the fox and the fawn

The deepest part of the night had settled over the Autumn Court, when the moon was at its brightest and the stars winked just outside the windows. The tireless wind rustled through the ancient trees so that countless leaves floated by the glass, greeting Elain in familiar patterns. 

She took a deep breath, the sweet scent of apples and warm vanilla overwhelming her for a moment. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging lightly on the short, messy curls. 

The fire in the hearth had burned down to a mound of glowing, crimson embers, casting long, fractured shadows across the vast canopy bed she shared with Lucien. 

Elain sat cross-legged in the center of the sprawling mattress, the heavy velvet duvet pooled around her hips. She had discarded the ruby gown she’d donned for the ball long ago, wearing only a thin, silk shift that moved softly against her skin with every breath. Beneath her, the sheets smelled uniquely of her mate, and she had to fight the urge to wake him up so he might kiss her until she couldn’t think clearly.

Elain was, much to her frustration, unbearably nervous. 

Lucien lay beside her, his face buried sideways into the down pillows, his breathing deep and rhythmic. He was entirely bare to the waist, the rest of his naked body was covered, but it left very little to the imagination. Elain wanted to nip at his neck, let her teeth drag along the skin of his throat. The long, coppery strands of his hair were scattered wildly across his shoulders, catching the faint, dying light of the fire like molten gold.

Slowly, deliberately, Elain leaned forward, her gaze tracking the vast, rugged landscape of his back.

It had been half a decade since they had drawn a line in the dirt. A physical arrangement, born of mutual convenience, proximity, and an unspoken need for her to silence the persistent bond between them. If Elain could go back, she’d kick herself in the shins for urging him to agree that they would leave their hearts out of their agreement. They had promised to ignore the mating bond, to keep the walls up, and to treat their nights together as a temporary necessity.

I can separate affection from desire. 

Elain’s own words come back to haunt her, she thought with a frown. A lie she had told herself for years so she could sleep better at night, that her desire for Lucien and her feelings for him were not entangled. 

She reached out, her hand steady, and pressed her fingertips lightly against the warm skin of his right shoulder blade.

Lucien didn't wake, but a low, contented rumble vibrated in his chest, a soft, visceral reaction to her touch that he only ever displayed in the dead of night. His muscles shifted beneath her palms, relaxing entirely as he surrendered to her presence.

With agonizing slowness, Elain began to trace a shape along his spine.

His back was a tapestry of his history, a map of the brutal lives he had lived before he ever found his way to her. There were the jagged and raised lines from Amarantha’s whip, the pale and faded marks of old training accidents, as well as a few deep and uneven scars left by some of his father’s harsher punishments. They were rough beneath her soft fingertips, an uncompromising contrast to the gentle, sheltered life she had left behind in the City of Starlight and the human town just on the other side of the wall.

Her index finger traced a slow, sweeping curve over the largest scar, tracking the path. Against his skin, she traced letters, used her hand similarly to the way she so often used her quill. 

L-U-C-I-E-N.

She wrote his name into his skin over and over again, a silent confession she was still too terrified to speak aloud. She silently rehearsed what she wished to tell him, had made up her mind that she was being unfair to herself above everything else in regards to what she longed for. 

She knew, with an absolute, terrifying certainty that vibrated deep within her bones, that what she felt for him had nothing to do with the magical thread anchoring their souls together. The bond was a quiet, dormant thing, a background hum they had both agreed to ignore. Elain was certain that what she felt for the man resting beneath her hands was entirely genuine. 

Honest. 

It had been built brick by brick, through shared teacups, quiet walks through the unnavigable maze of the Forest House, and the profound, patient kindness he had shown her when she had first come to him with her proposal.

She loved him. 

Elain had never felt more sure of anything in her life. Not because fate had dictated it, but because she had chosen to.

Her finger paused on a smooth, circular mark near his ribcage. She traced the outline of a rose petal, then a star, her movements fluid and tender.

She thought of the numerous unfinished letters sitting in the desk drawer across the room. Each one claiming something similar.

I believe our arrangement no longer serves its purpose. 

The words felt like a threat, as she thought of them, a dangerous spark that could set the entire, beautiful, fragile life they had built up in flames. If she told him the truth, if she demanded the emotional vulnerability they had both sworn off, Elain knew she risked losing the only person in Prythian who she felt entirely safe with.

Looking down at the magnificent, scarred expanse of his back, Elain knew she couldn't keep the fire contained much longer. She leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss where his shoulder met his neck. 

Lucien stirred slightly, his long legs shifting against the heavy sheets. The whirring of his mechanical eye gave a faint click in the darkness as he began to drift closer to consciousness.

Elain did not draw her hand away. Instead, she flattened her palm against the center of his back, feeling the steady, powerful rise and fall of his lungs, waiting for the morning to undo the arrangements of the night.

The familiar whir of his artificial eye slowed, settling into a quiet hum as the rest of Lucien’s senses caught up to the present. He didn't move immediately, remaining perfectly still as he let Elain draw a heart on his spine. Only when she was done, her nails dragging lightly on his ribs as she pulled away, did he finally move. 

With a low, gravelly groan that vibrated right through the mattress, he rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. His warm russet eye blinked sleepily before focusing on her. A slow, roguish smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, chasing away the vulnerability of sleep.

"If you wanted to carve a name into my back, Elain, I wouldn’t mind if it was yours," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but laced with amusement. "You could do it with a quill, in your neat and perfect script, although I suppose the fingertip method has its merits."

Elain caught her breath, her hand lingering in the space between them before she slowly pulled it back, resting it on her knee. "You were awake."

"I felt you move away from me," Lucien said, shifting so he was sitting up against the headboard, the velvet duvet pooling around his waist. He reached up, casually brushing a stray lock of coppery hair from his face. "And when my beautiful mate starts drawing prose on my skin in the dead of night, it’s hard to stay asleep. Though, I must admit, your spelling of my name is immaculate, I have no clue what else you were writing. A game I’m not so good at it, it seems."

Despite the light tone, his eye darkened slightly as his gaze swept over her. Elain knew he was taking in the thin silk shift, the flush on her cheeks, that he was reliving each kiss and each moan from only a few hours ago. 

The never ending tension flared between them, thick and heavy, filling the small distance she had created. It was the same yearning that had been quietly building throughout the day, as they had suffered countless polite dances, and shared hungry glances across the crowded ballroom Eris and Aspasia so flawlessly hosted. Elain was proud of all the work she’d put in as well, of choosing the flower arrangements and being trusted with ensuring that nothing was forgotten in the chaos of the preparations leading up to the equinox. 

"Eris’s festivals and balls seem to get louder and more grand every year," Elain offered softly, looking down at her hands to escape the intensity of his stare. "Aspasia certainly knows how to command a room. Seeing them tonight, with the little one..." She trailed off, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the warm air. She had watched her friends navigate the court with a fierce, settled joy, a complete contrast to the quiet and hardly mentioned existence she and Lucien shared. 

Lucien’s expression softened, the roguish mask slipping just a fraction. "My brother is many things, mostly intolerable," he said quietly, leaning in just a fraction closer, enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. "But he knows what he possesses, and he doesn't hide it. Aspasia is good for him. And as for Rufus... he’s already inherited Eris's terrible attitude, Mother help us all."

A small smile broke through Elain's serious demeanor, no doubt just as he had intended.

"Being in Autumn," Lucien continued, his voice dropping to a low, smooth cadence that made the air feel thin. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching a strand of her hair, tugging it playfully but with a profound undercurrent of seriousness. "I like it here, with you. I hope you feel the same."

"Lucien, don’t you feel it’s time we spoke about…our arrangement?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, sharp and raw, breaking the unwritten rule of the last few years. "We can’t continue as we have been, we just can’t."

Lucien froze, his mechanical eye whirring once in the silence. The roguish banter vanished, replaced by a sudden intensity that burned in his russet eye. He let go of her hair, his hand moving down to cup the side of her neck, his thumb resting right over her racing pulse. "We can do whatever you want, Elain," he whispered, the absolute truth of it laid bare between them. 

Elain’s breath hitched at the press of his thumb against her collar bone. The heat of his hand was a branding iron, anchoring her to the mattress while her mind spun out into the dark. She could no longer remember how long she had survived on these half-truths, but looking at her mate, with embers reflecting in the unguarded gold of his eye, the weight of the deception became too heavy for her to carry any longer. 

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, and reached up to gently but firmly wrap her fingers around his wrist. She pulled his hand away from her neck, though she didn’t let go of him completely. Her fingers trembled slightly against his skin.

"I promised you honesty, Lucien," Elain said, her voice barely louder than the rustle of the wind outside, steady enough that she felt a blooming sense of pride at her ability to remain calm. "When we agreed to this, we promised we would never lie to each other about what this arrangement was."

Lucien’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion breaking through the intensity of his gaze. His golden eye clicked twice, a sharp sound in the quiet room as it adjusted, she guessed he was tracking the sudden tension in her shoulders, the way she smoothed the corner of the sheets. Elain reminded herself to loosen her muscles, to stop fidgeting, to ignore the way her heart was pounding. His posture stiffened, his broad shoulders tensing as he looked down at her. "Elain? I don’t… I need you to help me understand."

"I'm saying that I need to end our arrangement," she whispered. "I can’t live like this.” 

The confusion deepened on his face, a shadow of sudden, sharp vulnerability crossing his features. He looked as if he had braced himself for a blow he hadn't seen coming. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He simply watched her, his chest rising and falling in a quicker, shallower rhythm. 

Elain felt a sudden rush of panic, that he did not feel the same. She would reveal her truth and her love would be unrequited.

Tragic.

Instead of answering his unspoken question, Elain slid across the mattress. The silk of her shift swished against the sheets as she slid her legs out from under the heavy duvet. Her bare feet hit the cold stone floors, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed, but she welcomed the chill. It kept her grounded in the moment. She crossed the room to the dark mahogany writing desk, her movements quick but deliberate.

From the top drawer, she retrieved a folded parchment. The edges were slightly crinkled from where her anxious fingers had held it earlier in the evening. It smelled faintly of jasmine, the sprig she’d plucked abandoned with her green ribbon just beside it.

When she turned back, Lucien had shifted to the edge of the bed. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his beautiful hair falling forward around his face, watching her with a stillness that felt entirely unnatural, so utterly fae it surprised her. He looked completely exposed, stripped of his courtly masks. Elain wanted more than anything to press her lips to his, to put back the clocks and try once again.

"I knew I wouldn't have the courage to say it right," she said, walking back toward him but stopping a few paces away. She unfolded the parchment, the paper rustling loudly in the quiet of the room. "I wrote down what I need to say, I just…let me read it first, alright?"

Lucien didn't move. He only nodded, his russet eye fixed entirely on her face.

Elain looked down at her own elegant writing, took a deep, stabilizing breath, and began to read.

Lucien, 

I have written you countless letters, and none of them can properly convey the truth of what I wish to tell you. I cannot bring myself to send them, although I know it would be easier. 

In a way, it would be less courageous, and my pride will not allow me to act cowardly, at least not when it comes to us. 

I wish things were different and I am tired of pretending otherwise. 

I love you, Lucien Vanserra.

Elain paused as she heard her voice shake slightly. She took a breath, found her rhythm once more and continued without tearing her gaze from her own words.

I told myself that ignoring the bond was the right choice, and that allowing you into my bed was simply an extension of it. 

The arrangement we made no longer serves its purpose, how could it? 

Elain’s eyes flickered up to Lucien. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle leaped in his cheek, his hands gripped the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles were white. She looked back at the paper, her heart hammering against her ribs. 

I must make it clear to you, since it is clear to me. 

I do not love you because our bond demands it. I have considered this, let it trouble me, only to reach the same conclusion time and time again. The Cauldron did us a great disservice, letting the bond snap between us when we were only strangers.

I know you now, how could I not fall deeply and tragically in love? 

You are kind and patient and loyal. You make me laugh, you make me brave. I cannot imagine my life without you, nor would I want to, but I cannot live in this unbearable middle ground anymore. 

I want to be honest with you, and I hope you will be honest with me. 

Yours always, 

Elain.

She lowered the parchment, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly she was certain it would tear in two. 

Silence rushed back into the room, heavy and suffocating. Elain stood perfectly still, her eyes searching his scarred face, desperately trying to read the shifting expressions beneath the amber glow of the hearth.

She looked for a spark of anger, a softening of relief, a shadow of regret, anything at all. Lucien remained entirely motionless, and if she was forced to guess, he seemed frozen in a stunned state of complete shock.

Desperate for some kind of sign, Elain reached deep within herself, seeking out the mating bond, looking for the golden thread that connected their souls, hoping to feel even a ripple of his emotion through the magic.

The bond remained utterly silent, offering no answers, no comfort, and no echo of his thoughts. All Elain could hear was the familiar beat of his heart in perfect time with her own. 

The absolute silence of the magic, paired with the rigid stillness of his body, made a wave of panic crash over her. The uncertainty was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest until she felt like she might choke. She wanted to scream into the quiet, wanted to fling the parchment into the dying fire just to force a reaction from him.

"Lucien," she breathed, the word a plea, her body trembling as she waited for him to either shatter her heart or hold it entirely in his hands.

The silence stretched, agonizingly thin, until the rigid tension in Lucien’s broad shoulders finally snapped.

He did not speak. Instead, he stood up from the edge of the bed in one swift, fluid motion, closing the distance between them before Elain could even draw another breath. He reached out, his long fingers gently but firmly taking the crinkled parchment from her trembling hands and tossing it onto the writing desk behind her without looking. He let his broad and steady hands settle gently on her waist.

“I love you, too, Elain Archeron,” he said, the unreadable mask he had worn moments ago dissolved completely, replaced by a warmth that seemed to radiate from the very core of his being. Slowly, the corners of his lips curved upward, and he flashed her favourite smile, the one she swore he reserved entirely for her. It was a smile full of absolute relief and a deep, wicked charm that made the remaining shadows in the room vanish. "You made me worry for a moment, Elain," he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrated with an emotion so raw it made her breath hitch. He leaned in, the heat of his bare chest brushing against the silk of her shift. "I thought you were about to banish me from my own court."

The sheer honesty in his russet eye told her everything the silent mating bond could not. Elain didn't waste another second on words. She reached up, her hands finding the warm, solid breadth of his shoulders, and pulled him down to her.

She kissed him with what she hoped was an assertion of everything she had just confessed. Lucien let out a soft, defeated groan against her lips, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist to pull her flush against him, lifting her slightly off her feet as he returned the kiss with a desperate hunger.

He spun them around and Elain did not hesitate to wrap her legs around his waist as they fell onto the bed, the mattress dipping with their combined weight. Her hand found the silk of his hair as his lips teased her ear, then the side of her neck. She felt a dull ache between her legs as Lucien pushed her shift past her hips. 

"I did not let myself believe you might feel the same, Elain," he breathed against her chin before he captured her lips once more. 

She touched her tongue to his and he grunted, his weight settled heavily on her. She arched up, seeking the pressure of his chest against hers. Elain forced herself to pull back, her hands moving up to frame his face. Slowly, deliberately, she traced her fingers upward, bypassing the whirring golden eye to press her soft fingertips against the familiar, rugged lines of the scar on his cheek, letting them linger tenderly along the stark line that cut through his brow. "Tell me again, that you love me."

Setting the strange trepidation aside, she pulled the cookies out of the oven and frowned. A spiced aroma wafted upwards, taunting her with its familiarity. She gasped, wide eyes darting from the line of ingredients then back down.