DANA ⌘

I had two versions of this piece and I couldn't decide which one was better so here have the other one too

The first letter Elain Archeron ever wrote to her mate occupied scarcely half a page. She regarded it long enough for the tea at her elbow to grow cold.

The words did not improve beneath inspection, she thought with a sigh. If anything, they seemed to grow more unbearable with every passing moment, as though the ink itself had committed some grave offense simply by existing upon the paper.

Her fingers moved toward the silver paper knife resting beside the cup. She turned it once between her fingers, watching the afternoon light catch along its edge, before slipping the blade beneath the fold.

For a moment, she regarded the letter with a faint lift of her brow.

It looked absurdly innocent.

A few lines of ink. A handful of words. It was not the type of letter a woman sent to a man after half a decade of immaculate silence.

Simply sitting down and thinking about what she was about to propose required more courage than any battle she had ever survived. Which was, Elain thought with some irritation, a deeply unreasonable thing for a letter to demand.

She folded the parchment.

Each crease was sharp enough to satisfy something within her.

Only when the page had become a square no larger than her palm did she throw it to the fire. The parchment curled, the edges the first to go.

Elain’s mouth tightened. Destroying a letter, she reflected, demanded considerably less courage than sending one.

The thought had scarcely settled before she felt her mate’s heartbeat once again.

It brushed against her awareness with the same maddening patience it had cultivated over the past several months, so faint she could almost dismiss it, and yet so constant she no longer could.

Once, Elain had been able to ignore it. She had told herself it was merely magic. An inconvenience. A strange circumstance created by forces older and far less sensible than herself.

As more time had passed, Elain felt that the bond insisted upon existing, a quiet pulse beneath her own. It seemed to her, as though somewhere, impossibly far away, another heart continued its measured rhythm with no regard for whether she wished to hear it.

Her fingers curled against the desk, she refused to count the beats.

She refused.

She did not wish to wonder whether he was sitting or standing, smiling or scowling, whether the pulse quickened because he laughed or slowed because he slept.

The refusal itself had become exhausting. With a sigh that carried rather more frustration than the moment deserved, Elain reached for another sheet of parchment.

This time, she didn’t allow herself the luxury of hesitation.

Lucien,

There are matters concerning the bond I believe we ought to discuss.

She stared at the sentence. It possessed all the warmth of a diplomatic summons, she decided. One expected ambassadors and emissaries to receive such letters. Not the man who fate, in one astonishing display of poor judgment, had tethered to her soul.

She laid the quill aside before she could strike through the words, she’d already ripped enough pages.

Outside, the gardens of the townhouse stretched beneath the amber wash of late afternoon. The roses she had planted climbed the pale stone balustrades, heavy with cream blossoms and blush petals that stirred in the breeze. Their fragrance drifted through the open windows, sweet enough to suffocate.

Elain thought she heard Nuala speak. The fountain splashed with cheerful indifference.

The world persisted in believing itself uncomplicated.

How enviable, Elain thought, blowing at an errant curl that fell over her eyes. 

The heartbeat continued, steady and infuriating. 

Some days, the bond gave her nothing but the proof of another existence brushing against hers. Other days, it betrayed little pieces of him.

A bone-deep weariness that disappeared before supper, a phantom ache behind her right eye, a sudden warmth filled her chest while arranging flowers.

Ignoring the bond had once required discipline, which Elain was proud to admit she possessed in spades. Now, it required a daily amount of energy she resented giving.

With a measured breath, she drew another page toward her. This time she did not pause to consider her words any longer.

She wrote.

Lucien,

If you are in Velaris for the Equinox Ball, I ask that you meet me after the first dance.

There is a private drawing room beyond the western ballroom.

I shall be there.

The quill hovered, a single heartbeat answered her own.

She had not offered him an explanation, and she was not going to apologize for her request. 

If Lucien came, she wanted it to be because she had asked, not because some ancient magic tugged at his ribs, and not because everyone else expected him to continue displaying a patience she had neither earned nor requested.

The distinction mattered, perhaps only to her.

She added one final line.

I believe it is time we spoke honestly.

She read the words once. Then folded the letter with meticulous care, smoothing each edge with the side of her thumb until the parchment lay perfectly even beneath her hand.

When the wax softened beneath the candle flame, she lifted the Night Court seal.

The crest pressed into the warm wax, and she felt as her brows drew together.

With a quiet sound of annoyance, Elain slid her thumbnail beneath the cooling seal and removed it.

Instead, she reached up and pulled the small sprig of jasmine woven into her hair and tucked it inside the fold, all the while wondering if she was making a terrible mistake. 

* * * 

The drawing room stood empty, as Elain had hoped it would.

It was smaller than the grand salons that opened onto the ballroom, meant less for entertaining than for escaping it. A pair of tall windows overlooked the river, their panes thrown open to admit the cool breath of the autumn evening. Candlelight gathered softly against dark walls, and somewhere beyond the closed door came the muted swell of music and laughter, as though another world existed only a corridor away.

A chessboard occupied the center table.

Elain crossed to it without thinking, her gloved fingertips lingering over the carved pieces. Someone had abandoned the game halfway through. She regarded the arrangement for a moment before quietly resetting the board, one piece after another returning to its proper place.

The small, orderly task steadied her. She had nearly finished arranging the pawns when she felt unhurried footsteps approaching. 

Her heartbeat betrayed her before the knock came, three courteous taps.

"Yes." She said and cringed at how dreadfully loud her voice sounded. 

The handle turned and Lucien entered with the same composed ease he seemed to carry into every room, closing the door gently behind him before looking up.

For one fleeting, impossible instant, neither of them spoke.

He had dressed for the ball in deep green, the velvet of his coat catching warm gold wherever the candles found it. Brown gloves disappeared beneath neatly fastened cuffs, and a cream cravat sat perfectly tied at his throat. 

Elain had to remind herself that staring was unbecoming. 

He looked well, she told herself, there was no need to be so captivated. 

Then his russet eye found hers. It was astonishing how such a lovely face could seem to hold so many different questions at once.

His gaze lingered only briefly before lowering. "Lady Elain."

The title, spoken with perfect civility, should not have disappointed her.

She inclined her head. "Hello."

Another silence settled. He remained near the door, leaving half the room between them.

Her eyes caught, quite without permission, on the familiar line of the scar crossing the side of his face.

Before she could stop herself, she wondered, not for the first time, what the raised skin might feel like if she pressed her lips to it. 

As though sensing the direction of her gaze, Lucien shifted. Merely enough that the scar disappeared from view, leaving only the clean profile she remembered from countless stolen glances across crowded rooms.

The movement was practiced. Something inside her tightened and she looked away first. "I hope I did not keep you from enjoying the ball." She frowned, remembering that it was being thrown to celebrate Autumn’s newest High Lord. 

His mouth curved. "I have attended enough court functions to know that being summoned to a private drawing room is generally the more interesting prospect." He paused.  "Though I confess I had not anticipated finding a chessboard." His gaze settled upon it.

"I thought..." She removed one glove finger by finger, buying herself a moment. "I thought we might play."

Lucien's brows lifted almost imperceptibly. "Does the game bear some strategic significance?"

"No." She folded the glove carefully beside the board. "I simply think better when my hands are occupied."

For a heartbeat he regarded her. "I generally think worse."

It was delivered so gravely that she almost failed to recognize the joke.

Almost.

The corner of her mouth betrayed her.

Lucien smiled outright.

Elain busied herself with removing the second glove.

The leather was finer than anything she ordinarily wore, dyed to match the dark garnet silk of her gown so precisely that they seemed cut from the same bolt of cloth. She smoothed each finger after drawing it free before placing the pair together beside the board.

An absurd thing to care about, whether he noticed the pretty gloves or the lovely gown.

Whether he noticed anything at all.

His gaze flickered toward her then, lingering not upon the dress but higher. On her hair, she knew.

It had taken her entirely by surprise, how liberating it had felt to cut it. Enough that the curls no longer brushed the middle of her back but sprang lightly against her shoulders whenever she moved.

Lucien said nothing about it, she could hardly expect him to remark upon her appearance while standing alone with her behind a closed door.

He crossed the room then, not directly toward her but to the opposite chair.

"I should warn you," he said, beginning to arrange the black pieces before him, "I play terribly."

"I don't believe you."

One shoulder lifted carelessly. "I was always better at cards."

For reasons she could not have explained, Elain suddenly found the first move infinitely more daunting than writing the letter had ever been. She reached for the king's pawn, advancing it two squares.

Lucien regarded the move with exaggerated solemnity. "A bold beginning."

"I thought it rather conventional." Elain offered. 

His fingers, long and deft, covered by his gloves, settled upon one of his own pawns. There was something unexpectedly elegant in his movements. The piece came to rest opposite hers with a quiet click against the board.

"I confess," he said, "I have spent the better part of this evening attempting to guess why you wished to see me."

"And?"

"I have reached no satisfactory conclusion." His tone remained light, but she noticed the way he did not look at her as he spoke. His attention rested upon the board with suspicious diligence.

Another piece moved.

She studied him across the chessboard. "You don't seem to be very troubled by that."

"I am." His answer came easily. "I simply find worrying over such things an unattractive quality."

Elain held back a truly unladylike snort. She moved her knight. "So."

Lucien mirrored the motion on his side of the board. "So."

"I asked you here because..." The sentence dissolved, the words honey on her tongue.

How ridiculous.

"You needn't hurry," Lucien said at last.

Elain noticed that her discarded gloves lay beside her elbow, perfectly aligned, one atop the other. Without thinking, she straightened them. "I've been reading," she started.

One copper brow lifted. "Should I be alarmed?"

She fought the urge to scowl. "I fail to see why my reading habits would concern you."

"They generally wouldn't." His priestess glided forward. "But one rarely summons a male to announce them."

Despite herself Elain breathed a small laugh. 

Lucien looked absurdly pleased with himself in response.

The music changed. The orchestra had begun a waltz, the strings drifting faintly through the walls like distant birdsong.

Lucien turned his attention back to the board, shifting his body forward. The movement revealed the familiar scar, pale beneath the candlelight, running from brow to jaw. His mechanical eye caught the flame for the briefest instant, throwing back a glimmer of molten gold.

"I've been reading," she repeated more quietly, "about mating bonds."

Something imperceptible changed in his expression. He leaned back almost lazily, one arm resting against the chair, but his russet eye remained fixed upon her with a concentration that made her pulse flutter. "I see."

"I found remarkably little." Elain admitted.

"I'm not surprised." His golden eye whirred softly, filling the silence. "What did the books say?"

Elain looked down at the board. She reached for her queen, then stopped before touching it.

"When the bond..." she began, shaking her head. "When the bond snapped between us... I thought refusing to acknowledge it would eventually weaken it."

"It was a reasonable guess." Lucien responded with a frown.

"I don't believe it has." Elain said softly. 

"No."

"You feel it as well." It wasn't quite a question.

Lucien was silent for several moments. When he answered, his voice was very calm. "I do."

She lifted her eyes. "To what extent?"

He considered that. "It varies." His thumb absently traced the smooth edge of one of his captured pawns.

"Can you feel it tonight?"

Lucien hesitated. His mismatched gaze held hers. "Tonight," he said softly, "I know you're terrified."

Elain felt her breath catch.

She had hidden it from everyone else so successfully that she'd almost managed to hide it from herself.

For several moments, only the crackle of the candles disturbed the quiet. Elain looked down at the board, though she could not have said what position the pieces occupied.

Terrified.

The word ought to have embarrassed her.

Curiously, it did not. Only because he'd said it without satisfaction at having guessed correctly, she thought. Simply as though he had observed clouds gathering over the Sidra and remarked that she might wish to bring an umbrella on her walk.

"You don’t need to look quite so alarmed," Lucien said after a moment, rescuing his knight from what she belatedly realized had been an excellent trap. "I assure you, I won’t make a habit of announcing your emotions."

Elain traced the edge of one of her priestesses with the tip of her finger. The ivory was warm. "I've often wondered," she admitted, "whether I imagined it."

"The bond?"

She nodded. "The heartbeat. The... impressions." She tucked a curl behind her pointed ear. "I told myself they were coincidences."

Lucien smiled faintly. "I did much the same."

"You did?"

"Oh, yes." He nodded. "For nearly a year I convinced myself I was inexplicably developing a fondness for gardening."

She blinked. The ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth.

"So when I spent three consecutive afternoons wondering whether daffodils preferred morning sun..."

"You knew." Elain concluded.

"I suspected." His eye met hers. "It seemed considerably more likely that someone else cared about daffodils than that I had developed a passionate interest overnight."

She laughed before she could stop herself. It escaped her in a bright, surprised sound.

Lucien's expression changed, the tight lines around his mouth smoothened. His shoulders, always so carefully held, loosened by a fraction.

Elain advanced her queen.

Lucien regarded the move. 

"What?" Elain muttered.

"I fear you're attempting to distract me."

"I assure you, I possess no such strategy."

"I've just lost a rook."

"I fail to see how that concerns me."

"It confirms my suspicion." He said lightly. 

"Which is?"

"Behind your lovely disposition, there's a ruthless streak."

She tilted her head. "You've only just discovered it?"

The music beyond the walls swelled, then faded again beneath the low murmur of voices in the ballroom. Somewhere in the corridor, footsteps passed without pausing.

The drawing room remained undisturbed.

Elain became aware that her index finger began to catch along the skin of her thumbnail beneath the table. A nervous habit from her human life.

She stilled it immediately.

Lucien studied the board with remarkable concentration, ignoring her remark entirely.

She found herself unexpectedly grateful. "I have another question."

"You may ask as many as you like."

She hesitated. "Has it..." Her voice faltered. She tried again. "Has the bond become stronger?"

Lucien did not answer at once. His fingers rested lightly against his knee, though he made no move. "I don't know."

"You don't?" Elain asked, hearing a bit of desperation in her tone. 

"I know that I have become more accustomed to hearing it." He chose his words carefully. "Eris once compared it to the way one might notice the ticking of a clock until it suddenly stops."

Elain frowned. "That sounds dreadful."

"It isn't." He looked at her then, with that infuriating steadiness that always made her feel as though he saw one thought further than she intended to reveal. "It's simply..." He searched briefly, "...part of the architecture now."

Elain turned the phrase over silently.

Part of the architecture.

She wondered whether that was healthier than her own method of pretending that the bond did not exist. Perhaps that explained why she was so exhausted.

"You said you've been reading." His voice was quiet, almost indifferent as he continued. "You never told me what you were looking for."

Elain looked down at the board. Lucien had her in check, she hadn't even seen it happen.

"I was looking," she said slowly, "for an ending."

His hand, halfway toward his king, became still. His careful expression did not change, but she felt the way his heart skipped a beat. 

Elain finally lifted her gaze to meet his. "There was one thing," she said, "upon which every account agreed."

Neither of them reached for the board. The game remained exactly as it was, the pieces suspended in quiet expectation.

Elain found herself looking instead at Lucien's hands. His gloves still concealed them. She had not noticed until now.

"You've kept your gloves on." The observation escaped before she could consider her words.

He glanced down, as though surprised to find them there. "So I have," he murmured.

He tugged first at one finger, then another, drawing the leather free with unhurried precision. His hands emerged broad and lightly tanned, the backs crossed by faint white lines. 

He laid the gloves neatly beside the board, parallel to her own. She noticed the orderliness of it, the small, unconscious symmetry.

It reminded her, absurdly, of arranging seedlings in the gardens before they ever flowered.

"You've been observing me all evening."

Elain looked up too quickly. "Me?"

Lucien’s tone remained perfectly pleasant. "So either I'm considerably more interesting than I believed," he raised his shoulders elegantly, "or you're delaying."

She felt as heat climbed delicately into her cheeks. "I am not delaying."

Lucien inclined his head. "I stand corrected."

He did not sound remotely corrected. 

She resisted the impulse to frown. "You are very provoking."

"I've been accused."

"I can well imagine."

"I doubt it." The answer came so softly that she almost missed it.

She looked at him, her eyes squinting in accusation. "What do you mean?"

His gaze wandered briefly toward the open window. Beyond it, orange lanterns floated upon the Sidra, each reflection breaking and reforming upon the current. "I don't think you've imagined me at all." The words were spoken without resentment. "I think you've spent five years," he continued quietly, "being exceedingly careful not to."

She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

She had known facts, had carefully collected them whenever she heard his name being mentioned. She could admit that she had never allowed herself to wonder what occupied his thoughts, never allowed herself to imagine what he might be doing.

Lucien simply existed, and she only acknowledged his presence when he addressed her directly. The realization was suddenly uncomfortable. "I was trying to be kind." It sounded feeble even to her own ears.

Lucien drew a sharp breath. "I know."

"I thought..."

"I know what you thought." His fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the chessboard. "You thought distance would be easier."

She nodded once.

"For you as much as for me."

"Mm."

“Elain,” hearing her name fall from his full lips sent the most extraordinary flutter through her chest. Lucien leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against his knees. "You said the books agreed upon one thing."

Elain looked down at the board. Her king remained in check. "It appears," she murmured, "that mating bonds are rather... inelegant."

His brow lifted. "I wasn't aware anyone had ever accused them of being elegant."

"They're surprisingly practical."

"I see."

"They describe..." She searched for a word that sounded less shocking than the truth, "...a completion."

Lucien did not move. She wondered whether he had stopped breathing.

"The bond is said to..." She exhaled softly, "...become quieter." His gaze never left her face. "After intimacy."

The word itself seemed almost disappointingly ordinary.

Lucien's hand closed slowly around one of the captured pieces. He rolled it once between his fingers. "You've chosen an interesting place to have this conversation."

"The ballroom seemed inappropriate." Elain mumbled, certain that her face and chest had turned the same shade as her dress. She folded her hands together in her lap to stop herself from twisting the ring she wore. "I have a proposal."

"I had begun to suspect." Lucien said, an amused tilt to his head. 

"It is not..." She paused. Suddenly she cared very much how he heard her words. "It is not born of affection." The moment the statement left her mouth, she wished to gather it back. Lucien did not flinch, his golden eye clicked. "It is born," she continued carefully, "of curiosity and practicality."

A flicker of emotion crossed his face.

She pressed on before courage deserted her entirely. "I am tired, Lucien." She met his eye. "I am tired of wondering whether this bond governs more of my life than I permit myself to admit."

"I understand,” Lucien answered simply.

"I would like to know." She drew a careful breath. "If it asks only this."

The silence that followed was so complete she could hear the river beyond the open window. Lucien looked at her for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't think," he said, "that it would be right of me to share my thoughts before you ask the one question you truly brought me here to ask."

Elain realized, with equal parts horror and exasperation, that he was going to make her say it aloud. For one extraordinary moment, she considered leaving. She did not imagine flinging open the door or inventing some transparent excuse about the lateness of the hour.

She simply imagined standing, walking quietly from the room, and pretending none of it had happened. It was a temptation she recognized with uncomfortable familiarity, that retreat had always come naturally to her.

Lucien, infuriatingly, appeared to recognize it as well. 

"You needn't look so pleased." Elain huffed. She looked down at her hands. Without realizing it, she had gathered the fingers of one glove into her palm, the soft kid leather creased beneath her grip.

She smoothed it carefully.

"I invited you here," she said, more to the glove than to him, "because I wished to propose..." The word caught and Lucien said nothing, "...an arrangement."

He inclined his head once. "What sort of arrangement?"

She looked up sharply. "You know perfectly well."

"I have a suspicion."

"A suspicion?" She repeated, somewhat exasperated.

"My suspicions have been wrong before." His tone was mild. "I'd rather not presume."

She narrowed her eyes. "I believe you're doing this on purpose."

"I absolutely am." He said it so candidly that she almost laughed.

Instead, she found herself staring. "You are remarkably irritating."

"I've heard others say the same thing on countless occasions."

"You seem rather proud of it." Elain bit back. 

His smile broadened. "It does amuse me."

The warmth of it caught her off guard. She had seen Lucien smile countless times across crowded rooms. At Feyre, and Cassian, and Eris. At little Nyx, who seemed convinced Lucien existed solely for the purpose of being climbed upon.

Never, she realized with a start, like the one he flashed her just a moment before. 

The thought made her strangely breathless.

She straightened unconsciously. Her curls slipped forward, brushing the line of her jaw before bouncing back against her shoulders.

Lucien's gaze followed the movement, only for an instant, then it returned politely to her face.

She wondered, ridiculously, whether he preferred it longer.

"I like it." Lucien said.

She blinked. "What?"

"Your hair." 

She had not realized if she'd spoken aloud, or if the thought had made its way along their shared bond. Colour rose into her cheeks with alarming speed. "I wasn't—"

He spared her the embarrassment of finishing. "It suits you." His voice remained wonderfully matter-of-fact.

She stared. One morning she'd looked in the mirror and felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired of carrying the weight of her curls. "Thank you," she murmured.

Lucien inclined his head. "Well," he said softly. She met his eye. "I believe you were proposing something."

Elain folded her hands together. Then unfolded them again.

"I should like..." she began. Her voice disappeared, she closed her eyes for the briefest moment. When she opened them, Lucien was watching her with such steady attention that there was nowhere left to hide. "I should like us," she said slowly, "to become lovers."

Not mates, not husband and wife, not anything so grand and permanent.

Lovers.

The word lingered between them.

Lucien did not react, at least, not outwardly. She felt the quick beat of his heart in perfect time with her own. The ivory pawn he'd been holding ceased its lazy rotation between his fingers. "I see."

"I thought..." She forced herself onward. "If the bond settles after physical intimacy..."

"Yes."

She stared at his throat, watched him as he swallowed, "...then perhaps we might..." She searched helplessly, "...determine whether that is true."

He was silent.

"I am aware," she continued, "that this proposal is unconventional."

He raised his brows. "I confess, that aspect has not escaped me."

She smiled, only briefly. "I am serious, Lucien, I do not mean to make light of it."

"I believe you." He laid the pawn gently upon the table. The tiny click sounded terribly loud. Then he leaned back, studying her with an expression she could not decipher. "When you wrote that we ought to speak honestly..." His voice was almost thoughtful. "Elain," he said softly, "do you truly imagine the difficult part of this conversation is persuading me to say yes?" 

"I thought you might require some persuading." Elain scowled. 

"The difficult part is making certain you understand what you're asking of me."

And suddenly the chess game felt very far away indeed.

Elain held his gaze. "I understand perfectly well."

"I don't believe you do."

"I assure you—"

"I know what you believe you're asking." His voice remained gentle enough that it only sharpened her irritation. "I should like to know," he said, "whether you've imagined this conversation ending differently."

She frowned. "I don’t understand?"

"Did you expect me to bargain?"

"No." She stammered.

"Negotiate terms?"

"No." She said more confidently.

"Attempt to seduce you?"

Her cheeks warmed. "Perhaps a little."

A flicker of amusement touched his expression. "I was fairly certain that would have sent you directly back to the ballroom."

"It probably would have." She looked at him for a long moment. "Then what is it you imagine I have misunderstood?"

Lucien was quiet. The silence stretched long enough that she wondered whether he meant to answer at all. When he did, it was with remarkable care. "I think you've spent a very long time convincing yourself that because I have never asked anything of you..." His thumb brushed once across his opposite knuckle. "I never wanted anything."

The words seemed to settle over the room like dust disturbed from an old bookshelf.

Elain blinked. "I never thought that."

"You've never wondered why I've gone away when staying would have pleased me more?" His tone was conversational.

She had wondered. "I assumed you were being considerate."

"I was."

"And patient."

Lucien smiled, though there was something undeniably tired about it. Her eyes dropped briefly to the board. The game remained abandoned.

Black had her king in check. Neither of them seemed inclined to finish it.

"I don't want to hurt you." The words escaped so quietly that she scarcely recognized her own voice.

Lucien looked at her. Something softened in his face. "I know."

"I can separate affection from desire." She said it because she believed it.

Lucien regarded her steadily, his russet eye suddenly dark. "I can as well."

The answer surprised her. She had expected some sort of disagreement.

His gaze drifted to her hands. She realized she had begun smoothing invisible creases from her skirt.

Lucien reached toward the chessboard at last, for a moment she hoped he was going to reach for her hand. He grabbed her ivory queen, turning it once between his fingers. "You've proposed an arrangement."

"One you’ve not agreed to," Elain replied.

"I intend to." Her pulse quickened. "But before I do,” he set the queen back exactly where he'd found it, "I need to ask you something."

She nodded.

"If, after one night, nothing changes,” his eye lifted to hers, the golden one clicking into place as well. "If the bond remains exactly as it is and you discover you dislike me just as thoroughly the following morning..." His mouth twitched, taking some of the sting from the words, "...what then?"

Elain opened her mouth. No answer came. She had thought about the bond, about the books, about practicality and her own curiosity.

She had not once imagined the morning after.

Lucien seemed to notice as the realization dawned on her.

Elain looked at the chessboard. The white queen stood exactly where Lucien had returned it, not one square altered.

It struck her how careful he was with things that did not belong to him. She wondered if he knew he did such a thing.

She licked her lower lip, and caught the way Lucien’s eye tracked the movement. "I have spent five years imagining every possible consequence of ignoring the bond." She met his gaze. "I should like, for once, to concern myself with the consequences of acknowledging it."

Something flickered across his face. She could not tell whether it was positive or negative.

"I dislike uncertainty." His expression softened almost imperceptibly, but Elain continued to speak. "I do not like that there are parts of my own life I cannot explain." She gave a quiet huff of breath. “My visions, this bond, the magic in Prythian.” She shook her head. "I seem to have accumulated rather a great many inexplicable things."

"I like that you're less afraid of saying exactly what you think." Lucien offered simply in response. 

Elain considered his observation. Perhaps he was right, or perhaps she'd finally grown tired of swallowing every inconvenient thought. “It makes me feel rather unintelligent, being uncertain.” 

“I don’t think your intelligence should be in question.” 

She looked down. His king was exposed. Her fingertips brushed the carved ivory queen. "You've been letting me win."

Lucien had the decency to look sheepish. "I wouldn't say letting."

"I would." Elain nearly snarled the words. She folded her arms. "You've sacrificed two pieces unnecessarily."

"They were perfectly respectable sacrifices." Lucien winced. 

"They were dreadful."

"They served their purpose."

"And what purpose was that?"

He regarded her for a heartbeat. "Keeping you here." The room became very still. A faint flush climbed the line of his neck. "You asked for honesty, Elain."

She could not seem to look away. "You wanted the conversation to last."

"I usually want conversations with pretty ladies to last.” 

Elain lowered her gaze because it had suddenly become difficult to breathe.

She could feel his desire down the bond, the unspoken words behind his comment, that he wished to speak with her despite the years of silence. She had assumed that all his patience had been effortless. That giving her space had cost him very little because it was simply the sort of man he was. She had never considered that restraint itself might require considerable effort.

The bond hummed quietly beneath her ribs. It occurred to Elain that this was the longest they had ever spoken alone.

"So," Lucien said at last. "You've told me what you hope this arrangement will achieve."

"I believe I have." Elain nodded absently. "I trust you, I suppose."

Lucien's entire expression changed. His eye searched hers with an intensity that made the room seem to narrow around them.

She realized, a heartbeat too late, that trust for a man who had been betrayed by nearly everyone he'd ever loved, was perhaps the most intimate word she could have chosen.

He didn't speak immediately. When he finally did, his voice was lower than before. "Elain, if I agree, there will be one condition."

She felt her heart give a single, hard beat. "What condition?"

He looked at her for a very long time. "You may end this arrangement whenever you wish." He held her gaze steadily, “I only ask we stop pretending amongst ourselves.” 

"Lucien,” the bond pulsed, a quiet reminder. "You really would agree?" The question came softer than she intended.

His answer came without hesitation. "Yes."

Her breath caught. "Why?"

He leaned closer. "Because you asked."

She stared at him, mirroring him so that their hands were nearly touching. "That is all?"

"For now."

"You make it sound very simple."

"It is simple." He breathed. The words were so quiet she almost wondered if she had imagined them.

Her heartbeat stumbled. "I like your condition." He went very still as she searched for the right words. "I don’t want us to continue behaving as though we are strangers afterward."

Something almost like surprise crossed his face. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

The music beyond the door continued, the chessboard remained between them, their game unfinished.

Elain looked down at the pieces. "I should return to the celebrations before anyone begins wondering." She rose and the movement made Lucien straighten immediately.

A faint amusement crossed his face. "I imagine several people already are."

She sighed rather dramatically. "That is likely true."

Lucien stood as well. For a moment they were separated only by the chessboard and the space propriety demanded.

It was strange. She had just suggested something that would have scandalized every lady who had ever instructed her in manners, yet the smallest distance between them felt infinitely more significant.

Lucien reached for his gloves, and Elain found herself wishing he’d leave them off. 

He stepped around the chess table. When he reached her, he stopped, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.

"May I?" The question was so quiet.

She looked at him. Then, slowly, offered her hand. Lucien’s fingers closed around hers. He lowered his head and his perfect mouth brushed the back of her ungloved knuckles.

A gentleman's kiss, an old-fashioned gesture she’d seen on the other side of the wall. Elain felt the absurd flutter of it all the way to her ribs.

When he straightened, his expression remained composed. "Tomorrow evening?" 

She considered him for another moment. "Not tomorrow."

His expression shifted. “As you wish, Elain.” 

"I will send word,” she nodded, more to herself than to him.

"Of course."

"And Lucien?" She held his gaze. "I expect you to come to me."

Lucien seemed for the moment to be caught completely off guard. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He inclined his head, the shadow of a bow. “Of course.” He stepped back, and Elain felt the absence of his warmth. "I shall await your message, then."

Elain nodded. "Good."

He reached the door, and she found herself staring at his broad back. He paused, looking over his shoulder.

She wondered if he would say something clever. Instead, he simply said, "Goodnight, Elain."

"Goodnight, Lucien." The door closed softly behind him.