#elucienweekofficial

The scent. Smoky, sweet, tart. It lived in the lining, in the stitches, the buttonholes, the worn elbows…there was no stiffness in this garment, it had lived on his back and embraced him, soaking in the essence of him. It was him. He had worn it on countless occasions, obviously. She had imagined it so many times, even seen it on occasion as she dreamwalked helplessly through the aethyr: him, beneath a cold spring moon. Bringing down monsters in the inky night. Huddling around bonfires. Tense with the thrill of chase, of pursuit. Sweet but acid, the depth of pomegranate and the smoke of whiskey, just like the wit that rolled off his tongue: the honeyed words that spilled so easily between those indecently full lips, but stung with backhanded humor. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, he might say, and then the gold gleam of that eye would narrow in mischief, but I haven’t yet seen everything, have I? You’ll have to show me more…just so I can make a proper assessment, of course.

It twisted around her heart like fingers, and squeezed, tight. Her throat, as firm as if it were his hand. Her belly, spiraling downward and inflaming her with want. With need. Lucien, her brain screamed. She couldn’t even wait to see him in her dreams; she wanted him now, now, now, a surge of feeling as heady as panic but so, so acidly, decadently sweet. She could feel it on her skin in delicate waves, trickling along her nerve endings. His breath, the soft drag of his lips, the saucy dart of his tongue.

Thank the mother he wasn’t close by. She clutched the jacket to her neck and breathed, his scent filling her head like a cloud. I’d push him against a tree and…and…

But even her mind was treacherous, because now she was thinking of what she’d do…climb him like a young sapling, tear at the buttons on his shirt, claw through his braids with her fingers, use her tongue to trace his muscles under the skin. Bite. Taste him fully on her tongue. Nip along the scratches she’d raise with her nails, pull at his scar with her incisors. Kneel over his face and let him lick her until pleasure overwhelmed her and she could barely breathe.

She swallowed hard; and as she did, she felt a hesitant tug between her ribs.

The bond.

She was instantly consumed by shame as though falling into water. Had he felt her desire swamp her like a wave? Feyre had said Rhysand could feel almost everything she thought. Her sister’s face had been rapturous with joy as she’d said that, but Elain had stirred with discomfort at the thought. She found it frightening that there was no corner of her mind that was her own. No private place, nothing that was safe. Not even her wild desire was safe.

But you didn’t want safe, did you?

The voice in her head threaded down to her heart, pulling the gold thread at her fourth rib, threatening to reveal all…

Safe is your past. It is not your future.

Would you like to see your future?

She swallowed hard against her fear, against her own reluctance, the need for comfort and the insane urge to be swept away…

She was pure. He didn't know if she was still a virgin or not, he didn't care about that. The point was, as his mate she would be picked by the magic of the Great Rite. She would be picked and he was going to unleash all of the pent up needs and desires he's kept in the darkest, most deserted parts of his mind on her, and likely make her hate him forever. What a treat would that be. Not that he had much of a chance with her now anyway. A scoff escaped his lips. The horse’s ears twitched lightly, and Lucien stretched his hand to gently pat the beast’s neck.

A sense of immense dread and shame washed over him, thoughts circling back towards what his life seemed to be turning around, whether he wanted it to or not, and he could swear the feeling was nothing short of sinking in a pit filled with some putrid, swampy mass.

He never wanted to soil her.

Every thought of her naked body, of him claiming her as his own felt like a sacrilegious assault.

She didn't want him.

He understood that, but understanding was one thing, letting himself forget and move on however...

He couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he convinced himself that it was for the better, that he actually hated her for all of this. For refusing to even give him a chance. For treating him like he never existed, even though there wasn't a thing he had done to personally offend her.

He couldn't help the gaping void in his chest that yearned for her.

She held a piece of him. A piece she never wanted or asked for, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. The hollowness in his chest was a gaping void, scary, and cold, filled with thoughts he usually drowned in at night, listening to her heartbeat,coming from rooms away, like a fool. A lovesick fool.

She was like a ray of sunshine that warmed his soul for a little moment, before disappearing.

That day at the House of Wind... he felt her. Her soul opened up before him: a door filled with gold light, and shimmering, glittery specks floating in the air, like confetti. And then the voice of her soul rang like the purest of music, something he's never heard before. A sound filled with yearning, and light, and love, and pain, so deep it left a taste on his tongue. Sweet, seducingly sweet, a mirror to his own. Ecstasy rolled through his body, transcending time, all of the people in the house, transcending his self, tears blinded his eyes for less than a second. A sudden sense of being completely naked, bare in front of her made his head spin, overwhelming in the truth that she stood there, bare and open for him as well. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. And he knew that if he hadn't been before, he definitely was done for then.

Pulling himself together after that experience was nothing but a war, raging against his body and better judgement. He had to pull himself together, hoping nothing betrayed him, that nobody had witnessed them. He wanted all of it engraved in his skull forever. His. Just her and him. No Rhysand, or Feyre with their prying minds, no shadows from the male - Azriel - the thought of whom was like salt rubbed into a bleeding wound, and no Inner Circle bullshit. His, his, his. Frozen in that one moment blessed by the Cauldron, the Mother, or whatever else. His. Since then, until forever. 

That single moment alone was what kept him going. Kept him from becoming like Tamlin - too wild and unpredictable, dangerous and possessive of someone who wasn't his; though he knew Tamlin at least had had Feyre for a while. He has never been granted the privilege of even being with Elain from her own will.

Somebody else has.

He wished the Shadowsinger well, though he doubted if the feeling was mutual. The thought felt like a dagger twisted slowly into his chest, but he understood. He had all the time in the world to grow accustomed to the fact that love was simply not what the Mother, or the Cauldron had in mind for him. He just wished that the mating bond, that cruel, horrible joke they played on him, would simply let him go mad at some point. To help him see the punchline of said joke, maybe.

But the Shadowsinger was all the way back at the Night Court, and here they were. He, a male appointed as a steward of the Spring Court, and she, a seer, made by the Cauldron itself, mates, but not mated, nearing Calanmai, when he will have to perform his duties, to restore balance to this ravaged land.

How was he supposed to stay sane?

Not when she... She was right there, the being of his dreams, this exquisite female - and for a night he could have her. Claim her. Possess her. Take her with all of the force and magic he had in his veins and make both of them weep with ecstasy.

He could give his soul away for one night when she would look at him without that horrible pain and mistrust in her eyes. A night when her eyes would show him eagerness and yearning. But then again, he wanted her for so much more than just one night.

She wasn't made for this, she wasn't made to be taken like any other fae. They went to Calanmai to have fun without commitment or consequences. They wanted to be fucked, in the most primal, mind-numbing way, no matter by whom, or how many times. How could he expect that from her? He couldn't. The mere thought was more nauseating than exciting.

Lucien sped up his stride and the horse responded by setting off in an unhurried trot, but as he kept the pace up, the stallion roused more. He focused on moving in time with the animal, synchronising his muscles with the horse, breathing in short bursts, before jumping and mounting in a swift, precise motion.

He adjusted himself mechanically, before the stallion began to gallop.

Technically, he didn't have to use a horse to get anywhere. His body was strong and resilient enough to be able to travel quickly and without much strain. But he loved it. There was something about the sweet scent of sweat, the feel of horse hair underneath his fingers, the huffs and snorts, the whooshing wind during gallop, and the lazy whips of a horse tail as they swayed while walking unhurriedly.

He got his first horse from Tamlin, when he first got to the Spring Court as a grown male. An exile. A prince of nothing. An heir of nothing. A son with no rights to his name. He never had a home, not until Tamlin took him in. Or had he ever?

His first horse, Dandillion, died a long time ago. And during the course of his long life, Lucien decided not to name any of his horses, ever again. He hated goodbyes, because his life mainly consisted of those. And so he swore to himself that he wouldn't get attached to animals. They parted with the world much quicker than fae relationships fell apart, but, as he observed - it was just as painful. Horses becoming nameless was just a bondage that dulled the pain. Because he still could feel it. He still did.

For now all he could hear was the wind, the rhythmic thump of his stallion's hooves on the ground. The gallop cleared his mind - his head was light, lighter than it's been for the past week and Lucien wanted to sing praise to the Mother. For the horse, for this glorious movement. For the wind, and the sun. For this blessed silence in his head. For this short moment of being himself.

Over the course of his ride back home there was only one, firm solution on his mind. A solution that came like the sun into the sky. 

She had to leave.

She had to go back to the Night Court, where Feyre would explain everything in deeper detail to her. He knew Rhys didn't exactly love him, but his agreement on this was already undoubtable. Rhys, or somebody else would transport her back, and whatever else happens, she wouldn't be part of it. He would never put her through anything similar to what Feyre had to go through with Tamlin, that was beyond any question. But he wanted her safe. He needed her to be protected from it all. There was no other choice.

As for himself... he never really cared much. Calanmai would come and go every year. He would get used by the primal magic and then come down from the high, somewhere - in the cave, or in the bushes. He had to do what was expected of him. And what was always expected of him was helping Tamlin. That was the least he could do to repay him. How different was it this time? A steward, fixing the magic for the sake of his friend's land. Same duty, different year. Except he had a mate now. He shook his head to get the thought out of his head. Pesky - he let out an irritated sound. 

Again. She didn't want him.

He let the stallion loose to walk wherever he pleased for now and stomped his feet on the grass, getting rid of any leftover mud before entering the house.

He was an object to many female advances, most of them unwanted, after too many Calanmai holidays for him to even count. The last one left a very bitter taste on his tongue though. He cringed slightly thinking of Ianthe trying to get him into bed, of her using every moment to slide her hands down his body, cornering him every chance she got, trying to bribe him with the potential they both had as a couple. She wouldn't take no for an answer, taking full advantage of the fact that Lucien swore to never deliberately hurt a female in his life, for any reason. He wasn't his father. And she was no goddess of purity, but a priestess nonetheless, and Tamlin’s long-time friend. That commanded respect, therefore she had become his Maiden. He devoured her then, but could barely stop his stomach from emptying on the path behind the door when thinking of the whole ordeal now. The memories still haunted him in his sleep. Used, was what he was. Used, and discarded, against his will. No better than Rhysand, he realised. No better than Amarantha had used Rhysand. 

Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the main room - restored to perfection. He knew this house like the back of his hand, yet there was something about it now that was different.

Maybe it was Rhys' magic. He was the one to pull the house back together. Maybe it was his own magic. Or maybe the female’s, sitting at the table laid out for dinner. He couldn't tell.

Elain lifted her big, brown eyes at him. There was simple, polite interest in them. Nothing more. Thankfully nothing less either, this time.

He stifled a sigh, preparing to be polite back.

"How are you, Elain?" he inquired, courtly. "Forgive my attire. I shall prepare for dinner shortly."

She blinked.

"I was hoping you would join me. Nuala and Caedwen have prepared a delicious fawn, and mashed potatoes with butter and dill and two salads to choose from." she offered. He didn't know if she simply ignored the first part of the question, or would rather not talk about something as obvious as her not being happy to see him.

"Two salads? Seasonal?" he asked dumbly, trying to uphold the exchange at all cost.

"Yes. One with delicious soft cheese and fresh tomatoes and lettuce sprinkled in with some olive oil, and the other... looks like it has everything from our vegetable garden in it, if I'm honest. Along with a bunch of seeds." she gazed towards the bowls, as if trying to make sure she remembered correctly. They forbade me to help them. They never let me prepare regular meals anymore." That was the most Elain Archeron had said to him in…forever, actually. And definitely more than she has said to him ever since they came to live at the Spring Court.

He swallowed, trying to remedy his suddenly dry throat.

"Yes, well... I am sure they have a good reason for that." he spluttered, trying not to stumble over his words like a kid. "As for the salads... everything sounds positively delicious. I'll be happy to join you." With that he bolted out, nearly running to his chamber.

Like a godsdamn kid.

There was no wonder why Nuala and Carridwen never let her be in the kitchen. She might have set the table. She might serve it. She might have done all of the above and more, and there would be so little between him and her at the table, and the table itself was sturdy enough to - he cursed quietly, shutting the door to his room behind his back, as if he could shut the thoughts out too. A final. A loud one. 

If there was one thing Lucian Vanserra wouldn't allow himself to do was dress badly. No offence to the members of the Night Court, but aside from Rhys, the main males did not know how to dress at all. One can hardly say that wearing three or four alternating fighting leather sets, and one set of black pants and black shirts is dressing oneself. It's merely having clothes on. Functional. But how on earth can you use fighting gear as your daily attire for all occasions, he would never understand.

He straightened himself, glancing at the mirror in his chamber to check if he had tied the knots of his shirt properly, and smoothened out his honey-coloured, richly embroidered vest before leaving.

She was still there, looking out the window, her silky hair flowing in the breeze coming in. Softly, delicately, the hair creating something of a halo around her beautiful head. Mesmerising. 

She looked ethereal, he observed, taking in her beautiful, yet absent expression. She was clearly too deep in thought to take notice of anything happening around her, eyebrows touching the milky white curtain ballooning slightly in the wind. Was she this enamoured with the garden? It was far from its former glory, so much work would have to be done... The magic would have to be healed to help the right flowers grow. And yet, she was looking at that mess with the most loving gaze, as if she had found her favourite place on earth.

Part of him knew that she was wilting away at the Night Court. That part of him also scoffed every time Shadowsinger would try doing anything for her. That male really didn't know anything about Elain Archeron. She was the sun, the glory, the warm rays falling on one’s face on a spring day. Azriel was just selfish, needing someone to clear out his shadows for him. Lucien’s blood boiled for a moment. He was meant to be with her. Brighten the sun with his flames. Be there to shine if her light ever dimmed. He was –

Lucien didn't have much right to say that he knew Elain at all either, yet somehow he truly did. Despite all that though, he tried keeping this part of him quiet, for pure decency's sake.

This time, however, the naggy, yappy part of his brain swelled with pride, as if trying to remind him that she was his mate after all. That he knew what was best for her, even if that was just an instinct. And he let it.

He cleared his throat lightly, making her aware of his presence in the least abrupt way, yet she still jumped a bit. He bit back a frustrated curse.

"I apologise if I took too long. I had to freshen up after my ride." he explained, offering her a small smile.

He didn't, in fact, take long. Unless someone cared to count the minutes he’d spent watching her.

But that was an entirely different thing.

They took to the table. 

"Elain. You can't stay here. It's just that one day...night more like it."

"Why, what's happening? Why is everyone so eager to prepare for that night?" she inquired, head snapping up from above her plate.

"Calanmai. You know what that is, right? Surely, Feyre has told you?"

Her brows furrowed and the only thing his mind was capable of was cursing everyone. Feyre, Rhys, the Cauldron, the Mother herself. Everyone. Anyone who could have spared him this conversation. He somehow discovered that the conversation brought back the feeling of embarrassment he felt when his mother had taken him to the side to explain to him the way breeding a female looks like. Before, of course, his father and uncles took him to a prostitute, alongside his brothers, crudely giving orders to, quote “use that pussy right”. He cringed behind his practised facial expression. 

"You do know how Feyre and Rhys first met, right?" she nodded, and Lucien almost sighed in relief. Maybe her sister wasn't as negligent as he thought after all.

"He met her by a cave, on some sort of a holiday. Though I could never remember what it was, if I'm honest."

"He saved her from two ...overeager males. At Calanmai. The beginning of spring. Here, its core celebrations take place in a vast cave."

"What happens on Calanmai? Why do you want me away?"

He bit his tongue, weighing his options. He had it all planned out earlier, the words were smooth and tactful, and yet now there was only emptiness, ringing in his head. Except a crude explanation along the lines of: "Because the Cauldron has decided that you’re my mate, you will become my Maiden, and I will fuck you into oblivion to make this forsaken land prosper again, and you'll never want to see me again."

Elain was still looking at him intently, waiting for his reply. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, just to buy some time.

"You see... There's a thing called the Great Rite. It involves Great Lords of Spring performing a special... well. A rite. To ensure that magic in the land is strong enough to bring prosperity. It's paramount that the Spring Court's magic gets fixed, since Tamlin has neglected all his duties and the land has fallen into ruin. As a steward I am the one who will have to perform the Great Rite this year."

He hoped and prayed that she would understand, that she would stop asking questions. Maybe he wouldn't have to tell her anything more.

"Why can't I stay here then? I'll keep to the house if being outside is a problem."

He cursed under his breath. Fucking Archeron sisters. Were all of them the same? Really?

"Because... Elain, I don't want to scare you, but the Great Rite cave isn't exactly a place for someone like you. And the house might not be safe enough for you either." He was not locking her up in here. Even if she begged him to.

"What is it then?" she urged, "Will you be in danger?" Her words hung in the air for a moment, eyes widening, surprised by the way they came out so fast, so easily.

Would he be in danger? Physically - no. Far from it. Mentally... he would be in pain, that much was certain.

He cleared his throat.

"The Great Rite is connected with fire. Fire has always been a device of passion. And that passion creates vitality, creates youth, creates new life. Fae come together to accumulate as much magic as possible, to revitalise the land. All males get pulled to their Maiden, chosen by the magic for the night. "

"I want to help too. Why can't I? I don't understand."

He sighed again. There was something inside of him that desperately wanted to get out, to break free and let him yell out, and naturally, keeping it together was torture. But he braved it.

"Elain. Please. Just go to the Night Court... Please." his soul was aching, voice breaking. Last attempt to keep her safe. Or maybe to keep him safe. He didn't know anymore.

"No. Lucien. I'm not the weak female everyone tries to portray me as. I can take the truth as it is, and govern my own decisions as I deem necessary." She stood up from her chair, eyes sending sparks around the room, hair gleaming in the candle light, lips pulled into a tight line.

She looked magnificent. A queen. A goddess. A – he had no words. No words, but the overwhelming urge to pull her in by the hips and start kissing those angered little lips until she fell weak in his arms.

She could only demand from him. She could demand and he would serve and deliver anything that little woman wanted, if she'd only let him.

"Well?" she clenched her little fists on the table, banging them lightly on the surface. Adorable. So adorable. He couldn't stop a feline smile from slowly slipping onto his face. He was but a male, for Mother’s sake. 

"Lucien! Are you happy keeping me as a dumb pet? Do I deserve so little of your respect? Do you hate me this much?"

And with that the dam broke.

He was up on his feet and close to her in a flash he couldn't later recall.

"Don't ever. Ever. Say such things." he panted, voice coming out low and rumbling. "To me you are everything, Elain Archeron. You showed up like a ray of pure light in my life. I saw your soul. I saw the brilliance of your mind, the strength you have inside of you. I have been bound to you, yet I can't ever have you. I can't be around you, I can't laugh with you and enjoy your presence, because I am the one you hate. The one you feel repulsed by. The one you have been avoiding for months now. I am the one who had to wait and see you play with shadows of another male. I've been silently howling in pain, broken, burning. Yet here you are, daring to look me in the eyes and say that I hate you? That I don't respect you? Elain. Look in the mirror." he rasped, his chest raising and falling heavily. He felt hazy, his head too light with air, and suddenly, the room grew in tune with his thundering pulse. 

She was speechless. Standing there, her face so fiercely red it was sure to be burning all over. Her eyes no longer had the sparkling anger in them. It was something else, but she averted her gaze quickly for him to recognise it. It might have been disgust again, for all he knew. It was all too late anyway. The truth was out.

Before he could pull away, before he could give up and leave she looked at him again.

"What is it then? Tell me. Don't protect me from things I can handle myself. Knowledge has never killed me before." She was so soft again. So delicate he wanted to pick her up and coddle, showering with kisses. To apologise, even if he had no reason to. He was going crazy. Fuck Rhysand for this idea, honestly. Or maybe he should thank the male. For letting her —

"Elain." he warned, just as softly.

"Lucien, please."

He instinctively moved closer to her, feeling her breath on his chest.

"It's because the Great Rite binds a high lord to his Maiden for the night. And the magic is created during the most wild and primal sex possible. Calanmai is an orgy forced by wild, unpredictable fire magic, Elain."

She gasped quietly. Then gulped, her cheeks getting intensely red again. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

"Does that mean — " she hesitated, gazing up at him. Pure. Delicate. The mating bond pulled him towards her, nauseating, overwhelming, overheated. Like a hot rod agains his ribs. He wanted to howl. Did she feel it? Could she feel it too?

"It means, that unless you get out of here, your mate will come to claim you." She shuddered and he couldn't help but lean closer to her ear, his breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. "I will be so desperate to possess you that no wall, no door will stop me from getting to you, from ripping your clothes off and fucking you, over and over, untill you can't take it anymore, until you're a sobbing mess, filled with ecstasy, sore from being pounded into so hard you won't know how to walk for weeks. And I will. I will take you in this house and on every other corner on our way down to the cave. I will eat you alive and you will let me, because the magic won't stop urging you to. You'll be thirsty, craving me like an animal, driven by pure instincts. Doing unimaginable things just to find release. With me, Elain. You will be mine. All of you will be mine." His voice was a hot growl in her ear and she couldn't stop herself from clenching her thighs, to stop the forming ache, breathing heavily —  an urge she couldn't understand. A need, stronger than any other in her life.

He let out a low chuckle, high on her scent.

"So..." he drawled out. "Unless you want to be shamelessly fucked by me tomorrow night...you will go back to the Night Court with Rhysand, so that you don't end up hating me completely." Her little whimper didn't go unnoticed. It took more than just his willpower to stop himself from crashing his lips on hers, consequences be damned.