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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