest and begs for attention.

Elain’s eyes dance over the monster’s face, taking in the different colored eyes. One russet and one golden. The long scars that run along the skin from eyebrow to cheek around that golden eye. It’s the scar that has Elain’s own eyes widening, realization crashing into her hard enough to steal the breath straight from her lungs.

“You’re the… the gargoyle. From the roof,” she whispers, barely believing her own words even as the truth stands right here before her very eyes.

“Yes,” the man confirms, daring to take a step closer. “I’ve waited a long time for my mate’s sweet scent to free me, and now, I will enjoy her sweet taste.”

Holy gods, he’s going to eat her. She came out here for some peace and quiet, an escape, and she’s going to be eaten by this monster.

Elain is still reeling from the fact that this is the gargoyle from the roof very much alive and standing in front of her that she doesn’t even realize he’s moved closer still until one of his arms is wrapping around her waist. Elain’s entire body freezes and locks up at that touch. His grip is strong, all but hauling her against his chest, and his skin is surprisingly warm despite him being literal stone before. For a moment, Elain swears she can hear his heartbeat thundering away, but maybe that’s just her own. With the claw resting at her waist, hand large enough to span the entire thing, the threat is clear. There’s no running.

The gargoyle leans in close, running his nose along her temple and seemingly breathing her in. He lets out a quiet sigh, grip tightening at her waist, and Elain starts trembling from head to toe.

“Please,” Elain begs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t eat me. I’ll do anything.”

He groans, his lips brushing along her temple and cheek. “Hearing you beg might be the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I can’t wait to hear you beg more, to hear you scream my name while you do it.”

Elain frowns at that. He wants her to scream out his name while begging him not to eat her? Clearly, this monster is some sort of masochist, takes some sort of sick pleasure in truly humiliating her before killing her. But still, Elain latches onto what she can. Maybe if she keeps him talking, he can’t do much devouring. Maybe, if she distracts him, he'll decide he doesn't want to eat her after all, or she can get away at least.

“And… and what is your name?” Elain asks, praying the waver in her voice isn’t too obvious.

“Lucien.”

“Lucien,” Elain repeats, causing the gargoyle to groan again. “That’s a nice name.”

“You're meant to tell me your name now.”

“Why would you need to know my name?”

Lucien pulls his face away from her hair at that, a frown tugging down his lips. His free hand reaches up toward her cheek, the tips of his claws just barely skating across her skin before her entire body tenses up, her head snapping away on instinct. The reaction just seems to confuse him more, eyebrows dipping low as he peers down at her.

“Why do you cower from me, my love?”

A near hysterical laugh bubbles up out of Elain before she can stop it. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Lucien cocks his head, the red strands of his long hair tumbling over his shoulder. “Am I not pleasing to you?”

Elain rakes her eyes over Lucien's form, finally really taking him in, and well, she supposes there are worse ways to go. If she's going to be eaten by a monster, at least it's an attractive one. With no shirt to be seen, it leaves the expanse of golden bronzed skin on full display, the shadows of the night around them cutting into the lines of lean muscle that make up his arms and chest. His torn linen pants hang low on his hips and hug tight to his thighs, leaving little to the imagination in the best way. His hair falls in a cascading waterfall of red around his horns and face, framing a strong jawline, framing those golden and russet eyes. Even with the scars slashed across his skin, he's beautiful, and Elain's fingers itch with the urge to reach out and gently trace the lines until he's shuddering beneath her touch.

“You have not answered my question, my mate,” Lucien says, breaking Elain out of her staring.

“You keep saying that: my mate. I don't know what it means.”

Lucien leans in close again, pressing his lips to her cheek. “It means you are mine.” He moves to kiss her other cheek. “And I am yours.” He shifts again until his lips are hovering just over hers. “It means that you have freed me.”

“Oh…” Elain breathes, already pressing up onto her toes, already leaning into him, almost subconsciously.

“Tell me your name,” Lucien requests quietly, his breath a whisper across Elain's lips.

“Elain.”

“My mate. My love. My Elain.”

Maybe it's because no one has ever spoken of her like that, with so much reverence, like they really, truly mean it. Maybe it's because deep down she is still bitter and hurt by what Graysen did. Maybe it's because for a moment, Elain swears she feels something golden and strong wrapped right around her heart, tugging and urging her on. Whatever it is, Elain reaches her hands up, burying her fingers amongst the strands of his hair, and yanks until the space between them vanishes.

Elain's not sure what she expects kissing a gargoyle, but kissing Lucien sends heat skittering down down spine, her toes curling in her shoes. Lucien seems to radiate heat every place that he touches her, as though fire burns just beneath his skin and in his veins. And he kisses like it too. His lips slot and slide against her own, his tongue pressing past the seam and into her mouth. Even with his claws, he cradles her face so gently, bending forward to keep their lips firmly locked together despite the height difference.

Before Elain knows it, her back is pillowed amongst the grass and the dirt of the garden, Lucien settling above her. His hands trail across her shoulders, down her arms to her wrists, pinning her hands up above her head. He tears his mouth away from hers but only to press a line of kisses along her jaw and throat.

“Shouldn’t we… um… should…”

Elain’s words trail off as Lucien scrapes his teeth along her pulse point, any and all thoughts eddying out of her mind. Her entire body feels like it’s blazing, a familiar heat that’s been missing for longer than she cares to admit. Even before she and Graysen broke up, Elain wouldn’t say she had a lot of experience with passion with her ex-fiancé. But it’s hard to think of any other man when Lucien is sliding the strap of her sundress down and aside, the path of his lips moving down along her collarbone.

“Oh, gods,” Elain moans quietly, arching up against him as Lucien mouths hotly at the swell of her heaving breast.

The trail he’s tracing barely seems to pause, Lucien continuing down along her sternum, across her covered stomach. He slides down until his shoulders are cradled between her spread thighs, Elain pressing up onto her elbows to watch him. The sight has her breath catching in her throat. Lucien’s hair hangs around him like a fiery halo, a wild expression on his face, and in that moment, Elain swears she can see an actual flame sizzling in his gaze.

“Does this mean you're not going to eat me?”

The smirk Lucien settles her with is downright devilish. “Oh, Elain. I most definitely intend to eat you. I intend to have you falling apart on my tongue and my fingers until you're begging to fall apart on my cock.”

“Right,” Elain somehow squeaks out, swallowing hard. “But. We’re outside. In public. We should…”

But Elain doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. They should what? Go upstairs to her older sister's apartment? She knows that Nesta has adventurous taste in romance books, she’s certainly seen some of the titles and covers on her sister’s shelf, but this feels like a step too far. Walking through the door with a literal monster in tow? Elain can already picture Nesta’s shocked face, and Elain has a creeping suspicion that someone of Cassian’s size would probably try to protect her, try to fight her gargoyle. Besides, where would they even go? Fuck on Nesta’s sofa?

“I cannot wait another moment for a taste of my sweet mate,” Lucien argues, his hands sliding up Elain’s thighs, pushing up the hem of her sundress with them until the fabric is bunched around her waist. He presses two fingers against her still clothed cunt, drawing a gasp out of Elain as he traces a line upwards. “Are you already wet for me, my love?”

Elain whines high in the back of her throat when Lucien starts to draw tantalizingly slow circles over her clit, bucking her hips up against his touch. “Lucien, please.”

“Did you need something?” Lucien asks lightly, his too innocent tone not fooling Elain for a second.

“Stop teasing.”

“Use your words, Elain. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to keep your word,” Elain snaps with a huff. “What happened to not being able to wait another moment?”

Lucien’s smirk only seems to grow at the quip, something like excitement sparking in his gaze. Something like pride. His claws finally hook in the waistband of her panties, tugging the fabric down her legs and off. The clothing item is barely discarded before Lucien’s mouth is pressing along her inner thigh. His teeth nip at the skin as he traces up and up, heat curling in Elain’s gut as he gets closer to where she really wants him.

Elain opens her mouth, ready to complain about his teasing again, but any possible words are cut off with a loud moan when Lucien licks a thick stripe over her, tongue swirling on her clit when he reaches it. The vibrations of Lucien's answering groan against her has Elain’s hips bucking up to press closer to his mouth, but his hands curl around her thighs, claws digging in the barest hint and holding her still.

Graysen certainly had little interest in ever going down on her, and Elain had started to suspect that no man particularly enjoyed the act, but with the way Lucien devours her, she’s beginning to think perhaps she was wrong. With the way he keeps groaning against her, his hands flexing as he works his mouth over her, it seems like there’s nowhere else Lucien would rather be.

He keeps alternating his pace, what he’s doing. Slow, thick licks. Fucking and curling his tongue up into her. Swirling over her clit and sucking it between his lips. It has Elain’s head swimming, dizzy with the pleasure that courses like sparks beneath her skin with every change up. She can do nothing but grasp onto Lucien’s horns and hold on, can do nothing but let him draw every moan of his name past her lips.

Elain can feel herself cresting higher and higher, feel that heat coiling tighter and tighter in her gut. As if he can sense how close she is, Lucien turns all his attention to her clit, one of his hands sliding across her hip, up over her stomach, and to her breast. Without missing a beat, he tugs down the scoop neck of her dress, palming at her breast and tweaking at her nipple. It sends her tumbling over that ledge, Elain hips jolting up against Lucien’s hold as her orgasm tears through her.

She expects Lucien to pull away then, but he only seems to bury himself deeper, tongue continuing to lap at her. It has another round of aftershocks crashing through Elain, a whine torn from the back of her throat even with the overstimulation. She shifts one of her hands from his horn to his hair, tugging at the red strands, but the gesture merely makes Lucien groan again, Elain shuddering at the vibrations.

“Lucien,” Elain somehow chokes out, tugging at his hair again.

Lucien finally pulls back, and just the sight of him has Elain swallowing hard. His red hair is tousled and messy where it hangs around his face, an almost wild expression to his golden and russet eyes. And she can see the remnants of her release smeared around his smirking lips. It’s absolutely sinful.

“Did you enjoy that?” Lucien asks, sliding his thumb across his bottom lip before sucking the digit into his mouth.

“Did you?” Elain fires back, daring to raise a challenging eyebrow.

Part of it is because of the underlying teasing tone to his question, but the other part is to see if the reaction she garnered from him before was a fluke or not. Graysen had never hesitated to tell Elain when she was being bratty, when she was being a bitch. He never hesitated to remind her that she should be quiet, that she should be docile, the perfect, meek little housewife that he wanted. Never raise her voice. Never speak back. Never get her hands dirty.

But the way Lucien’s eyes spark, the way he keeps smirking, it has Elain’s heart pounding in the most dangerous way.

Lucien raises himself back above Elain, aligning their hips and rocking his still clothed hardness against her. “You tell me.”

Lucien closes the distance between them, kissing her hotly and pressing his tongue into her mouth. Elain whimpers against his lips, able to taste herself on him. She tugs more meaningfully against his hair, keeping him close to her as she rocks her hips up against him and chasing what friction she can.

Elain feels a pressure curl around her thigh, and for a moment, she’s confused. She can feel Lucien’s hands cradling her face. But when Lucien pulls away from the kiss, she glances down and realizes it’s his tail that’s holding her open and keeping her hips pinned to the ground. As if it has a mind of its own, the end of the tail slides teasingly up and down along the inside of her thigh, sending a shiver skittering up Elain’s spine.

“Beautiful.”

The whispered tone of Lucien’s voice draws her attention back to his gaze, and Elain supposes she shouldn’t be surprised to find him staring intently at her. But she doesn’t expect the softness that’s taken over his expression. She doesn’t expect the tender way his thumb skates across her skin over the blush she’s sure is spilling across her cheeks. Words die in and clog the back of Elain’s throat, and she can do nothing but pull Lucien down into another searing kiss.

“Please,” Elain begs against his lips. “Lucien, please. I need you.”

“I made you a promise, Elain,” Lucien tells her, his teeth nipping into her bottom lip and tugging. “And I intend to keep it.”

Lucien’s hand slides down her front, tugging her dress down even further until it’s merely a belt of bunched up fabric around her waist. His lips follow the same path, nipping and sucking at her skin, laving attention to each breast in turn. His hand continues the downward trek, but it’s clear he’s done teasing.

Elain gasps as he sinks a finger into her, clenching hard around the single digit. She doesn’t know what to pay more attention to, the way he pumps his finger or the way he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Either way, Elain can already feel herself cresting higher again dangerously fast.

“Fuck, Lucien,” Elain moans, digging her nails into his shoulders, down his arms. “Don’t stop. Gods, please don’t stop.”

“So beautiful. My beautiful Elain,” Lucien tells her, sinking a second finger beside the first and curling them until Elain is keening. “But you’re even more beautiful when you come, and I’d like a repeat showing.”

Lucien increases the pace of his fingers, his tail sliding further up her thigh until it presses against her clit. Another curl of his fingers and Elain arches up off the ground, coming with a shout she just barely has the foresight to cover up with a hand to her mouth.

Elain is still coming down from the high of her release when Lucien shifts above her. He discards his pants and aligns their hips, sinking into her inch by inch. He’s larger than Elain expects, stretching her in a way that has her toes curling, in a way no one ever has, in a way she’s not sure she’ll ever get enough of. At least, Lucien seems just as affected. He buries his face in the crook of her neck with a groan, one of his arms stretching beneath her and grasping tightly to her waist, keeping their chests pressed flushed together.

“I think I might be addicted to your sweet cunt,” Lucien murmurs against her skin. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

“So don’t.”

Elain rocks her hip up, encouraging him to move. Lucien lifts his head and smirks down at her, and Elain worries that he is truly going to make her beg for it, going to tease and make her use her words again. But then Lucien pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again. Each rock into her is deep and hard, setting Elain alight until she dissolves into a litany of moans and Lucien’s name.

“That’s it, Elain. Tell the whole world who you belong to,” Lucien breathes hotly against her lips before stealing another searing kiss, the pace of his movements picking up. “Gods, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Lucien’s hand snakes between their bodies, finding her clit with ease. His fingers traces circles across it in time with his thrusts, and the dam breaks. White spots dance behind Elain’s eyes as she orgasms again, her entire body feeling weightless as she arches up into him. She’s half aware of Lucien stilling above her, of warmth filling her deep. She sinks back against the dirt, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

“Have I tired my sweet mate out?”

Elain opens her eyes to find Lucien peering down at her, amusement dancing in his own gaze. It has fire sparking anew in Elain’s veins. She hitches her legs up higher on Lucien’s hips, pressing her thighs in and using momentum to flip them over. Lucien lets out a quiet sound of surprise as he goes sprawling on his back into the dirt, Elain astride across his hips. His hands reach for her waist, to steady her, but Elain is quick to capture his wrists in her hands, pinning them up by his head and leaning down so her nose brushes against his.

“Who said anyone was tired?”

Elain begins to circle and rock her hips until Lucien is groaning beneath her, until she can feel him hardening again. She sets a hard and brutal pace, using her hands on Lucien’s chest as leverage as she rides him. Every press down of her hips is an overstimulation to her clit, but it’s still not enough, and Elain tosses her head back as she chases her pleasure.

“Gods, I’m the luckiest male ever. Look at you.”

Lucien shifts beneath her, planting his feet, and then he’s snapping his hips up to meet her every movement. It only takes a few more thrusts before Elain is clenching hard, her whole body practically shaking with her orgasm. Lucien groans out Elain’s name as he follows her over the ledge, both of them riding out the aftershocks together.

Elain slumps forward against Lucien’s chest, sighing happily when she feels his arms wrap around her and holding her close. She lets her eyes flutter closed, smiling softly when she feels his lips press against her hair. With her head nestled against him, she can hear the steady beat of his heart just beneath her ear, her own an answering echo between her ribs.

When Elain opens her eyes again, she’s surprised to find her dress has been readjusted to cover her again, that she’s been moved beneath the shade and cover of the treeline. For a moment, she almost wonders if she imagined everything that happened before, if she fell asleep in the gardens and it was all some strangely vivid dream. But when Elain shifts, she finds Lucien sitting beside her, his elbows resting on his raised knees as he stares out at the flowers around them, at the way the early morning light before dawn breaks paints everything in hazy golds.

Elain sits up as well, hooking her arm through Lucien’s and pressing a sweet kiss of greeting to his shoulder. Lucien shifts his hand to lace their fingers together, and Elain realizes that no longer does he have claws. In fact, he looks perfectly human now, no horns or tail to be seen.

“My love,” Lucien greets her quietly, bringing their joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“You don’t look like a gargoyle anymore.”

“No. You freed me from the curse that was placed upon my village, that made me into that. Cursed to be locked away in stone until the day my mate came to me on the night of a full moon.”

“So, I’m still your mate?”

“You will always be my mate,” Lucien assures her, turning so he can slide his free hand across her cheek. “And you will always have my heart.”

Elain can’t help but blush at his words, but she leans forward and closes the distance between them. As Lucien kisses her back, something warm, something so incredibly right, blooms in her chest, settling like roots between her ribs. That golden thread glows brighter, grows stronger, where it’s twined around her heart, and Elain is sure that she’s never felt happier.

~ * * * ~

“Elain.”

Elain paces back and forth across the small space. She tugs at the hem of her top and then her hair, letting out a quiet sigh. It’s fine. Everything will go just fine.

“Elain, my love.” Lucien’s arms curl around Elain’s waist, tugging her closer and into his chest. “You need to stop worrying.”

“Easy for you to say,” Elain huffs against the fabric of his shirt. “You were literal stone a week ago. Now, go through the story again.”

Lucien sighs, even as he drops a sweet, soothing kiss to her hair. “Elain—”

“I don’t need my sister thinking I’m crazy. Go through the backstory again.”

“I was a regular at the bakery,” Lucien begins dutifully. “And I always had a crush on you. When I heard that you and that absolute piece of shit—”

“Graysen.”

“—broke up, I decided to finally ask you for drinks, and you agreed. And now we are madly in love and you can’t get enough of me,” Lucien finishes with a devilish smile, reaching his hand down to squeeze Elain’s ass and haul her closer still.

Elain bats Lucien’s hands away with a fond roll of her eyes just as the elevator doors open with a ding. She steps out into the hall, Lucien capturing her hand in his and lacing their fingers together as they walk the short distance to Nesta’s apartment door. Taking one final deep breath to steady herself, Elain raises her fist and knocks.

“Elain,” Nesta greets when she pulls open the door, stepping back to allow them into the apartment. “And this must be—”

“Lucien! Gods, it’s so good to see you again.”

Elain can do nothing but gape, nothing but blink in surprise, as she watches Cassian pull Lucien into a big bear hug, slapping him on the back with a wide grin. She doesn’t understand what she’s seeing, doesn’t understand how this is possible. Cassian is greeting Lucien as if he knows him, as if they are old friends, but Lucien was a gargoyle before.

And then it hits Elain.

Cassian seemed to come out of nowhere, Nesta never mentioning him before he moved in with her. Much like how Elain announced her new boyfriend along with her new apartment she’s renting with Lucien. And when she had first gone up to the roof, she had thought it strange there was not a fourth gargoyle to make it an even set. But that would mean…

Elain snaps her attention to Nesta, her older sister’s eyes wide and the barest hint of a blush coloring the apples of her cheeks. As if she too has come to the same conclusion, has realized the implication of Lucien and Cassian clearly knowing each other. For a moment, there’s just awkward silence hanging in the air between them, and then Elain can’t help it, she laughs.

—

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