Books & Writing

When Lorcan came into view behind the stunning female, Elide felt her heart begin to beat anew. That glittering thread poking shyly from its hiding place as it slithered toward the male that kept Elide from disintegrating entirely. The itch, the urgency from its demand hard to ignore. 

Elide silently slayed the emotion, her soul dampening in the process.

“Elide?” Lorcan said, his granite voice trailing down her spine. He stepped closer, cautious, unsure if she actually stood before him. 

At the sound of her name, the woman’s eyes rounded, thick long lashes fluttering wildly. The woman’s slender hand fell from the door, just as her nostrils flared faintly and glanced between the two of them. A sort of understanding growing in the glow of her kind face. 

“I—“ Elide breathed, attempting to not sound like an idiot. “I’m sorry, I did not know you were occupied.”

Lorcan held her gaze. The female, thank the gods, was the first to compose herself. 

“Lady of Perranth,” She smiled warmly, a hand going to her chest. “An honor. I am Essar.” 

The woman—Essar— dipped her chin in respect. Elide made to open her mouth, to tell Essar formalities were not necessary but couldn’t quite make her mouth move. Elide’s sight remained glued to Lorcan. Noticed the tint of pink flowing into the sharp planes of his face. 

Essar stepped aside, hair moving fluidly as she did so. “Please come in.”

“No,” Elide managed to rasp, shaking her head. The hood of her cloak descending to her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You interrupt nothing,” Essar reassured.

“Is Tillian alright?” Lorcan cut-in, worried dark brows crinkling together.  

Taking a step back into the corridor, Elide said, “Tillian is perfectly fine. I— I simply needed a moment of your time, but—“ She took a lungful of air, the scent of dying embers bombarding her, “—we can speak when you are unoccupied. Elide ignored the sympathy swimming in Essar’s face, ignored it with all she had left in her, shoving down the way her beauty made Elide feel in adequate. Ignoring how perfectly Lorcan’s shirt hung off the female’s body. Ignoring the sense of familiarity between the two of them.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Elide said, turning on her heels, disregarding Lorcan’s voice trailing down the corridor after her.

Elide pushed open the heavy doors, sunlight bathing her in warmth. Trembling fingers reached for the hood of her cloak, adjusting it atop her dark hair. A group of children rushed past her, screaming happily as they raced to the end of the block, and she couldn’t help but wonder how others could be awarded happiness when she could not. 

The burning sensation in her chest amplified with each gulp of air, cheeks scorching against the cool wind kissing her face. Elide began to make her way down the bustling street, head bowed in shame. No one noticed her this time, not a soul detected the oddity in her preternatural movements. Didn’t seem to realize that a normal human shouldn’t be able to weave through them as she did.

At least she hadn’t shed a tear. She held dignity in that, at least.

The castle loomed alluringly before her, guarantee of safety. 

Home. 

She was almost home, thank the gods. 

Elide came to a quiet halt as a carriage rhythmically clattered by, it’s driver shooting her a polite nod. She didn’t have it in her to do the same. Instead, Elide took those seconds to take careful breaths, her index finger twiddling a stray piece of thread from beads on her dress. She allowed the never-ending noises and scents from the street to fade and focused on grounding herself.

By the time she finished counting to ten, the clattering of hooves against the occupied street faded, people continuing on their way without interruption, leaving her behind just like everyone in her life seemed to do.

“Mind if I walk with you?” 

Elide’s head whipped toward the gentle voice. Essar’s hopeful face met her own, plump lips granting a timid smile. 

She blinked in shock, but nodded all the same. Essar linked their arms together gracefully, a motion that Elide refrained from refusing as they began to across the street. Coyly, Elide peeked over at the woman. Essar no longer wore Lorcan’s shirt, but donned a dress that’d seen better days. It’d be beautiful if not for the tattered hem, gaping holes along the bodice or the dirt covering the once pink material, not to mention the smell.

“How did you—“

Essar’s pretty nose scrunched in amusement, understanding what Elide meant. Saying nothing in reply, Essar shifted the hair over her ear to reveal a delicate pointed tip, and it was then that Elide understood. 

Fae. 

Essar was Fae.

“You must pardon my attire,” Essar voiced carefully, leading them forward. “The journey from Doranelle was unkind.”

“You have no clothing?” Elide asked, coming to a standstill, Essar releasing their interlocked arms.

Now face to face before Elide, Essar gave a genuine shake of the head. “No, I arrived the other night, completely exhausted. I didn’t know how the people of this territory felt toward the fae.” As if on cue a passerby gawked at the female. “Finding Lorcan was a gift.”

“Perranth welcomes all,” Elide replied, attempting not sound defensive and dismissing the familiarity of Lorcan’s name in Essar’s voice. Elide knew Essar held every right to question. To wonder if she would be welcome, regardless of the fact that a Fae queen sat upon Terrasen’s throne. “As does its Lady.”

Essar flashed a wide grin. 

“Will you be here long?” Elide questioned, for all the world attempting to appear unaffected by the devastatingly beautiful female. 

Essar’s honey eyes strayed past her to a golden haired man strolling by, a sort of hope lighting her face, only for it to squint out of existence as she caught a good look at his face. 

“I was to go straight to Orynth,” Essar admitted. “It is as my Queen wished— until I found Lorcan. He’s convinced me to stay a few days longer.”

Envy stabbed through Elide, but she willed the hurt down, down, down. Essar seemed kind, thoughtful. Unlike the fae she’d met in Doranelle years ago, back when she, Rowan, and Gavriel had travelled across Wendlyn in search of Aelin. Many of the fae she’d met then had been cruel, pompous, and degrading.

Elide did something then that surprised herself, she reached for Essar’s hand and squeezed it in friendly welcome. The Lady of Perranth let her sight rove over the petite female. They were about the same height, Essar perhaps an inch or so taller if that. Elide possessed more muscle—thanks to her training with Manon but…. Nothing that couldn’t be altered. 

A smile tugged on the corners of Elide’s lips. “Let me give you a proper welcome, Essar.”

｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩｡°✩⋆｡

Lorcan Salvaterre didn’t want to fret anymore. Essar had yet to return and the longer he foolishly waited, the more treacherous his nerves became. 

“Have you absolutely lost your mind?” Essar disgustedly said to him before slamming the door shut.

He’d had no clever retort, no words of retaliation to offer. The truth of Essar's words simmering hotter, boiling as the seconds trickled by. 

Elide’s face, gods above. It’d taken all of him not to throw up at what befell it as her dark eyes trailed up Essar and then darted to Lorcan. The misunderstanding written in the turmoil of her upturned mouth and the strain in the tilt of her chin, even if she tried to hide it, Lorcan saw. 

It happened to be that memory that caused Lorcan into action. His space suddenly constricting, suffocating. He needed to get out of there, find anywhere else to be, to hide with his tail in-between his legs. 

Because there was nothing to be done for what happened, nothing for Lorcan to fix because after all, he and his mate’s fate had been carved treacherously, and twistedly, into stone long ago.

Grabbing his cloak, Lorcan decided to do what he did best. He locked the door to his safe haven and stepped into the hallway, eager to work and sweat his frustrations out of his system. He only hoped the men on the site wouldn’t notice the deadly demeanor in his step or the constant wisp of magic slithering along his fingers. 

｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩｡°✩⋆｡

“I don’t know how I could ever repay your generosity, Lady Elide.”

Essar stared patiently at her awaiting a response. Elide rewarded her with a soft smile as she turned the knob to her private sitting room. “Elide,” She mused with genuine kindness. “Call me Elide, please. No need for such formalities.”

A symphony of clacking! accompanied their booted feet against the hardwood floor, Elide motioning for Essar to take a seat in one of the upholstered chairs. Rarely did Elide bring visitors to her private sitting room, more oft than not opting to take guests in her office. Then again, she’d barely had guests of late so to speak. 

Offering leagues of privacy, and comfort, it hadn’t been a difficult decision to bring Essar here instead. 

Elide pulled green wool curtains aside, mid-afternoon light running into the room, illuminating Essar’s painfully beautiful face as she stood gazing idly. The fae female appeared comfortable, fresh pink top and linen skirt adoring her petite figure. Elide hated to admit it, but the color made Essar look ethereal, even more so than she already did. And though Elide had resolved herself into admittance of her like for the female, she couldn’t help but hate her a little. 

Rightfully so, Essar had remained guarded when Elide navigated them both to Ann’s dress shop in the bustling shopping district. Initially friendly, maybe Essar wasn’t accustomed to women bestowing kindness to one another—Elide didn’t know how the fae females in Doranelle interacted with others after all. Or maybe Essar had seen the shimmering broken heart on Elide’s sleeve upon opening Lorcan’s door. Either way, the moment Elide noticed the rags on Essar— the second Essar informed her of her lack of dress— she had known where to go.

Luckily, Ann’s shop possessed just what Elide had gone in search of. A fresh new set of clothing for Essar along with a pair of boots to match. While there, Elide requested Ann take Essar’s measurements— Essar protesting profusely— before reluctantly giving in. Ann would sew a new dress for Essar along with pieces of casual wear, to be ready before her departure. Aside from that, Elide commissioned Ann alter a handful of her own gowns for Essar to have. 

Having recalled those trying weeks on the road with Ress searching for Aelin in only her witch leathers to wear, Elide did not wish that same fate on anyone. 

“You needn’t thank me,” Elide said, hoping Essar could hear the truth in her words. “And as I’ve already mentioned, Perranth Castle has plenty of space if you’d like to stay here instead. You are an envoy of the Fae Queen Sellene. It’d be an honor to have you.”

The shine on Essar’s face as she offered Elide a smile propelling immense gratitude. Finally having taken in the sitting room to her liking, Essar took a seat. “The offer is vastly tempting,” Essar admitted. “However, I am not to remain much longer, I’m afraid.”

Elide frowned as she reached for the decanter occupying the side table closest to her. “Will you be in Orynth for Yulemas do you think?” Pouring red wine into stemless wine glasses, Elide offered one to the woman before her. Essar gleefully accepting the offer.

“I would hope so,” Essar sipped carefully from her glass, her movements fluid, graceful. “Traveling during the height of winter is treacherous after all.”

Nodding, Elide took her own sip of wine. Savoring the rich light taste as it flowed into her belly. 

It was during that singular moment of silence that Essar’s eyes roved curiously over Elide, a question on the verge of creation. Elide scented the female’s caution before Essar finally voiced her thought. 

“How long have you and Lorcan been involved?”

Elide choked on her wine, coughing inelegantly before Essar. She wiped at her mouth with her forearm, the crimson in her cheeks blazing.

“We are most definitely not involved.”

Essar cocked her head, almond eyes squinting dubious in the light. “I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood earlier then.”

“He— we,“ Elide corrected rapidly, “were friends for a time.”

“Did he know that? That you were simply friends?” At the look in Elide’s face, Essar clarified. “I ask simply because when he spoke of you—“

He spoke of me? To her?

“The friendship we had was fleeting.” Elide reiterated, taking a long drink from her glass. “I’ve spent months being courted by another, actually.”

Essar blinked. “I’m sorry, it’s not my intention to pry. It’s just— I’ve never seen him so uncentered."

“He was the picture of indifference, not uncentered.” Elide countered, lifting her brows.

“He was practically squirming, Elide.” Essar confessed, index finger tapping on her glass. Again that sense of familiarity between Essar and Lorcan leaked into existence, the jolt of jealousy electrifying her bones. Essar must have read her discomfort because she went on to clarify in a hushed tone, almost as if she were whispering her greatest secret.  “Lorcan and I were involved for a long time.”

“Oh.” Elide mumbled pathetically. She’d guessed, but somehow confirmation of it… rattled her off center. 

“A bond as strong as the one that ties you both cannot be broken, not the way that—“

“We have no bond, Essar.” Elide said mildly. “Not romantically nor in terms of friendship, he has no interest in me and has repeatedly expressed it. I have a suitor—“

A strong rap on the door interrupted continuation of her word vomit. Elide thankful, shot to her feet, Cal Lochan poking his head into the room. The crinkle in his eyes deepened as she approached, the wide door opening further. 

Perfect timing. She’d thought to seek him out later, to request a favor on his behalf, talk him into taking over the meeting with Lucius and Lorcan at the end of the week. Somehow get him agree to any and all requests made on behalf of them both. Knowledge of what Lorcan would likely request anyway not helping her situation. Regardless, she needed a break, a moment to breathe. The events of the last couple of days proving to be too much, she needed time to sort herself out.

He held a familiar black box sealed with a pink tulle bow in his hands. 

“Daughter,” He breathed, gripping her hand warmly and kissing her cheek. “Finnula mentioned you had a guest, and well, this arrived today on behalf of that Lord. I thought I’d intrude moment.”

Elide hid her smile at her father’s quiet dig toward Roland, knowing the Lord of Perranth had yet to fully warm to the Adarlanian Lord. No matter how he pretended otherwise to others. 

Instead, Elide made introductions between the Lord and Queen Sellene’s envoy. Cal not being able to completely hide his surprise as he noticed the points of Essar’s ears. To Elide’s eternal amusement, Essar and her father got on well. Enough that Cal joined them. Through their friendly conversation, Cal reiterated Elide’s offer to stay in the castle, Essar again politely declining but Cal offering nonetheless, swirling a glass of wine in hand. 

It was with that same drink in hand that her father urged she open the box now occupying her lap, Essar nodding enthusiastically.

Elide’s finger tips brushed against the pink tulle, unsure whether to open it privately or follow the demands of the people in her company. She knew what lay within the average sized box. Had known that at some point Roland would send it her way. She’d been distraught to find that she’d left it in Rifthold during their travel back to Perranth. 

A light nudge from her father’s elbow prompted Elide into motion. 

Pink tulle discarded to the floor, Elide lifted the lid to reveal the painting. The very one that Roland gifted her when she’d first arrived to Rifthold. At the time she’d been too hurt, too prideful to open the gift handed to her by Phillipa. It wasn’t until after Lorcan departed that she’d gathered the courage to open it, and had immediately wished she’d done so sooner.

With oil on canvas, Roland had detailed the Thirteen in flight atop their mounts, soaring joyfully across the crisp blue sky. Asterin, Sorrel, Vesta, Faline, Fallon, Imogen… all of them together for eternity, a crimson cloak in their center. Elide had wept the first time she laid eyes on it, the reality of never seeing them again rearing its ugly way back into her. Roland had spent weeks working on the piece before he’d even met Elide, declaring that he wished to gift her a piece that mattered to her. Dorian and Manon recounting details of the fallen warriors for days—weeks on end until he captured their essence just right. 

He’d finished it before leaving for Doranelle. 

“Gods,” Essar whispered in awe, having gravitated to Elide’s side without having realized it. “It’s beautiful.”

Cal placed a hand to her shoulder, “Roland certainly portrayed them beautifully.”

Essar jerked her head to Cal, Elide only half listening. “Roland?”

“Roland Havilliard,” Cal reaffirmed. “The man who’s been courting my daughter.”

｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩｡°✩⋆｡

He heard the door creak open just before dinner. Lorcan himself had just returned from a day of backbreaking labor, coated in sweat, muscles in his broad back screaming at him if a few pathetic meager hours of amnesia were worth it. 

His body didn’t think so, but Lorcan didn’t give a shit. At least he’d been distracted, occupied with the men who’d become family. And even though those same men knew he was not okay, their worried gazes tracing his jagged eager movements, questions on the brink of leaving their mouths, they had minded their business. Knew better than to ask the demi-fae what troubled him.

Lorcan wouldn’t have told them anyway.

By the time Essar came into view, Lorcan was prepared to receive the tongue lashing of his life. Essar had never made things for him easy, especially not when it came to his wrong doings, but as Essar’s typically kind and expressive caramel colored eyes met his devoid cold ones, he recognized the agonizing waves of heartbreak. 

The stool he sat in grated across the floor as he stood. “What happened?”

On some cosmic level he knew before she uttered the words. 

“Your mate,” Tears rolling freely down her face, she blinked furiously as if that would somehow stop their onslaught. “And mine. They’re—“

“Your what?” Lorcan asked stupidly.

“Your mate and mine,” She nearly screamed, taking grander, deeper breaths of air, chest rising and falling quickly. It was then Lorcan noticed the clothing on Essar, it was new. Where had she gotten— 

Lorcan loosed a breath.

“They’re together—“

His mouth agape.

Roland Havilliard and Essar.

Essar finally found focus on his face, her face ghostly pale. 

“Lorcan, what have we done?”

Worthless pathetic half-breed fool, chuckled the wicked voice. He hadn’t heard that voice since his imprisonment. Had come to terms that he, the Lorcan Salvaterre had finally vanquished the hateful demon from his mind upon release. But of course, Lorcan laugh mirthlessly to himself, he hadn’t entirely done so. 

He’d just leaned into mirthroot and liquor to help quiet it. To eliminate his those treacherous thoughts from resurfacing. Those thoughts few and in-between after arriving in Terrasen—Perranth to be exact. 

Finding his mate perhaps having a great deal of power over that voice, fearless and determined she was. It was no surprise time with her had scattered the lingering demon from the trenches of his mind.

Now though? Nothing kept that voice from haunting the narrative again. 

And as Essar tearfully recounted the day she spent with Elide, as she told Lorcan of how both women enjoyed the other’s company enough have breakfast in the city together in the days following—of everything Elide had done for Essar this afternoon, and of what made Essar realize their predicament, Lorcan indeed wondered what the fuck they had done. 

The meadow would be the last place Lorcan looked before calling off his meager quest. 

So far he’d checked the aerie, the library, and gods above—her bedchamber. He’d been thankful there hadn’t been a servant in sight as he’d knocked on her door, and perhaps even more so gracious of that when he dared poke his head inside for confirmation of her absence.  

Idiot. Lorcan was an idiot to have risked being seen sneaking into her rooms. The idle rumors of the servants were not lost on him. He’d heard the whispers surrounding himself and their lady. Some bordering on outright ridiculous that Lorcan had no choice but to laugh, while others…

Talk of Lorcan the lady tiptoeing off into deep, dark corners of the castle behind the back of her betrothed— almost betrothed, he reminded himself— labeling the Adarlanian Lord a picture perfect fool. It made Lorcan’s stomach churn in discomfort. Perhaps it was the dusted truth sprinkled over rumors such as those that caused his turmoil, the fact that to a degree, they were right.

Because what had he not done if not that?

Thoughts of how he’d held Elide in his arms flooded through him, the feeling of her wrapped over him, the taste of her tongue as it’d greedily brushed against his, of how his fingers felt inside her—

Enough, he ordered himself. 

He needed to get his shit together if this was going to happen. Lorcan could not be distracted, especially not by her or he would never gather the courage. 

In the days following, Essar had met with Elide for breakfast as they’d originally set out to do. Essar had not had the willpower to opt out of the invitation when it came down to it, claiming Elide provided needed comfort in the language and territory of female companionship. Essar made sure to keep her lips sealed tightly, never revealing whether the women made himself or Roland topics of interest again. 

A solitary night where ex-lovers narrated doomed love stories to one another having been more than enough for the female, Lorcan supposed. 

He didn’t blame her.

An entire day came and went after his meeting with the Lord of Perranth and Lucius wrapped up. It’d proceeded just as he’d expected it would. Lorcan had known that Lucius would adamantly refuse to let him go—that he would argue against armies to keep Lorcan rooted in Perranth. That the small formidable man would use every possible avenue he could think of to persuade the Lord to deny Lorcan’s request to leave.

And he had. 

Lucius’s already ruddy face appeared scarlet by the end of the meeting, a defeated and furious curl to his brows at having lost a fruitless war. The absolute look of betrayal as he watched Lorcan through guarded, hopeless eyes. An expression he’d not regarded Lorcan with in months, since he’d first began to egg himself onto the work site, back when Lorcan was seen as an outsider, a threat to the people of Perranth, and against all odds, Lucius had allowed it. Allowed him to enter their space, to prove himself, and for that Lorcan would remain eternally grateful, even if Lucius never believed that gratitude.

After all, Lucius’s righthand had betrayed him and hadn't told him that he planned to leave.

Lorcan prayed Lucius would understand one day.

Cal on the other hand… he’d been the hardest to look in the eye. Though Cal lacked Lucius’s argumentative nature, the sad disappointment etched into the lord’s features had slapped Lorcan with greater force than Lucius’s anger. And Lorcan knew why it did, he was no fool. The fucking ring in his pocket carried the weight of that knowledge as he trudged past dying brush into the meadow.

In the end, Lucius had stormed out of Cal’s study in fury while Cal obliged to Lorcan’s departure with nothing more than a nod, a quick wordless dismissal with a flick of his hand following. 

The descending sun illuminated the waving brassy grass, leaves tumbling past distorted tree branches while the sounds of chirping birds lullabied the space with the whispers of autumn.

Lorcan commanded a gust of his magic to scan the area for what his eyes could not see, to search through the thickets of brush and trees for one person, only to come back empty-handed. No sign of life in the meadow, his quest ending in failure. 

Where could she be?

He took this failure to find his mate another blow to his ego. Another reminder that he did not know her the way he thought he did, and perhaps he could pull on the mating bond, search for her through that chasm but truth be told, it frightened him to do it. Fear of Elide noticing it’s presence when she had not done so already, identity of that bond further complicating their relationship when she was so bound to another man. 

No, he reeled himself from doing that. A far as Lorcan understood the mating bond between them did not exist, no matter how he wished it did. 

The fiery glow of the sky observed Lorcan make his way back to the lake, back to the castle, ample curses under his breath, making sure his steps collided with the earth in force, announcing to the forest his frustration.

Lorcan trailed near the outskirts to the glittering lake when he caught sounds of the beast followed by its rider. Dark curls of magic elevating at the musical sound of her voice, Lorcan sprinted for the lake. 

The sense of irony did not lose itself on Lorcan as he approached. Terros, in his magnificent onyx scaled glory, reveled in cool water, both his massive wings and tail flapping wildly in excitement. The beast had definitely gotten larger in the few weeks he’d been absent.

The thought sent a pang of sorrow into Lorcan’s soul.

Not far from the depths from which Terros gloried in, Elide stood, an angry fist in the air. “You absolute useless wyvern,” Elide yelled, cheeks flushed. “Get out, now!”

Terros in retaliation roared with further delight as he sank deeper into the lake, a wing slowly arching—

Elide in her distraction turned, back dress shimmering beautifully as she placed a palm to her forehead, a regretful sigh leaving her rosy lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that—“

The extent of her apology cut short by the slap of Terros’s wing slamming into the turquoise water, cresting toward his rider and raining down upon her. 

Another roar exited Terros in what Lorcan surmised was laughter, and it was that same gleeful sound that caused the grin on his lips to widen. At the pleasant, carefree scene before him.

In utter surrender, Elide plopped down angrily in the sand, wiping her face with the sleeve of her dress. 

“Asshole—“ She breathed furiously, crossing her arms against her chest. Lorcan attempted to wipe the warmth from his eyes as he continued his approach. When Elide straightened, her ears perked at his incoming approach, no doubt thanks to her new abilities. 

“Lorcan,” She said without turning, her gaze frozen to her mount. Terros having noticed Lorcan near before his mistress and decidedly kept it to himself, bobbing his head above water. 

Taking a healthy, respectable seat from her, Lorcan grunted in hello. He felt the crushing weight of the ring in his pocket the longer the silence dredged on between them. 

“You aren’t going to ask how I heard you?” Elide asked.

Lorcan swallowed, throat bobbing nervously. “I know everything.”

At that Elide’s round dark eyes met his own, shock at his admission. 

Lorcan explained, “That night—after Ruhn’s Tavern— I didn’t just tuck you into bed.” With his powerful knees flush against his broad chest, Lorcan placed his forearms complacently, almost lazily against them. “I know everything. " Elide gave a simple nod, understanding. “I see. And you kept it to yourself the whole time?”

“It is not my secret to tell,” He supplied as if it were obvious. 

His mate remained silent for a long time, her sight fixed to the wyvern—who not so inconspicuously— continued to monitor them, pretending to enjoy the lake water and not the dramatic play showcasing itself before him.

When Elide finally deemed to speak, it took Lorcan considerable effort not to startle at the sound of her voice. “You’re leaving Perranth, I heard.”

“Yes.” Lorcan rasped, his throat constricting.

“My father said Rowan offered you a position in Orynth and that you accepted it.” A hint of doubt laced itself against her words, Lorcan wondered if it was due to disbelief?

Accompanied with a nod, Lorcan repeated, “Yes.”

Elide waved delicate fingers through her hair, her mane of curls trapezing over her shoulders. “What of Tillian? He is of Perranth, you can’t take him from his home.“

Lorcan took a deep breath, his chest fighting against the panic in her voice. 

“Tillian is the one person I can truly call my own,” He said truthfully, remembering how that boy squirmed into his life, his essence. His son, he admitted to himself. “He’s agreed to come with me. His home is with me.”

Elide’s scent coated itself with hesitation, her hands rubbing on silky material of her dress as if she were mustering courage to speak it aloud. 

“I’ve wished to speak with you about the other night, I didn’t mean—”

“Stop.” 

Lorcan scented the hurt rolling off of her at the harshness in his tone, but he could not permit her to continue. Not if he was to see things through. 

“Is what you have to say going to change anything?” He asked, keeping his hopefulness tucked between the depths of his heart. 

“What?”

“Do I have a reason to stay?” Lorcan half demanded, half pleaded, unable to help himself, unable to keep the question at bay, not with Elide looking at him the way she was, with a glassy heartbroken film in her doe eyes. 

Whatever she read in the hard lines of his face, whatever truth she came to terms with, Elide fluttered her lashes, one single tear streaking down the swell of her cheek. “No.”

Lorcan didn’t know why he expected differently. Knew her reply would carve out the remaining pieces of his heart, that it would grate what was left into into microscopic dust and scatter to the wind, forever traveling in search of a home. But nothing prepared him for the violent bombardment of heartache that roiled within his soul. He’d—without permitting himself to do so— had stupidly held on to a slither of hope that Elide would prove them both wrong, that she would declare that she too felt the same bond that tormented him mercilessly.

He shifted, pulling the curse in his pocket out into the world, letting the shadows of the sun cloak it in fire. Lorcan opened it carefully, holding it out to her. 

"Where did you get that?" Elide breathed, a slender hand rubbing at the base of her throat. The lilac diamond shining fiercely, creating a flicker of light.

For a brief eternity, Lorcan debated telling her. Considered it thoroughly before deciding against it. There was no point. It wouldn't change anything. 

"It doesn't matter," He said. And Lorcan wondered if the disappointment that sparked in her eyes would consume him whole, envelop him entirely and cradle him against the dark abyss of his nightmares. 

He reached for Elide’s hand, so much smaller than his, as he wrapped her fingers around the box, lid closing loudly against the quietude of the evening. Eyes never leaving her face as he tried to ignore the glimmer of Elide's tears, grief in the soft angles of her face. 

This, he thought, would be the single last time he would touch her, and this— this had to be what his enemies had felt on the battlefield as they realized they’d lost. As they awaited to be struck down and greeted by death himself. What it felt like to let go, to wave a white flag in surrender, renouncing your claim amongst a sea of obstacles and finally drown in sorrow. 

Lorcan never thought he’d be the one to raise that flag.

And it was then Lorcan came to terms that he’d never feel the warm glow of daylight again.

｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩｡°✩⋆｡

It did not stop raining. 

Nearly a week of the onslaught, of it’s downpour. It sickened her to no end. She wished the sun would show itself, regardless of the settling autumn. Gray skies encompassed Perranth, hugging it tightly enough that her city appeared devoid of life, devoid of love. 

Add to the fact she’d not been able to greet the wind in flight because of it and  Elide quickly descended into a foul mood. Terros held no qualms flying in conditions as these, however, getting her father to let Elide take flight ‘on the fat reptile’  as her father recently began to call him, and well there went that idea. 

At least her father no longer referred to him as ‘that beast’ anymore. An humorous upgrade of title she had to admit. 

And she realized that if she truly wished to fly that she could wait until the stillness of night, wait until her father and Nox slept, trek up the stairs of the aerie, and command Terros into flying. But she and her father were on the same page emotionally for the first time in a long, long, long while and that part of her, the part that worshiped her father as a child whispered to her that she should try too.

So Elide did as Cal Lochan wished and did not fly. 

Symbolic she supposed, that she’d be miserable on the day of their departure. From what she’d been able to gather, Lorcan had flirted with the idea of staying in Perranth. Hand’t been tempted to reject Rowan’s proposal in the slightest, to Lucius’s eternal dismay. Try he might, Elide heard from not just the servants but from her father and Nox too. 

In passing, Nox informed her of his intention to take over for Lorcan—begin an apprenticeship with Lucius — to conclude the final aspects of the school building. The three of them spending the last week cluing her brother in on any and everything they could think of. She hoped that Nox did not mind. From what he’d voice, and mentioned, he held no ire for his added role. Learning what he could before Lorcan departed was no easy feat and Elide knew that. 

She hoped transitioning would fair well for all involved. 

Lorcan hadn’t stepped her in direction since she saw him last, catching glimpses in corridors and dinner hall instead. Their last conversation ended on an amicable note, considering their topic of conversation. Considering that he’d somehow managed to locate her mother’s ring when she herself had not. 

Elide hadn’t known what to make of it all. 

Tucked away in one of the drawers of her vanity, she’d told no-one it’s reappearance. A magic trick she wanted to keep to herself for now. Maybe one day she would tell her father of it, perhaps Nox as well. But until then it was a secret kept between herself and Lorcan.

The only commonality they had left with one another.

“Elide? What do you think?”

Her hazy eyes darted to her father, his lips pursed awaiting her response.

Rain collided against the window, singing against the wailing wind. 

“Sounds great,” She said with haste, rubbing  her face, hoping the exhaustion she felt wasn’t apparent.

By the clench in her father’s jaw and the narrowing of his brown eyes, her performance was lacking.

“So you agree that with this donation, there is no rush for you to wed?”

Elide’s focus shattered as she registered his words. “What?”

“Have you not been paying attention to a word I’ve said,” Cal said dejectedly, his eyebrows raised, arms crossed over the brocade doublet he wore. 

She offered a sheepish smile to which her father could only groan, hands at his temples. 

Elide picked at her fingernails as he lazily, not to mention defeatedly, repeated what his daughter had been diligent at not paying attention to, the candles placed on either side of his mighty desk flaring brighter as he spoke. 

When he finished, Elide certain he could hear the rattling of her heart, she didn’t have words. 

“Who—“

“I do not know who,” Cal said curtly, gaze unwavering. “The King Consort did not give clarification.” He lifted a quill in his fingers, twirling it with nonchalance. 

Bubbling panic stirred within the well of her chest, gathering strength, accumulating a voice. Where had this option been weeks ago? Where had this been before she—

A bond as strong as the one that ties you both cannot be broken.

What had Essar meant by that? The female’s words echoed into her dreams here and there since they’d met. Reminded of it during the mornings they shared breakfast over the past week, Elide unable to garner the bravery to broach the subject again.

“Elide.”

Worry lined her father’s face, drooped in the downturn of his mouth and shoulders. The scent of regret penetrated the study, no doubt the Lord of Perranth debating whether telling her this had been for the best or whether he should have kept it to himself. 

“Sweetheart, you get a choice with this.” Cal gently offered. “If you do not wish to proceed with Roland—“

Those words pulled her out of her panic. She honed her attention to the window, rain continuing its onslaught. Somehow it helped ground her back to reality and said, “Why should this change anything?”

A bond as strong as the one that ties you both…

Cal shot her a damning look, one that she righteously ignored. 

“You’re allowed to change your mind. You both have not formally announced it before the court, have not requested Dorian or Aelin’s blessing in the union. You have a choice.”  

Tempting, it sounded so tempting to let the offer curl around her heart, her dreams. The opportunity presented itself, practically wrapped in a gilded bow at her feet, to defect from a choice she’d made heartbroken months ago in Rifthold. Choices made under emotional duress weren’t ideal—or so she’d heard long ago, somewhere. Were they not right? Right now she definitely thought so. 

However, what would it make her if she broke a promise made to another, a lover and friend. The sanctity of her word would hold no weight if she changed her mind, the Lords of Terrasen would see that. Come after her regardless of the fortune gifted to Perranth, to her people. 

A bond.

“There is nothing to reconsider.” 

Time had never been Elide’s ally. Proven time and time again with the death of her mother, the fall of Terrasen, the years spent with Vernon… Time had constantly made her life a mockery of her wants, withholding support, withholding opportune moments.

It was as she raced to her private sitting room that she made note to thank Time for once. Thank it for being within the castle walls when Finnula burst into her father’s study, effectively ending their conversation, to notify her Tillian wished to say his goodbyes, Essar in tow. 

Finnula did not mention Lorcan, Elide made peace with the fact that they wouldn’t get a  proper goodbye. After all, when had they ever?

That Tillian did not give Essar a hard time made Elide happy. She hadn’t known how he would react to the fae female upon their introduction. Tillian’s track record not holding an impressive start… once she tallied in his behavior with Roland. Whatever Lorcan said to the boy, whatever method he’d used to introduce her, had worked. With the handful of times she’d seen the boy since last week, he’d not complained of Essar. Tillian praising her for their shared love of sweets, stories, and best of all wyverns.

Remembering to move at a human pace remained difficult, especially with the yearning she held to see Tillian, but with Finnula trailing behind her there was no doubt in her mind that her nursemaid would notice, that she wouldn’t be watching. 

The detour to her bedchamber cut into her time, however, Elide offered doubt no space as she grabbed the object from it’s resting place, Finnula eyeing the box with curious intent as if to say What is that?

Elide held no time to explain though, simply shooting Finnula a smile as they continued trekking through the castle. 

When Elide finally, finally rested eyes on Tillian, heart near bursting, she could not withhold the tears. He shot into her arms, crying in glee at the sight of her. His normally vivacious curls sticking to his temples, his cloak equally drenched. Tillian’s embrace possessed an iron grip, a tenderness that she’d only ever felt with the boy. She supposed it  was the closest she describe to maternal affection.

Essar smiled warmly from her spot against the window. “Hello, friend.”

“Essar,” Elide said, gravitating towards the female, Tillian’s grip loosing around her waist. “Thank you for bringing him.”

In one swift motion, Elide hugged her unlikely friend. Essar surprised with the movement, composed herself quickly before wrapping her arms around Elide. 

“You’ll have to excuse our current state,” Essar whispered, removing herself. 

“Rain isn’t exactly our greatest friend right now.” Elide retorted with an annoyed glance to the window.

Tillian neared. “I wish I had magic,” he declared. “I would have commanded the skies clear days ago.”

“You are already made of magic, Tillian.” Elide said, her hand lovingly brushing his cheek. 

With green eyes vibrant as spring, Tillian scowled. “Some magic. I cannot control any element, nor do I have a wyvern like the witches.”

“Do you possess witch heritage, Tillian?” Essar asked as she draped her cloak on  a chair. 

He tapped a finger to his chin and he added in matter of fact tone, “No, but taking care of Terros—and Abraxos— has made me an honorary clan member.”

Both Elide and Essar laughed at his statement, unable not too. The conviction in his voice admirable, brave even. She wondered what Manon would make of the boy.

Tillian locked eyes on Elide’s face then, sadness transforming his face. 

“You’d think a carriage ride to Orynth would have been more than enough—“ Essar shot an accusatory glance to Elide. “But Finnula mentioned a trunk or two of clothing and supplies she’s readied for us. I should go gather the details.”

Elide nodded. “She’s just outside.”

The door hadn’t fully clicked shut behind her before Tillian blurted, “Can’t you come with us?”

Elide tried, and failed, to swallow the growing lump in her throat. “Til, my place is here, in Perranth.”

“Your place is with us,” He said in earnest, surprising Elide. “With me and with—“

Again, a feeble shake of the head, hair swaying along her back. Perhaps it could be labeled selfish, or perhaps as cowardice however, allowing Tillian to finish that sentence would spell her demise. And she’d made sure to pretend so elegantly that their departure did not matter. That she wouldn’t miss them as much as she pretended not to.

“I have something for you.” Light grip on his arm, Elide maneuvered them to take a seat, Tillian taking his place in the chair across hers. Looping the leather satchel over her head, Elide placed it gently in her lap.

Tillian’s focus engrossed in the object in front of him. “A satchel? I already have—“

She held a slim finger to silence him, eyes shining with humor at his impatience. 

His round eyes bulging as the slender box came into view, Elide removing the lid to reveal the dagger.

On the day the Crochan Queen landed in Perranth, reality shifted. 

Perranth’s inhabitant’s on edge with the witch queen’s arrival, as they always tended to do when she would visit. Maybe the idea of two wyvern’s within the vicinity was what cultivated their weariness, their caution. 

Elide didn’t know and currently didn’t have it in herself to care. Not when Manon barged into her bedchambers, interrupting a near two week wallow fest. 

In true Manon fashion, the witch did not request, did not supplicate. No. Manon had torn the covers off Elide, taken her forearm and dragged her into her bathing room claiming she reeked. 

It did not matter that Elide protested, that she screamed at the witch to leave. 

Her dearest friend remained.

She wouldn’t admit it until later, swelling pride providing a mighty fortitude against her doing so. Yet, after Elide’s bath, after the recentering that simply washing herself granted her, Elide accepted that it’d helped her. Not entirely, the gaping crater in her soul unyielding, but better. 

That clarity prompted her to grab them on their way out of her bedchamber. Manon proclaiming, “no ailment the wind can’t fix.”   

And that had been that. 

They’d saddled their mounts, soaring into clouds splotching the cerulean sky. Elide didn’t have a clue how long they rode the wind, couldn’t keep track of time the farther they flew, or with each fresh lungful of air that entered her body. 

When Manon decided it was time to land, she chose a valley in the heart of the Staghorn Mountains.

Elide noticed the wildflowers and knew why the Witch Queen picked this very spot to land. 

Terros and Abraxos shook the earth as they landed, heavy taloned feet creating rifts among the sea of grass, their onyx scales glittering jewels in the sun. Those infernal beasts had their snouts buried deep in the wildflowers before Elide could blink.

Manon refrained from questioning her, getting Elide out of the castle step one to whatever plan she had. The burning questions in the gold of her eyes were unmistakable as Elide gathered the nerve to look at her.

“Who summoned you?” Elide asked, her voice barely audible against the humming wind.

Manon closed the distance between them. “Imagine my damned surprise when Cal Lochan and Nox Owen requested my help.”

Because Elide did not cater to vulnerability easily, she took it upon herself to be difficult. “I don’t see why.”

An iron nail slid out of Manon’s index finger, landing directly under Elide’s chin. With surprising gentleness, Manon held Elide’s rapidly deteriorating resolve with the tip on of her iron nail. 

“It is okay to miss them,” Manon said softly, silver hair twirling behind her.

Elide’s chest heaved and before she could reinforce the stone wall built to protect herself, it came crumbling down.

No stone was left unturned when Elide finished. Everything, she’d told Manon everything. From the moment Lorcan arrived in Perranth, who she saw when she lay dying in Rifthold, the journals in the Manor house, Essar’s arrival, their departure. 

Everything. 

It was cathartic to voice it aloud, narrating the chaotic mess of her life to her dearest friend. Someone who would detain their judgement, their disdain of her failures. When she finished, Manon idly turning Marion’s journal pages in hand, Elide felt weightless, no longer the soul bearer of her misfortune. 

“Glennis only recently mentioned my father having a sibling, didn’t mention their name of course…” Manon trailed off, hand caressing the leather cover. “It will bring her peace to know what happened to her.” 

“You cannot tell her yet,” Elide objected, shifting from her spot among the weaving grass. 

Manon raised a sharp eyebrow, mischief dancing across the witches immortal beauty. “You, are Crochan royalty, Elide. A princess, if you’d like to be technical. Do you think it wise to tell me— your Queen— what I should and shouldn’t do?”

“No—“

“Then? I possess no heirs, no one I trust enough to tackle that mantle should anything happen to me. Why continue in to be lost to history, witchling?”

“I belong to Terrasen, I am a daughter of Terrasen—“

“Is this because of Aelin?” Manon asked, humorous, her silky voice dropping an octave. “Because she and I have a score to settle, and without her infinite well of —”

“It’s not because of Aelin.” Elide interjected before the tickling idea of violence radiating from the witch manifested itself and she flew straight to Orynth. “It’s me. I don’t know if I wish for it to be known.”

“Is possession of power truly a terrible thing?”

Elide looked to her friend—her cousin— hopelessly. “I only recently began my courtship with power. I barely know how to control the power my body has now.”

Manon handed the journal back to her, the ghost of a smile on her face. “As you wish. Glennis cannot remain in the dark forever though.”

“I know.”

Sleeping mounts dreamed within the realm of wildflowers as Elide’s sight gravitated to them, journal’s forgotten. Terros and Abraxos handing her an idea. Manon followed her line of sight, golden eyes rolling into the back of her head. 

“Manon?”

Whatever Manon heard in her voice snagged the witch's attention. “Yes?”