julia!!

Lysandra snickered, getting an elbow in the side from Aedion. “You were like that once, too,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, and now I’ve adapted,” she said proudly, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. Her leopard print coat would’ve been tacky on anyone else, yet somehow Lysandra made it look chic. She was also in snow pants, but that was because she had Evangeline to keep up with.

Aelin pecked a kiss to her boyfriend’s lips with a smile. Rowan’s eyes crinkled as he smiled back, cheeks already rosy from the cold.

“Eugh, get a room,” her cousin groaned. Aelin threw a snowball at him, deliberately making sure to pack the snow nice and hard and tight, smacking him dead-square in the back. “Ow! You bi—rat!”

Before he could return fire, Aelin hid behind Rowan, using him as a human shield. She stood on her tiptoes, chin just barely past his shoulder, to stick her tongue out and blow a raspberry at Aedion. Without warning, her boyfriend ducked, allowing her cousin to hit her right in the chest. After that, they called a truce.

For now, at least.

“Traitor,” Aelin hissed under her breath as they strolled along the frozen river that became a bustling market in winter. Rowan squeezed her hand in apology.

All bundled up, people thankfully didn’t recognize her. Or if they did, they chose to be polite and not approach her. Orynth loved their women’s professional hockey team, especially their captain. Sometimes Aelin wished she wasn’t quite so famous in her hometown, or throughout Terrasen in general.

A group of teenage girls passed them as Rowan perused a stall selling ceramics. Eyeing a pretty vase, she leaned in to look at the price and balked.

“Excuse me,” came a girl’s voice, slightly timid. “Are you Aelin Galathynius?”

Aelin turned to see that group of teenage girls standing just outside the stall, huddled in a group like penguins as they waited for her reply. They squealed upon her confirmation. One girl asked for her jersey to be signed, which Aelin did gladly, after borrowing a marker off the shopkeeper. She crouched and they all piled up behind her to get in frame as Aelin held one girl’s phone up to take a selfie. Met with a chorus of “thank you!”s, Aelin waved them goodbye and returned to face her boyfriend. The look in his eyes was too soft for her liking, too full of the future.

Afterward, they ambled onward, hand in hand, just another happy couple enjoying the winter market.

———————————

Rowan could feel his girlfriend’s eyes as he laced up his skates. Attempted to, more like. “I’ve got it,” he grumbled, struggling to yank the waxed laces tight.

“Let me help you,” she said, already squatting. Aelin pulled off her gloves and shoved them in the pocket of her coat, making quick work of the stiff laces. “Good?”

Wiggling his foot back and forth, Rowan shrugged in confirmation. He stood, pitching forward and narrowly being saved from getting a faceful of snow and ice by his girlfriend. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the baby steps he took while clutching her hand made his face burn. And the fact that kids who barely came up to his knee could skate in circles around him made it even worse.

The “rink” was a large section of frozen river with the snow cleared away. Some people who wanted their own chunk of ice brought shovels and dug one out for themselves. Most were content to share the biggest one, treating it like a public rink.

With Aelin’s hands in his, Rowan tried to follow her voice. “Push, push, glide,” she repeated for what felt like the thousandth time in the last five minutes, pulling him along as she skated backwards. They slowed to a stop. “Remember, it’s a push, not a step. Use the inside edge of your blade to dig into the ice and propel yourself forward. And bend your knees. Always bend your knees.”

This was by no means his first skating lesson from his girlfriend, star of Orynth’s hockey scene. The city, the country, the whole damn world loved her. So did he, but sometimes he felt his love paled in comparison to their fervent adoration.

Push.

Push.

Glide.

“Almost!”

Rowan didn’t think the problem was with the teacher; she taught tons of little kids in the offseason. Maybe he was just meant to cheer her on from behind the glass. Maybe he wasn’t meant to have knives strapped to his feet.

Push.

Push.

Glide.

He glided. All of half-a-step’s length, but it was better than nothing. He did it again, going slightly farther this time. His motions were still stiff and stilted, not at all fluid or elegant like his girlfriend.

Aelin’s grin was so infectious that Rowan couldn’t help but catch it.

“If I fall, I’m taking you with me,” Rowan promised as she gently pushed him to glide farther, go faster.

His girlfriend’s turquoise eyes sparkled with something like mischief. “Only if I get to be on top,” she teased with a wink. Rowan blushed, embarrassment flooding hot into his face. Hopefully no one could see it, red as his cheeks already were. “Oh, relax. I’ll be right here the entire time.”

Aelin set a slow, easy pace to her skating, hands casually in the pockets of her coat. Rowan kept his out for balance, his confidence slowly growing with each lap. Without warning, she abandoned him, speed-skating around the edge of the rink and weaving through people with ease. She stopped just shy of crashing into him, a spray of snow flung onto his legs. Upon her return, Rowan grabbed her hand, keeping her with him.

It was then his skate hit a rough patch of ice and he went sprawling. Aelin’s arms pinwheeled before she couldn’t right herself and went down with him. Tailbone smarting and dignity in tatters, he turned to look at her. Aelin was biting back a smile, shoulders shaking as she tried to laugh silently.

“What?” Rowan glowered, trying to tamp down the feeling that she was laughing at him.

“I haven’t fallen that hard in years!” she eventually got out between peals of laughter. Clambering to her feet, she dragged Rowan up to his. “Ow,” she whined, brushing ice off her backside. “My butt is going to be so sore tomorrow.”

“You don’t say,” he deadpanned.

Aelin pulled him so close they were chest-to-chest, breath mingling in white clouds. “Kiss it better?”

“Aelin!”

“So I take it that’s a no?”

“What do you think?”

She held up her hands placatingly, though her smirk betrayed her. “Just checking.”

They made a couple more laps, just so Rowan didn’t end today’s skate on such a bad note as a fall. Finally, they agreed to go home. He was cold, damn near frozen to the bone. Aelin tossed their skates in the trunk, climbing into the driver’s seat. Rowan immediately turned the heat knob to its highest setting, ignoring the disapproving look he was getting.

At home, a boiling shower thawed him out the rest of the way. As he stood in the steam shivering, Aelin made them tea and a quick coffee cake. Rowan slipped into a clean pair of sweatpants and his warmest hoodie, snuggling up with his girlfriend on the couch and watching one of those silly holiday romcoms. Fleetfoot jumped up halfway through, a transgression they reluctantly allowed, and curled herself into a ball next to them.

On the verge of dozing off, he mumbled a sleepy “I love you” into her hair. He had fallen for her so hard, so deeply, that he battled the cold and froze his ass off as a testament to their love.

———————————

yes rowan is wearing one of those ridiculously ginormous red canada goose expedition parkas (he is also a wag)

unfortunately i am not immune to the heated rivalry hockey propaganda. howEVER imho the pwhl >>> nhl

It was his knee, again. 

Lorcan winced as he stretched out his leg in front of him. His teammates surrounded him with classic locker-room chatter, making plans and chirping each other for mistakes made in practice. He had an appointment with the team physiotherapist soon, and he needed to work up the energy to walk down the hallway. And then there would be the stairs.

He dropped his head. Fuck. He felt geriatric sometimes, but then again he’d had knee problems since he could remember. The doctors used to blame his pain on growth spurts, and then it was his intensity on the ice. So, he supposed he couldn’t really feel old about it if the injury’d been with him since childhood.

Someone came to stand in front of him. He looked up with a scowl that melted when he saw Rowan. “Hey, man.”

Rowan nodded. “Are you doing anything tonight?” He’d dressed after his shower, hair still shining with water, and had his bag and goalie pads slung over a broad shoulder.

He gestured at his knee. “Got a physio appointment, but nah. Nothing after that.”

“Hm. Wanna come over after? The game’ll be on.” Rowan’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh or smile.

His pulse jumps a bit, blood rushing with a thrill. Lorcan nodded. “Yeah, alright.” They knocked their fists together, keeping up a pretense like they were just pals making evening plans to sit on a couch, watch some more hockey, and drink a beer. “See you later, then.”

Rowan nodded and then slipped his headphones over his ears as he left.

Lorcan got up after another minute. He had something to look forward to.

<p>

He got into his far-too expensive car after his appointment, feeling both worse and better all at once. 

The car purred to life; like most eighteen-year-olds with too much fuck-you money, he’d bought the thing outright, in cash, after getting his first paycheque. His friends had loved it, and his grandma had given him a slap upside the head. He’d kept it even ten years later. Most people he knew—worked with—changed them out every two or so years.

Lorcan leaned back in his seat as he drove to Rowan’s house in his too-posh neighbourhood. When they were first starting on the team, they’d lived in the same building, but then Rowan went and bought a house off a former hockey player after they won the championship. It was nice, Lorcan had to admit. He spent a lot of his time there, these days.

At Rowan’s house, he waited for the gate to open before pulling in. He tucked his car in next to Rowan’s luxury yet practical SUV and left his gearbag stuffed in the passenger seat. His knee protested when he climbed out of the low-to-the-ground car door. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“Might be time to trade that in,” said a voice from the door.

He whipped his head up to see Rowan standing in his open doorway. Lorcan flushed a bit. He didn’t like when people saw him in pain. Especially not Rowan. “What, and get a boring car like you?”

Rowan shrugged, “Mine’s comfortable and fits passengers plus all my shit.”

Lorcan didn’t deign that with an answer, even though Rowan was right. And they both knew it. Apparently, Rowan didn’t think they needed any more conversation either, as he turned back in to his house. Lorcan followed him in.

After he shut the door, Rowan pushed him against it and kissed him properly. Lorcan tilted his head just right. He palmed the back of Rowan’s head and wrapped his other arm around Rowan’s shoulders. He loved Rowan’s shoulders.

Rowan gripped his hips, pushing them against his solid oak door. He knew how to kiss Lorcan. Lorcan was a good kisser, he’d never really had a bad one, but the rumours which had been circulating tabloids for years were true. Rowan knew how to kiss. “Fuck,” Rowan whispered. He pulled away but rested his forehead on Lorcan’s. Lorcan shifted his face to nip at Rowan’s soft bottom lip. He loved making Rowan’s lips pink. Rowan groaned, and they were back against the door, wanting one another closer closer. 

Lorcan sighed his mouth open. He wanted Rowan filthy, wanted the man to lick into his mouth, wanted his tongue down his throat. 

But Rowan pulled back again and just stood there, rubbing Lorcan’s side. “D’you eat yet?”

“Um.” Lorcan blinked. “A bit?” He pecked Rowan’s mouth. “Are you hungry? I could eat, I guess.” He thought maybe they’d eat later. After.

“Not now. Come in, though. I have some chores to do.” Rowan turned out of Lorcan’s arms and walked further into his house. Every room was on one level; when he first bought it, everyone had given him shit for buying a house without stairs, Lorcan included. He had to admit now that he appreciated the lack of stress on his poor overworked joints.

Chores was a weird term for hooking up, Lorcan thought to himself. Kind of offensive, when he really considered it. Fucking him was a chore?

He worked himself up, not even realising he had followed Rowan to his bedroom until he was standing at the foot of Rowan’s bed. He let himself fall to the mattress, his actions all a bit mindless, and settled against the plush pillows and duvet. 

Rowan looked at him with a small frown. “I just made that,” he said.

“Oh, I got a feeling it’s gonna be a lot more messed than this pretty soon.”

“Just– sit. Be still.” An alarm went off elsewhere in the house, Lorcan thought it might be laundry, and Rowan disappeared without warning. 

He could be odd sometimes. Particular, Lorcan corrected. He idly patted one of the pillows by him. He used to think it was ridiculous, the amount of assorted pillows Rowan had, but they’d proven useful.

Rowan caught him smiling to himself as he re-entered the room. “What’re you smiling at?”

“Nothing.” Lorcan pushed himself up to his elbows and quickly took in, then dismissed, the basket of laundry in Rowan’s hands. “C’mere.”

“No, you come here.”

“You come here.” Lorcan stood.

Rowan ceded a step. “Come here.”

They did that little dance until they were chest-to-chest. Or would be, if not for Rowan’s basket. Lorcan kissed him anyway, carding his fingers through Rowan’s hair. Rowan kissed him back easily, but Lorcan knew it’d be better if his hands were free.

He pulled back and glanced down at the basket. “You wanna put that down?”

Rowan hummed. He moved past Lorcan to set it down. Lorcan turned automatically—these days he seemed to orbit around Rowan—to see the man start to sort through his clean clothes.

Lorcan sighed a bit. Like he said, somewhat odd. He trailed after Rowan. “Whatcha doing?”

“Folding laundry.”

“Mm.” He stripped off his hoodie, t-shirt, and sweatpants, so he was only wearing a pair of intentionally-too-small shorts. Rowan had liked them the last time he wore them. Really liked them, Lorcan remembered. To avoid Rowan’s wrath, Lorcan folded his discarded clothes and stacked them on Rowan’s dresser. He retook his position in bed, now lounging on his elbows with his legs spread (indecently). 

Rowan peered down at him but only for a second before returning to the task.

Lorcan frowned a bit. “You, uh, want any help with that?” He didn’t know if he wanted Rowan to say yes or no.

“No, that’s alright,” Rowan replied mildly.

His response made Lorcan huff. Were his laundry folding skills not up to par for the great, magnanimous Rowan Whitethorn? Fucking prick.

“How was physio?”

“Uh- fine. Normal.”

“It’s your knee, right?”

“Yeah, always is.”

Rowan made a face. “Sorry.”

Lorcan shrugged. “‘s’not your fault.” 

In a way, maybe it was, though. Rowan had hit him just as many times as other players, he reckoned. They both retreated to silence. Rowan seemed perfectly fine with it, but Lorcan couldn’t stop fidgeting or staring at Rowan, who wouldn’t look back at him. 

“Did they give you exercises? You can grab my yoga mat and,” Rowan gestured to some space on the floor where Lorcan could stretch. 

“Uh, nah. Told me I should just rest, did all my exercises with’em,” Lorcan mumbled. He couldn’t parse Rowan’s mixed attention. He didn’t notice that Lorcan was half-naked in his bed, but he was practically appointing himself to Lorcan’s rehabber. “Yo, d’you wanna, like, listen to something? Music? Watch something?”

Rowan shook his head and said, sort of pleasantly, “I kinda like the quiet. It’s nice, right?”

No, it wasn’t. Lorcan glowered at nothing in particular. Rowan paired his socks and folded them. Lorcan hated his socks, the little pile he’d begun to amass. 

He resolved to lie there without moving or sighing or fidgeting or disturbing the quiet Rowan so clearly wanted.

Lorcan lasted another five minutes before he was ready to peel his own skin off. He was almost vibrating with how on-edge he felt.

The question exploded from his lips: “What is your problem?” He was willing and waiting and wanting—so bad—and the prick hadn’t done a thing. Rowan chose to ignore the hot, half-dressed man in his bed (the one he’d been fucking for months) in favour of matching and folding his socks. That part was really throwing Lorcan; he thought everyone just dumped their socks into a drawer, straight from the dryer. But no, not Whitethorn. 

What a prick.

Rowan blinked once. He glanced down at his hand with one sock. “I’m looking for its pair.”

Lorcan could kill him. “Did you really ask me around here just to watch you fold laundry?” he asked next. He wouldn’t even mention Rowan’s obsessive-compulsive-whatever because Rowan was being an ass. He knew how Lorcan felt. If he actually had asked him over to watch him complete his chores, Lorcan would still say yes. 

Rowan lifted an eyebrow.

Lorcan rolled his eyes.

“I asked you over ‘cause I like your company.” Lorcan thought he might see some blushing on Rowan’s tanned cheeks as he added, “I like having you in my space.”

And all Lorcan could say in response was: “Oh.” He forced himself to look at Rowan even through the feeling of his face warming. He fought the urge, again, to fidget. “So… no sex?”

He shrugged. “I don’t need it. Was thinking about sucking you off, if you wanted, but I’m tired, and I thought you’d be tired after physio.”

Lorcan was sore. And tired, too. And he realised while Rowan spoke, talking him off the ledge, that all he really wanted to do in that moment was sleep. A blowjob could be nice, later, maybe. “But my shorts.” He wore them on purpose. They barely fit over his thighs, showing off the thick, well-toned muscle, glowy brown skin, and his leg tattoos. Lorcan wanted them at least acknowledged.

Rowan finally turned his attention to Lorcan’s body. His green eyes lingered, darkening, over Lorcan’s legs. “I saw,” he said. “Hence the blowjob offer.”

“Oh,” Lorcan said again, just as dumbly as the first time.

“So, you want sex? Now?”

He shook his head. “I am a bit tired.” He always appreciated that even when Rowan knew he had been right about something, he never said ‘I told you so,’ and he didn’t when he could have.

“Are you sore, too?”

He flopped down, letting his elbows go. He was, and told Rowan so. “It’s good, though, ya get me? Like, it’s healing type of sore.”

Soft fingertips danced over his knee, the fucked on. “I get you. Why don’t you nap?”

A small yawn erupted from Lorcan, unexpected. He shifted onto his side and sought out a pillow for his head. He found a small, squarish one with a plush cover that wasn’t soft but perfectly firm to support his neck. “Just for a bit.” His eyes fell shut and then opened when Rowan moved. Lorcan couldn’t get a word out before Rowan grabbed another pillow. “Whassat?”

“Lift your leg a bit.” Rowan waited as Lorcan followed his instruction, a bit mindlessly, and he fit the pillow beneath his knee. “Good?”

“Mm.” Lorcan tilted his face up for a kiss. Rowan indulged them both. “You softie.”

Rowan kissed him again. “Go to sleep, dickhead.” He returned to his laundry, and Lorcan wanted to say something else, but he fell asleep instead.

<p>

Rowan puttered around for a while after Lorcan fell asleep. He put away his laundry, hung up another load, and tidied his kitchen before ending up back at his bedroom door. He watched Lorcan sleeping until Lorcan shifted, spooking Rowan. 

It scared him that Lorcan might wake up to discover himself being watched. Rowan rubbed his eyes; he was acting ridiculous. He stepped inside and his eyes stayed on Lorcan. The door shut quietly behind him. 

Rowan took off his clothes and uncharacteristically left them where they dropped. He crawled into bed next to Lorcan. Like ivy, he attached himself to the man. His arms like vines crept around Lorcan, warm palms finding rest against sternum and stomach.

As he buried his head in Lorcan’s warm neck, the man hummed and sunk back into him. He half woke up with a uninteligilble grunt.

“Shh,” he kissed the back of his shoulder, “go back to sleep.”

Lorcan turned his face back into his pillow and muttered, “Clingy fuck.”

Rowan grinned against his skin. He probably was, and Lorcan didn’t seem to mind it.

an: probably inspired by my newfound fixation w royjamie and heated rivalry. fandom and shipping is sooo back baby. also i graduated (!!) so have basically the next 6 weeks to hang w my family in my hometown + province and do whatever (write + read fic tbh)

“Centuries, Elide. Centuries! And you think they didn’t do anything with each other, not even once?”

“I personally don’t care if they did or not. It’s not my business to be sticking my nose in, and it’s surely not yours either.” Elide hoped that would be the end of it, for the time being at least. “As your elder, I beg you to drop it, Aelin, please.”

She did not drop the subject. Instead, she barreled onward with her train of thought. “Wait, that means by some confounded logic that Lorcan has fucked me.” Aelin shuddered, a disgusted look on her face.

Choking on her sip of wine, Elide coughed and spluttered. It drew her husband’s eyes and concern, which she felt more than saw, but she waved him off. She was fine, just shocked. Nevertheless, a few moments later a hand curled around her waist and Lorcan stooped to press a featherlight kiss to her temple.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

Elide leaned back into the comfort and solid warmth of his chest. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” she replied at a normal volume. There was no point in trying to have a secret conversation with three beings of unnaturally good hearing around, even if one of them was her husband.

“Rowan,” Elide began, sick of Aelin’s conjecturing and wanting to solve the matter here and now, “I believe your wife has a question for you.”

Aelin’s golden eyebrows shot up. “I do?”

“Yes, you do,” Elide hissed through gritted teeth.

Silent war waged between the two women until the queen finally surrendered. Aelin waved a hand flippantly. “Fine, fine. Did you two ever, you know…?” She trailed off, gesturing between Lorcan and Rowan.

Confused, the king consort cocked his head and narrowed his green eyes. “Did we ever what?”

A flush crawled up Aelin’s cheeks and spread across her chest. “You know,” she repeated. When they did not, in fact, know, she huffed a sigh. “Fuck each other? Before Elide and I came into the picture.”

Silence stretched, filled by the sounds of their surroundings. Wood popped and crackled from bonfires near and far, smoke drifting up into the night sky. Pieces of conversations flitted by in the breeze, drowned out by the cheering and laughing as bonfires were jumped, kisses exchanged, wine poured. The Beltanes of Terrasen were tame compared to those in the south, where the Fae reveled until dawn and debauchery was king.

Then, Lorcan’s dark laugh rumbled through Elide. “Jealous, fire-breather?” he taunted. “I’m sure we could give you a little taste, for old times sake. What say you, Rowan?”

Rowan’s reply was low, his tone sultry and seductive. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve taken a third to bed.”

The queen of Terrasen could only stare at her husband and his former lover (now known for sure) in absolute and utter shock. It took Elide a few seconds to regain her composure, to make sure she had really heard them right.

“They’re kidding, Aelin,” Elide laughed. After closing Aelin’s mouth, she reached for the blonde’s hand, intending to drag her away, forcibly if need be. Turning to her dark-haired, dark-eyed husband, she said with a nervous smile, “You’re joking, right?” A heartbeat. “Oh, you’re not joking. Let’s go, Aelin.”

———————————

Rowan watched Elide drag his wife away, laughter bubbling up inside until he couldn’t contain it anymore. Clutching his stomach, he howled until tears pricked his eyes and he could hardly breathe. Lorcan was hardly doing any better himself, on his hands and knees in the grass. A deep wheeze from Lorcan sent them both giggling again.

“That was too good,” Lorcan said finally, slowly catching his breath after their fit of laughter. “Did you see Aelin’s face at the end there? I thought for sure she’d combust then and there.”

Hand outstretched, Rowan hauled Lorcan to his feet. “Thank you for that, by the way,” he grumbled. “Now I’ll never know another moment of peace.”

“You married her. That’s your problem.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Rowan sniped, “Lord Lorcan Lochan. Does Elide put a collar around your neck and walk you like a dog, too?”

Lorcan grinned like a fiend. “Only when I ask nicely,” he confessed in a whisper. Rowan gagged and feigned throwing up. With a hearty laugh, Lorcan slapped Rowan’s shoulder before slinking off into the darkness. “Send the fire-breathing bitch queen my hatred, will you?”

Rowan aimed a rude gesture at Lorcan’s back before himself heading off to find Aelin and talk her off whatever ledge she had climbed up onto. The queen did have a flair for dramatics, and gods only knew how she would react to that news in private.

Only at dawn did Aelin return to their rooms, clutching the doorframe as if it was all that kept her upright. She hiccuped, face paling dangerously. Rowan lifted a brow as his wife, the esteemed Queen of Terrasen and a thousand other titles, managed not to vomit. At least, not until she had her face over the chamber pot. He slid from their bed, gathering her hair back and rubbing soothing circles on her back. This, she allowed. Once in bed, when he tried to pull her to him, she shoved him away.

“Keep your Lorcan-fucking hands away from me,” she spat. There was a slight slur to her speech. She was beyond drunk, and at this stage, there was no dissuading her of any ideas she’d gotten stuck in her head.

“You really won’t lay with me?” Rowan slept best with his mate beside him, if not half-sprawled across him.

Aelin stuck her lower lip out and lifted her chin haughtily. “No. You stuck your cock in that bastard. I won’t have you putting it anywhere near, or inside, me.”

Rowan sighed. “My my, fireheart, such crude language,” he responded, almost droll. She glared, arms wrapped tight around her chest, so far away she was one deep breath away from falling off the edge of the bed. He wanted to laugh but knew better.

Covers rustled as they both lay on their respective halves of the bed. Rowan glanced over his shoulder, confirming that her back was to him, golden hair messily braided so it wouldn’t end up a massive tangle when she woke. Thank goodness the curtains were drawn and their bedroom gloomy because even with his eyes closed, he could still see sunlight slipping through the cracks.

“Good night, buzard.”

“Good morning, fireheart.”

———————————

maybe aelin should've stayed curious (for her own good 🤷🏼‍♀️)

The Princess was insane. Powerful and insane. It was a dangerous combination. They all knew of Aelin’s past as an assassin, that time had no doubt forged her into the formidable weapon that stood before them, smiling like she hadn’t just held an entire city hostage. Fenrys had to admit that he was impressed, he could not recall an individual who had gone up against Maeve and lived on to tell the tale. That filled him with delight, it was not often he witnessed the queen suffering in any capacity. 

“Rowan, come here,” Maeve commanded. 

Despite his injuries the blood oath held. Rowan staggered to the dias, a wounded dog returning to its master. 

“Give me that sword and get out,” Maeve commanded Aelin, hand held out expectantly. 

But Aelin, insane as she was, wasn’t finished yet. “I don’t think so. Brannon left it in that cave for anyone but you to find. And so it is mine, through blood and fire and darkness. Not pleasant when someone doesn’t give you what you want, is it?”

For a moment the throne room stilled as the threat settled. Maeve was never one to be outplayed, she would call Aelin’s bluff, threats in exchange for threats. 

“You’ll pay for this.”

Fenrys reeled at those words. He wanted to shift and howl his pleasure at the defeat those words from Maeve indicated. Right now, Aelin held the advantage, they all knew it. To his surprise Aelin walked forward to the dais and took Maeve’s hand.

“Oh, I don’t think I will.”

Those words were full of astounding swaggering confidence. Fenrys was impressed, even more so when Aelin pulled back after a few moments, leaving Maeve pale. Whatever had passed between them had shaken the Queen to her foundation. She stared at Aelin, full of hatred and what he could have sworn was an element of fear. 

“I suggest that you think very, very carefully before threatening me or my own,” Aelin said, then she looked at the wounded male who still bled from his wounds. Maeve must have commanded him not to heal it. “Or hurting Rowan again.”

That statement held a claiming, one that twisted something in Fenrys’ chest. What had happened at Mistward? What had happened between them? There was the carranum, yes, but this was something more, something that was intrinsic to the both of them. 

“Rowan belongs to me,” Maeve hissed. “I can do what I wish with him.”

Revulsion pulsed in Fenrys’ body. How many times had she whispered those words in his ear, had said them as a taunt and a promise as she used him as she wished?

Aelin didn’t even acknowledge that she had heard the words Maeve had spoken. She only reached into her pocket, retrieving something small. “I think you’ve been looking for this for a long time.”

Anger filled Maeve’s face, flushing her pale cheeks with colour again. “That does not belong to you.”

“Doesn’t it? I found it, after all. In Goldryn’s scabbard—”

Do not hear this, a voice inside Fenrys’ mind told him, Do not hear the lies the Princess speaks.

The wolf inside him growled, rebelling against the command. He hated this, hated her. If Maeve didn’t want Fenrys and the others to hear this information it was important. Fenrys stared ahead of him as the world faded out. All he could hear was muffled sounds as the Queen and Princess faced each other, Rowan standing motionless by Maeve’s side. Something had changed in the male, his obedience waned and Rowan held onto slivers of defiance. It was why Fenrys had gone to Mistward. Not only to protect those who needed protecting, but because if Rowan could fight against the oath even in the slightest it meant there was hope. And that hope was Aelin. 

Fenrys had been a fool for swearing himself to Maeve. He might have done it to protect his brother, which had ultimately turned out to be a fruitless endeavor, but now he knew he should have held out for more. For something better. The world as they knew it was shifting right before his eyes. 

“— for Rowan’s freedom from his blood oath.”  Clarity returned to Fenrys’ hearing, the fact it was those words that he heard showed the slip of control from Maeve. 

“A blood oath is eternal.” Maeve’s voice was tight, tense, and unyielding. 

The world stopped. Fenrys stopped, his whole body waiting for what happened next. He didn’t move, he didn’t breathe. A blood oath could not be undone, not without killing the oath taker. At least that was what Fenrys had been led to believe. 

“I don’t care. Free him,” Aelin commanded, holding out her palm where a gold ring shone in the light. “Your choice. Free him, or I melt this right here.”

Aelin was playing a dangerous game, but Maeve only kept her gaze on the ring offered to her. Never before had Fenrys seen the Fae Queen yield to any request that left her lacking. Maeve straightened, her features tight as she said, “Very well. I’ve grown rather bored of his company these past few decades, anyway.”

Fenrys recoiled a step, not believing what he was witnessing. This was not happening. It couldn’t happen. Rowan was in disbelief as well, turning slowly not to Maeve, but to Aelin. The one who had challenged Maeve and claimed the victory. 

“Through no dishonour, through no act of treachery, I hereby free you, Rowan Whitethorn, of your blood oath to me.”

Maeve spoke the next command the Old Language and Fenrys could only watch in astonishment as Rowan took out one of his many blades and sliced his arm. Fenrys tracked each drop of blood as it dripped onto the stones, the sound of every impact echoing through him. His chest heaved with his heavy breaths as he tried to master himself before Maeve noticed his distress and punished him for it later. Bitter jealousy writhed through Fenrys’ veins. He hated Maeve and every moment he had spent being bound to her. He hated Rowan for this, because he was free—he had his escape. He would walk away with his new Queen and be free while Fenrys would remain caged. 

Rowan did as commanded. Maeve had said something but Fenrys hadn’t heard it in his shock. All he saw was Aelin throwing the ring in Maeve’s direction and Rowan was rushing towards her. When he reached the Princess his hands went to her cheeks and he rested his brow against hers. Rowan murmured her name then kissed her where his forehead had been before dropping to his knees, taking hold of her wrist. 

That action seemed to stun everyone, including Aelin. “You’re free. You’re free now.”

Maeve too watched with her brows high, like the rest of them, waiting to see what was unfolding. 

“Together, Fireheart,” Rowan said, pushing up the sleeve of Aelin’s tunic. “We’ll find a way together. A court to change the world.” Aelin smiled and nodded, then he offered her a dagger he pulled from his boot. “Say it, Aelin.”

Realisation hit Fenrys in the gut. This was unbelievable. Rowan, the pigheaded bastard, was offering himself to the Princess. He’d freed himself from one blood oath and immediately binding himself in another. The implications of what he was doing was astounding. Not only did it give Aelin protection, but protection for himself. Maeve wouldn’t dare touch either of them now and risk the wrath of the other. 

Remarkably, Aelin’s voice was strong as she said the words, not showing any weakness. It was impressive. “Do you promise to serve in my court, Rowan Whitethorn, from now until the day you die?”

“I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To whatever end.”

Those words were more than an oath, they were a confession. At Mistward Fenrys had had his suspicions about the relationship between them. Over the century Fenrys had known Rowan he had always been a hard, unfeeling bastard. The male had been forged by the tragedy of losing his mate, a coldness only amplified during his service to Maeve. Now there was a warmth to him, no doubt a fire kindled by the fire-wielder herself. It had taken mere months for Rowan’s loyalty to irrevocably shift from centuries of unwavering obedience to Maeve and her cruelties. Aelin might not be Rowan’s mate, but it was clear the male was on her way to being in love with her—if he wasn’t already halfway there. Fenrys tried not to relish in the turmoil it would cause the stubborn male and his noble conscience

Aelin grinned as Rowan drew the dagger across her wrist and then his mouth was on her skin. There was blood on his lips when he drew away a few moments later. With that, the blood oath was complete.

“Now that you have insulted me further, get out. All of you.” Maeve’s voice filled with a cold fury as she commanded them all. 

The blood oath had Fenrys turning immediately, noting the way Aelin helped the Prince to his feet and how the wounds on his back were finally healing. That jealousy rose again, drowning him as Fenrys walked into the shadows. He knew that those left bound to Maeve would suffer gravely for this, that they would be the focus of her wrath. He and his companions would be punished for Rowan gaining his freedom. Freedom Fenrys was rabid for. 

What would haunt him is that, if the fates had been kinder, Fenrys might be the one who followed Aelin as she fled from Doranelle. He had wanted to train the Princess, and as soon as Maeve voiced her plans for Aelin’s training he had offered himself for the task. The Queen had been toying with him, dangling fleeting freedom from his cage to tempt and disappoint him. It was clear that Rowan had always been her choice. Fenrys had to wonder if Rowan abandoning her court for another was part of her plan as well. 

A court to change the world, Rowan had said. An almost Queen with world-reckoning power and a fae male with nearly unbound power. They would be a force to be reckoned with, just the two of them. There was one hope Fenrys could hold to. It would be Maeve's sins being unforgiven and that Aelin would come for her again, bringing destruction in her wake—and he would be there to witness it.

~~~~~

What was the icing on her veritable birthday cake was the weather. It was warm and the sun shone endlessly, the nights were clear and mild too. It was like Mala herself had blessed this little trip of Aelin’s. Walking down the main street full of shops, bars and cafes, she hadn't a care in the world. Evening was approaching and after finishing up at the city’s main art gallery Aelin had some time to kill before she found somewhere for dinner. Pre-dinner drinks sounded like a wonderful idea. 

She followed the sounds of people and music, a dead giveaway for a bar. It had been a choice to take this holiday by herself, but Aelin still craved human interaction like the extrovert that she was. Without much thought or reason she stopped in front of The Sea Dragon. She had walked past this place a few times but not gone in, always on her way to somewhere else. The bar was always bustling, the place to be on this strip of street. From what she had glimpsed the decor leaned heavily into the overall small coastal town aesthetic with a distinct pirate flair. 

The sign above the door was carved out of wood, a blue, glittering sea dragon the main figure on it. Sea dragons were everywhere in Skull’s Bay, they were a key part of the island’s mythology. Aelin had seen at least a hundred paintings in the art gallery that featured them. Stepping inside she was greeted with the real unabashed theming. It was as if one of the fabled sea dragons had eaten shipwrecks and then thrown up in this bar. The tables were made to look like recovered wood from the sterns of ships, there was sailing paraphernalia everywhere, and weathered rope netting. The polished floors were offset by the worn look of everything else. There was still enough restraint that the overall impact wasn’t tacky, instead it made for a fun atmosphere. It was crowded but not overly full, Aelin certainly wasn’t competing for a stool at the bar she was headed for. She sat, glancing over the drinks menu, if they were good she might come back. 

There was something freeing about solo travelling, following her own schedule. All she was obligated to do was send off a few messages and photos to her family and friends showing off what a great time she was having and that was it. They were all boiling with jealousy when she’d sent through the photos of the picturesque bays with the turquoise ocean. The weather was perfect, the water crystal clear and glittering like a jewel. It really couldn’t get more perfect than that. 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. 

“Hmm, what do you recommend?” Aelin countered, laying down the menu on the bar. 

“The Blue Cursebreaker is our signature, very popular for a reason,” the brown-haired woman replied. She had twin roaring sea dragon tattoos snaking around her forearms. It had Aelin wondering if they were real or if they were temporary and part of the uniform.  

“Sounds great,” Aelin said with a smile. “I’ll take one of those.”

The bartender nodded, turning her back to start mixing. Aelin took the opportunity to get another look at the place. Her perusing was mistakenly interpreted as interest, just a fraction of a glance had her catching eyes with a man across the bar. He gave her a lopsided smile and it wasn’t hard to tell that he was already drunk. Aelin thought she might actually be cringing as he stood and swayed on his feet. If she was, it didn’t deter him. Groaning, Aelin swivelled on her stool so that her back was to the guy she was hoping would take the message. He wasn’t unattractive, with blue eyes that were stark against his dark brown hair, but she didn’t want some drunk man fumbling around her. Aelin had decided from the get go, if she was having sex on this trip, it was going to be worth it. 

“Here you go,” the bartender put the drink down on the bar. 

“Thanks,” Aelin said, reaching into her bag for her wallet.

“Let me get that for you,” a male voice cut in, the words slightly slurred.

Aelin sighed to the heavens, then dove right into her refusal of the entire situation. “No thank you.”

“I insist,” the man said, who was absolutely drunk from the smell of him. 

The bartender, to her credit, was holding the card reader far back enough that the man couldn’t just tap his card instead. If the guy paid, he wouldn’t be leaving. 

“I’m perfectly capable of buying my own drink,” Aelin kept her tone bored. 

“No need to be mean about it,” he said, edging a fraction closer, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“And you’re a dumbass who can’t take a hint,” Aelin shot back.

The man let out what he must have thought was a charming chuckle, too bad the burp ruined the effect. “You’re too pretty to say things like that.”

The audacity of those words had Aelin’s hackles raised instantly. She turned slowly, ready to tear the self-satisfied smile off the man’s face with her nails. It was only her impeccable self control that stopped her from doing just that. “You’re too drunk to be worth another second of my time.”

Aelin dismissed him by moving a stool down, tapping her card to pay and turning her back on the man. She hoped that would be enough to get rid of him, but she didn’t like her luck. This guy seemed to be one of those bastards who took the word no as a challenge. 

“Oh, come on,” the man drawled. “Let me just—”

“The woman said no, I suggest you listen.”

That was a different voice, deep with a rolling accent. A quick glance over her shoulders showed her there was now a body between her and the drunk man. She couldn’t see much, this new man was tall, with broad shoulders, and it seemed as though he had silver hair. That alone was enough to pique her interest, and with her cocktail in hand she turned to watch the show. 

“I didn’t—”

When the first man tried to peek around the mountain that had arisen between him and Aelin, the second shifted, keeping her from view. 

“Off you go,” silver-fox said. 

The relaxing of the newcomer’s shoulders was the first indication that the drunkard had been successfully dismissed. Then he rotated, elbows on the bar. He took a moment to collect himself, at least that's what it seemed like Aelin. From the side he looked familiar, but it wasn’t until he faced her fully that she recognised him. Rowan Whitethorn, star hockey player from the Wendlyn Knights. 

“Sorry about that, I had no doubt that you could have handled that yourself,” Rowan said. “I just thought I’d save you the effort and speed up the process.” 

Gods, he was even more stunningly handsome in person. The TV screen did not do him justice. “Thanks for that.”

Rowan gave her an easy smile, not hiding the way he politely, but blatantly, checked her out. Aelin didn’t mind this kind of attention, at least Rowan was sober enough to flirt effectively. At least she hoped he could. 

“I’m Aelin,” she said, holding out her hand. 

Rowan eyed it with a slight smirk, then shook it. “I’m—”

“Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin interrupted confidently. “I know.”

She could have sworn just the tiniest bit of colour tinted his cheeks. “Ice hockey fan, then?”

Aelin shrugged, sipping her drink. “Just happens to be the sport I was raised on.”

“Good to hear,” Rowan quipped. 

“Unless you’re drunk like your friend over there, you can take a seat,” Aelin offered, the sweeping look she gave him added just a little something more to the invitation. 

Rowan saw it, and had the chance to decline. Maybe like her he was on a little trip of self discovery—with a whole lot of fun thrown in. Maybe they could have fun together. Aelin knew hockey players, had dated a couple and heard plenty of rumours on top of that. They tended to fuck like they played, with determination and a whole lot of body power. Running into Rowan might just be the special kind of birthday treat she didn’t know she’d wished for.

“He’s not my friend.”

Rowan sat down on the next stool, watching Aelin with a strategic focus she had seen him use on the ice. Flagging down the bartender Rowan ordered his own drink. Just a neat whiskey and it was served up quickly. He took a sip before returning his attention to her. 

“So, what brings you to Skull’s Bay, Aelin?”

She liked how he said her name, the way his accent dipped over the sounds. Aelin wouldn’t mind hearing it again, maybe under different circumstances that involved a hotel room and low lights. 

“My birthday,” she said cheerily.

“Your birthday, is it?” Rowan asked, his lips twisting into a smirk.

“Well, the 3rd of May,” Aelin clarified, her actual birthday was in a few days. “But this whole trip is a present to myself, and from my parents realistically. How about you?”

“Hard season, needed a break,” Rowan answered. “Unfortunately the coach decided it needed to be a team thing, for extra team building or some shit.”

“Oh, so that was…” she nodded towards Mr. Can’t Hear The Word No. 

“Cairn,” Rowan clarified. “Sub-par defenceman and certified creep.”

Aelin couldn’t help it, she laughed. “I see that team-building shit is going real well.”

Rowan didn’t laugh, but he was definitely smiling when he took a sip from his glass.

She decided to change the subject. “You played some good games,”

“You watched?” Rowan’s question was sincere, no doubt trying to figure out if she was a fan of the game or a fan of him. Truthfully, for Aelin it was both, the game came first and then he just skated right on into her game watching preferences. Ice hockey was in her blood, and she’d been on the ice since before she could walk. There was no need to tell him all the details though. It would break the flirting volley they had going on. 

So instead, Aelin just gave a casual shrug. “Kind of hard not to.”

For a moment they looked at each other, reading in between the lines. There was something simmering between, they both knew it. The attraction was already creating a delicious tension between them, and Aelin was very keen to follow through with it. She had told herself a while ago that she was sworn off hockey players because they were more trouble than they were worth. But with Rowan Whitethorn right in front of her, the temptation was just too strong. What happened on vacation stayed on vacation, right? Aelin had planned this holiday to indulge and enjoy herself, she might as well take each and every opportunity. 

~~~~~

Rowan hadn’t expected to be walking out of this bar with any other company besides his teammates. He was here in Skull’s Bay under contract, not because he wanted to be. It was easier to play nice in the hopes he could get traded to a team that was worth his time. The Wendlyn Knights had given him his start and had accelerated him to the height of his career. But for the past eight months he had spent nearly every waking moment around those men. Personally, he needed a break, but the coach thought that spending another few months in the same vicinity would make them a better team. It just made Rowan want to commit murder. 

He’d worked hard this season to be at the peak of his game. Coming back from an injury, even something minor, was difficult. A shoulder sprain was next to nothing, but there were a few games where it severely inhibited his performance and the number one rule was take care of the injury before it got worse. All things considered, he deserved to let loose a little. It was disappointing that his douchebag teammate had provided the perfect opening, something he was incapable of on the ice. Rowan would have preferred to initiate the introduction himself.

Rowan had noticed the stunning woman at the bar almost as soon as she walked in, everyone in the godsdamned place did. Golden hair with sunbronzed skin, wearing blue sundress that accentuated everything. Cairn had taken one look at her and couldn’t help himself and he was the kind of guy who found it hard to understand the word no. Rowan wasn’t in the mood to watch another showdown that ended in an angry woman and rejected man who couldn’t handle his big boy feelings. By stepping in Rowan just saved them all the trouble. Having overheard the disastrous conversation and exchanging a few sentences with her himself there was no doubt that Aelin could have handled the situation on her own. But if Rowan hadn’t he wouldn’t be here. 

Here was on a couch in a hotel room that wasn’t his, a beautiful woman straddling his lap as he kissed her senseless. They had flirted at the bar for a while, sipping drinks and sharing shitty bar food once dinner time rolled around. Rowan’s initial impression of Aelin was that she was just another puck bunny, but the more they talked it was clear that she more than understood the game and had more interest than just the broad shoulders of the players. 

Shoulders that she was running her hands over as her body pressed into his. Rowan kept his hands on her waist—but he wanted more. 

“Can I touch you?” He asked when their lips parted enough that he could speak. 

“Yeah,” Aelin said breathlessly. “I want you to.”

With the permission given, Rowan made his move. From the dip of her waist he moved his hands upwards, fingers spreading over her ribcage. He used his thumbs and smoothed them over the sides of her breast. The whimper Aelin let out in response had blood rushing to his already hard dick. Rowan wanted to hear her make that sound again, except louder and more unrestrained. He wanted to play with her first before they kept things going. Next his hands travelled downwards, over her hips to her ass. The fabric of her dress bunched in his hands as he squeezed, pulling her closer to him at the same time. When Aelin felt how hard he was she moaned into his mouth, her body writhing against him.

For a few heated moments their bodies moved together on instinct, grinding and touching and taking. Aelin movements became more purposeful, her breathing more laboured. She broke the kiss as she panted, her hips dragging over his cock again and again. 

Rowan kissed up her neck all the way up to her ear so he could whisper, “Are you going to come?”

Aelin laughed breathlessly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip and Rowan drove his hips up to meet hers. “That would be embarrassing.”

“It would be hot,” Rowan argued. 

“Mm-mmm, nope,” Aelin sighed. “Not now.”

The sound of disappointment Rowan almost sounded like a growl. He was desperate to see her fall apart, and if that happened by touching her in his lap with their clothes still on, he wouldn’t be mad about it. But, apparently Aelin wasn’t keen on the idea. Rowan kissed her, fiercely but short enough that she was chasing his lips for more as he pulled back to say, “Take your clothes off.”

Aelin grinned at that, liking the game Rowan was playing. She pushed off the couch and didn’t go far. He let his knees drop wider as Aelin stood between them, pulling down the zip at her side, all the while keeping eye contact. There was a taunt there, a dare that challenged him to look anywhere but her face. It was a hard task, especially when Aelin shrugged the dress off her shoulders and in the edge of his vision Rowan saw it fall to the ground. Aelin raised an eyebrow, like she was telling him she was impressed but he’d held out long enough. 

Rowan dropped his gaze, a pale blue lingerie set hugged Aelin’s curves, sheer enough that he could see the shadows of her nipples underneath. Drinking in the sight of the stunning woman in front of him Rowan’s hand went to his lap, palming his cock through his pants. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“Take you dick out, I want to see how much you want me,” Aelin told him, her thumb playing on the edges of her lace underwear. 

Not one to keep a lady waiting, Rowan did as he was asked. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. Reaching into his briefs he pulled his cock out, his hand gripping his shaft. 

Aelin’s eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck me.”

“That is the plan,” Rowan replied arrogantly. “Take the rest off.”

Aelin’s hands slowly dragged up her body, her hips, waist, then she cupped her breasts over her bra. Rowan watched transfixed, stroking himself as he watched. She made a show of rolling her nipples between her fingers, then her hands disappeared behind her back. The blue lace loosened then fell away and it was Rowan’s turn to be stunned. 

“Fuck, yes,” he said, jerking his cock as he took in the expanse of bare skin in front of him. 

Impatience was winning, Aelin didn’t make a show of getting rid of her underwear as well. It was barely gone before she was leaning over him. “Do you have a condom?”

“Yeah, one sec.” 

Rowan reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Before he could even flip it open Aelin had plucked in from his fingers and did it herself, finding the condom in seconds. While she made quick work of the foil wrapper Rowan took the opportunity to pull his shirt over his head. He wanted to feel her, all of her, on as much of his own skin as he possibly could. 

“May I do the honours?” Aelin asked, the rolled condom pinched between her fingers. Rowan nodded, anticipation making him silent. With one hand braced just above his shoulder on the couch, Aelin lent over him, unrolling the condom down his cock. He watched as her clever fingers made fast work of covering him. She was efficient, and he wasn’t mad about it. 

“You ready for me?” Rowan asked, his hand on her hip, fingers flexing. 

“Absolutely,” Aelin breathed onto his lips as she climbed into Rowan’s lap again, their lips meeting a moment later. 

Rowan wasn’t idle either. His hands roamed, feeling every inch of her soft skin that he could. Aelin was whimpering when he palmed her breasts, his hands the perfect size. He was obsessed with the sounds he could encourage from her, there was a renewed need to have her fall apart, all because of him. 

Aelin dropped lower, the head of his cock nudging at her entrance. She gasped at the feeling, her body going still. Rowan took the opportunity to lean down and flick his tongue over the peak of her breast and the way his mouth closed over it a moment later had her trembling in his arms. 

“Gods,” she moaned. ”Don’t stop.”

Rowan heeded the request as Aelin dropped down lower, taking more of him as she rolled her hips. When his teeth grazed her nipple, she cried out, her hand tugged at his hair and she took the rest of him. Having her wrapped around him wholly had Rowan groaning into the skin of her neck, feeling the fluttering of her pulse against his lips. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Rowan said. 

“So good,” Aelin echoed. 

She started rocking on him, slowly at first, but then she built up speed and urgency. Rowan lent back, watching as Aelin got lost in the feel of him, using his body for her own pleasure. With her heavy lipped eyes and her long unbound hair, Aelin was a sight to behold. Thrusting upwards, Rowan watched as her lips parted, one hand pressing down on her stomach. 

“Look at you, taking me so well,” Rowan praised. 

The moan that slipped past Aelin’s lips was loud and restrained. Her movements became desperate and heavier as she ground on him. Rowan put his hands on her hips, helping them both as he thrusted up in a quick, steady rhythm. He was getting closer too, could feel the pressure building. 

“You ready to come, Aelin?” He asked, panting. 

Aelin nodded, her fingers dipping lower, right in between her thighs. He could feel her fingers brush his dick as she played with her clit. It made him feral, but he wasn’t letting go until she did. 

“I’m gonna—” Aelin finished her sentence with a deep, throaty moan. 

Rowan groaned as he felt her entire body tighten. “That’s it, baby. Come for me.”

And she did. Aelin finally came apart, her first moan closer to a scream as she rode him through her bliss. Watching her lost in her overwhelming pleasure is what had Rowan coming undone as well. His groans rattled through his chest as his hips worked them both through their orgasms. Aelin used his shoulders to support herself as her euphoria ended, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. Rowan wasn’t much better, leaning into the couch as his brain came back to reality. That had been fucking mind blowing.

“Wow.” Aelin was apparently feeling the same way. 

Rowan smirked as his hands caressed her waist. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

At that, Aelin giggled, the kiss she pressed to his lips sweeter than any other they had shared. Neither of them moved, Rowan truthfully didn’t want to let her go just yet. 

“How long were you in Skull’s Bay for?” He asked, palms caressing her waist. 

Aelin lent back, sweeping her sweaty hair away from her temples. “About a week.”

That was… perfect. He was here for longer but if all he could get was a week, he would happily take it. 

Rowan sat up straighter, bringing their bodies flush and faces closer, they were both smiling as he said, “How about that? Me too.” 

~~~~~

Elide climbed off him, her assistant already waiting with a fuzzy bathrobe to wrap her in. She shot Lorcan a dirty look as he lounged on the prop couch, his lips getting touched up. If he saw, he didn’t react.

How the director, producer, and casting director thought she and Lorcan had “undeniable chemistry” was beyond her. The fit she had thrown was legendary, but they eventually swayed her with a healthy dose of groveling and an even bigger paycheck.

Thankfully, shooting was almost over and this scene was one of the last. It was written into her contract that any sex scenes with Lorcan Salvaterre be shot at the very end of filming. That way, she was the least likely to end up killing him.

“Alrighty, let’s go again from the top,” the director shouted, sending the flurry of activity into a whirlwind. Elide stood still as cosmetics checked her over, dabbing a touch more color on her lips and spraying her hair to give it just a bit more sexy volume. A thumbs up given, Elide reluctantly relinquished her fuzzy robe.

She stood between Lorcan’s legs, pointedly looking anywhere but him. The hubbub died down and she felt the silent presence of the boom mic descend.

So began the countdown, then, “Action!”

Elide swung one leg over his lap, straddling him and placing a hand on his chest. Beneath, his heart thundered. Lorcan’s hands burned on her bare thighs, his gaze focused on her like nothing else in the world mattered.

“I can’t lose you again,” Elide confessed.

“You won’t.” He said it like a promise, a vow unbreaking. The smile that tugged at his lips lightened his words.

Narrowing her eyes, Elide eyed him suspiciously. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes, ma’am. Pinky swear.” Lorcan’s cheeks flooded with pink, hard to see against his terracotta skin, pinky outstretched for her to wrap her own around.

As she pinky swore, Elide leaned forward to kiss him with a smile. He kissed her back, tugging her hips flush with his and coaxing her to open for him. She did so willingly. They made out for longer than Elide had silently accounted for in her head. When the call to end the scene finally came, she nearly fell off his lap in her hurry to escape. Everyone gushed about how well it had just gone, even with the minor detour off-script. Elide, on the other hand, wanted to brush her teeth until her gums bled and take a boiling shower where she scrubbed her skin raw until she erased every trace of him.

———————————

“So tell me, what’s it like working with Elide Lochan?” the journalist asked, directing the microphone toward Lorcan. “Are the rumors about a strained relationship with your co-star true?”

Lorcan ignored her barb and the dig for gossip that would make the headlines for all of twenty minutes. Instead, he pasted on a polite smile and answered with practiced ease. “We’re each our own person, which is cool. It’s such an honor to be working with Elide, though, and I wish her success in all her future endeavors.”

It probably wouldn’t satisfy the rabid fans who dissected his every word and look, but Lorcan tried not to listen to what crazy people on the internet said about him. Let them believe whatever they want.

———————————

“Ooh la la,” Aelin teased in a low voice. “The city of love. Don’t look so murderous.”

Elide swatted her friend with her clutch. “I regret agreeing to bring you to the Paris premiere,” she hissed through a smile as cameras flashed.

The dress Aelin had insisted on Elide wearing was a purple so deep it was almost black. With each blinding flare, the colors of the dress shifted between hues of violet and indigo. Photographers shouted her name, trying to get her attention so she would look at their camera.

Then, to her horror, the photographers caught sight of Lorcan Salvaterre and frothed at the mouth for photos of the leads together. Aelin made a hasty escape, abandoning Elide to her fate.

There he was, in a well-cut black suit, smelling of cedar. Even in her heels, Elide was still towered over. She stood as close as she dared; their clothing brushed. His hand snaked around her back and settled on her waist, closing that last tiny bit of space she had deliberately left between them. Elide fumed silently, smiling all the while.

“Just another minute,” Lorcan murmured, trying to placate her.

The flashes and shouting grew and grew, crescendoed by, “Give us a kiss!” Cheering followed. “Come on, now!” the person heckled again.

Elide turned to Lorcan, who politely stooped to her level. She leaned in like she was about to give him a real kiss, then at the last second ducked sideways and planted a kiss on his cheek instead. Their onlookers booed and jeered, but Elide tuned them out. There was a flash of something on Lorcan’s face, be it relief or hurt, like he for a moment had thought she would actually kiss him in front of the cameras.

Aelin handed Elide a drink upon her return, not bothering to tell her what it was in the glass. Something alcoholic, she assumed. Something strong, she hoped.

“Who’s the sexy silver fox?” Aelin asked in a hush, discreetly pointing out the man in question.

Elide followed her friend’s finger. “Oh,” she sighed in dismay. “That’s Lorcan’s best friend. Some concert musician in New York, I think.” A woman sidled up to him, hand on her bump and ring flashing on her finger, even at a distance. “Annnd there’s his wife.” Aelin made a noise of displeasure at the revelation.

Caught in the machinations of her agent, Elide and Aelin were steered toward Lorcan Salvaterre and company with no escape route. Their greetings and introductions were perfectly polite, if a little stilted. Lyria Whitethorn snared Aelin into conversation, while the blonde shot pitiful looks over her shoulder and begged to be rescued as she was hustled away.

“I’ve heard only the worst things about you, Miss Lochan,” Rowan Whitethorn said, perfectly serious. At his side, his friend scowled deeply.

Elide laughed, in spite of herself and the current situation. “I hope they were truly repulsive,” she replied with a wry smile.

“Oh, just ghastly.”

They made small talk about the weather, French pastries filling shop windows and display cases, and where she was off to next on their continuing premiere tour. Her co-star rarely joined the conversation, more like a statue than a man.

———————————

The interviewer asked a question, not that Lorcan really heard it. There were puppies clambering all over him. How was he supposed to focus in these conditions?

Elide answered tactfully, taking a puppy who was sniffing Lorcan’s crotch a little too closely and distracting it with a toy. Whatever she said satisfied the interviewer because they moved on. Behind the cameras and lights, the producer gave them a thumbs up. Good job, keep going, it meant.

Next question: “So is there a chance we’ll see your on-screen chemistry develop into an IRL romance?”

From the corner of his eye, Lorcan saw Elide stiffen. There was rage coiling beneath her skin. His too. He forced himself to smile and laugh like it was funny. It wasn’t. This wasn’t how he wanted to do this, but they would keep getting asked stupid fucking questions like that until the bridge was burned.

“We’re actors. It’s our job to play pretend for a living,” Lorcan answered. “The relationship you see between me and Elide is purely for the sake of the camera. Next question.”

The interviewer tried to pry, eyes gleaming with what could be a hot scoop. “Next question,” Lorcan growled. They got the point. Handwritten apologies were delivered after the fact and that part of the interview never made it to the video posted online.

———————————

Raindrops pattered the roof of the taxi, streaming past in a hundred intertwined rivulets on the window. The driver played jazz at a low volume, mindful of the hour and the actress in his backseat. Elide paid the man handsomely, maybe even too much, before she climbed out onto the steps of her hotel. “Merci,” she said, fully expecting him to reply in English, as so many Parisians did.

He only smiled kindly, a little tiredly. “Bonne nuit, madame.”

The doorman rushed down with an umbrella to greet her, fretting over the hem of her gown and the threat muddy puddles posed. Elide lifted her skirt and climbed the stairs. Hotel staff had to be waved off, told she was fine, thank you, no she didn’t need anything. They had been told to treat her well. This was, well, too well.

Lying in the too-large hotel bed and listening to the air conditioner run, Elide threw an arm over her eyes. The darkness didn’t make the memories go away. It only made them brighter, more vivid.

The figure drawing class at her university had been an elective. Models came in and posed for them, a new one every week. Some were clothed, some nude. Most were regular people with their own reasons for signing up to be observed and scrutinized. Then came him. As class ended, Elide swallowed her pride and her nerves and went up to him, offering him her number on the back of her sketch. His lips quirked. He bent down to whisper his name in ear. A quick search later revealed him to be a low-level model. A real one, with an agent and a portfolio.

One date led to a second, then Elide in his bed. Just the one time, she had promised herself. And what a hollow promise that had been.

Elide fell for him. It was impossible not to.

They were lying in her bed, dazed and sticky, when she broached the subject of dating rather than just sleeping with each other. She knew she wasn’t the only one sharing his bed, but blessed Annieth, she wanted him all to herself. Still, to this day, she couldn’t forget his cruel words no matter how hard she tried. He took her heart and stomped it to smithereens. Then set fire to what remained.

So began her hatred of Lorcan Salvaterre.

Sometime in that painful recollection, she had dozed off. Woken up by Aelin returning, Elide flipped onto her stomach, stuffed the pillow over her head, and yanked the covers up. Aelin poked and prodded at her blanket-covered body. The blonde grinned like a cat after a bowl of cream when Elide finally acknowledged her.

“You’ll never believe,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I slept with mister sexy silver fox.”

Elide rose onto her elbows, suddenly awake. “What? Aelin, he has a wife.”

Aelin smirked. “And his wife.”

“You fucked Rowan Whitethorn and his wife?”

“Mmhmm.” Aelin sighed contentedly, sprawling on Elide’s bed and crushing her in the process. She detailed the escapade dreamily. Elide groaned, flopping back down and jamming the pillow back over her head to drown out the blonde. She most certainly did not want to know about Aelin’s escapade.

———————————

“Now, Mister Salvaterre, I have it here that in your modeling days, you held a bit of a ‘whore-ish reputation.’ Can you elaborate on that a bit?” a journalist asked, shoving a recording device in his face.

Lorcan smacked the journalist’s hand away and sent their device clattering to the ground. “No, fuck off,” he said icily.

Praise Hellas, he hated journalists, conniving little scum that they were.

Behind him, Rowan kept a tight grip on his wife’s hand and his carry-on as they tried their best to stay close to Lorcan. The crowd of shrieking women and ravenous gossips (aka journalists) followed him everywhere. He wasn’t even safe in the airport. Blessed quiet came once they were seated on the plane in first class.

When Lyria got up to use the toilet, Rowan pounced. His query: “Now what on earth did you do to get Elide Lochan to despise you so?”

Lorcan scowled. “Fuck you.”

“Oh no, I’m not some journalist you can intimidate into giving up. What did you do?”

Heaving a sigh from the depths of his soul, Lorcan relented. “We slept together back when she was in school and I was just starting out with the modeling. She wanted to ‘date instead of fuck’ and I told her she didn’t mean anything to me, that she was just one of many.”

Rowan gave him a once-over, sensing something missing. “And?”

“No, fuck you.”

“And?”

“Fine! I lied. She meant everything to me, but I was scared. And now that we filmed a whole fucking movie about falling in love, I—” Lorcan groaned, head in his hands. He wished he could go back in time, not say those horrific things. “I want that second chance my character gets.”

“So tell her.”

Lorcan gawped at his best friend, aghast. As if it were that simple. “She would slit my throat,” he said, tone implying Rowan was an idiot for not already knowing that.

Rowan smiled sardonically. “She can’t reach.”

It was funny. And not. “She would find a way.”

———————————

Elide wanted nothing more than to throttle the bastard.

Okay, well, maybe his PR person. Whoever ran his Instagram. That stupid clip of them pinky-swearing and kissing was the most recent post, captioned “out now.” Even though she deliberately didn’t follow him, it was being reposted everywhere and a gazillion people kept tagging her.

In her hand, her phone began to ring before she could throw it at the wall as hard as she could. Her agent. “Oh, just wonderful,” Elide grumbled. “Let’s just make my day even worse, why don’t we?” She answered with a cheery “Hi!” even though it pained her.

“Box seats to the New York Philharmonic?” Elide squeaked. “Who did you say they were from again?”

———————————

Lorcan was going to kill him. And his wife. A lifetime of friendship be damned, he was going to strangle Rowan Whitethorn with his own bare hands.

At intermission, Lyria hastily excused herself to use the restroom, claiming the baby was pressing on her bladder. Her and her husband’s carefully orchestrated scheming left Lorcan and Elide alone.

“Did you have any idea?” Elide asked coldly, looking straight out at the empty stage.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lorcan answered truthfully. “No.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? Because Rowan was a little shit who loved to meddle, that’s why.

“Elide, I—” he started, hesitating. Light caught her earrings as she turned to face him. They glittered, mesmerizing him for a moment. Lorcan blinked, breaking his own trance. “I wanted to apologize.”

Her hands were folded primly in her lap, a carefully blank look on her face. “May I ask why?” she asked, voice even. If she was curious, she didn’t show it. She didn’t ask for what. Maybe she knew already, could guess it.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself and his hammering heart, Lorcan told her why. “It’s something I should have done years ago. Those things I said to you…” He shuddered. “They were unforgivably cruel.”

Elide held up a hand to silence him before he could go on. “Unforgivably cruel,” she quoted back. “Are you going to ask me to forgive you, Lorcan Salvaterre? Get on your knees and beg?” There was a vicious edge to her voice and it scared him. “You know, I had hoped you would show up at my door, begging. Then, I loved you so much I would have forgiven you. But you didn’t. And I stopped hoping. You think now I could?

“You’re sorely mistaken.”

Lorcan reeled. Love? Loved? The tense was important here. She had loved him? Oh, what a fool he’d been. 

“I lied!” he hissed, probably louder than he meant to. It garnered disapproving looks from those close enough to hear. “You meant everything to me. Not nothing. Yeah, I slept around. I’m guilty of that. But none of them compared to you.”

Elide opened her mouth to retort, anger flashing on her face. “Let me finish, please.” Indignant, she crossed her arms and kept quiet. “You threw me out on my ass and I was too blind, too fucking stupid to fight for you. So I moved on with my life. Then, then, they put us in that room for that chemistry read and it all came flooding back. You were livid, once the shock wore off. It had been a decade, and still I could read you so clearly. I’ve seen every dirty look you shot when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. You hate me. I don’t blame you. I would, too.

“But filming that stupid romcom made me want a second chance. Made me think I could have one, too. Hellas knows I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t,” Elide answered, dark eyes alight with fury. “You said it yourself. It was all for the camera; none of it was real.”

He threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “I said that because I was sick of people asking stupid fucking questions! They wouldn’t leave us alone.”

Theater lights flickered, ushering stragglers back to their seats for the second half of the concert. Lyria returned just before they fully dimmed, a perfectly innocent look on her face. At the charged silence her return was met with, she rolled her eyes and muttered something about idiots under her breath.

The concert ended, but still they weren’t free to go. Lyria recommended they wait until almost everyone was gone before leaving the box. That way, they wouldn’t be swarmed by people who recognized them and wanted photos or autographs or both. It was smart and Lorcan was silently grateful to escape slavering crowds. Unfortunately, it meant he would be stuck with Elide for even longer tonight.

Lorcan waited a few minutes after Lyria abandoned them to find her husband, the question itching under his skin. “Tell me none of it was real, and I promise I’ll leave you be,” he said.

———————————

In the relative quiet, Elide warred with herself. Stagehands chattered as they began clearing the stage, the sounds mixing with the last of guests filing out. Behind her, Lorcan waited for an answer, whatever it may be.

Was he referring to their not-relationship from all those years ago? Or the movie and they couple they pretended to be?

Her silence was answer enough.

“One chance, Salvaterre,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind her, like that hadn’t been the answer he expected. Then, Lorcan Salvaterre knelt before her and ever-so-gently and ever-so-slowly took her hand, kissing her knuckles with the lightest graze of his lips. Long dark lashes fluttered as onyx eyes raised to fix her in their focus. A shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You won’t regret it, Lochan,” he promised.

She snatched her hand back, skin burning with the ghost of his kiss. A traitorous blush tinged her cheeks a rosy pink. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she spat. “And this, this is for research purposes only.”

Lorcan had no time to ask for what before Elide kissed him. He was stiff, caught unawares, then he softened.

Time is the death of everything given enough time, including memories, but not these ones. The way he kissed her hadn’t changed. Not in a decade, not for the camera. Elide threaded her fingers through his hair, acrylics dragging across his scalp. Unbidden, Lorcan moaned softly, raising himself up to slant his mouth over hers, kiss her deeper. By the time they finally separated, Elide’s lungs were burning; maintaining her composure while catching her breath was much harder than she thought. If she felt frazzled by their kiss, Lorcan looked it.

Faced with his dopey smile, Elide felt her long-held hatred slipping away. Fine, maybe they could try again. “Promise me it won’t be like last time,” Elide demanded. “I’ll have you all to myself, or not at all.” Lorcan raised an outstretched pinky with an innocent smile. Gagging, she swatted his hand away.

Lorcan laughed. “Seal it with a kiss instead?” he said, suddenly deadly serious. Elide waffled, then nodded, as they both knew she would. Somehow, this kiss was even better than the one before.

Lyria opened the door to the box silently, just a crack wide enough to see through, Rowan hovering behind her. Biting back her smile, she eased the door shut and turned to her husband. They wore matching smug looks, their scheming successful.

———————————

sassyhobbits before you even THINK to ask, the answer is no.

has lorcan kept elide's drawing this whole time? mayhaps. unfortunately that little detail didn't fit anywhere in the story :(