Mad Morrigan's Trash Lair

The Spring manor had always had a layout for hosting, the massive rooms and sprawling landscape perfect for a massive crowd. The gardens were a huge draw, as was the grandeur of the manor itself. Tamlin wasn’t exactly the socialite one might imagine as a host, but Lucien had always somewhat liked doing the legwork of talking to people and meeting those who would travel for the parties and festivities of the past.

He’d loved the food and the lights and the people—the chance to feel like his efforts were noted and appreciated, as well as the ability to have some fun. Those parties had been some of his favorite memories in Spring, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed them.

Lucien had been thinking back on those endless parties in his mind all week, but he’d never, ever seen anything like this.

For the past seven or so days, vendors had been coming and going in a rotating procession of food and decor and goods and wine. Visitors of all varieties were camped across the green hills of Spring as far as the eye could see, wild bonfires going at all hours of the night as people arrived from both near and far. Elain had commissioned what Lucien had been told was a sort of travelling troupe of people—a recommendation from a member of the staff whose uncle swallowed knives as an attraction. He could see the tent practically stretching into the twilight clouds from the deck of the manor. 

Elain hadn’t just planned a ball—Elain had planned days of activities, shows, entertainment. Dining and itineraries and immersive experiences Lucien knew without a doubt that people would be talking about for centuries. And the guests were already eating it up.

Lucien wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Tamlin smiling the way he had been. The crowds of people, all willing and excited to come and pay homage to him, to check in, to participate in this after everything—it was bringing a light back into his High Lord’s eyes that Lucien hadn’t seen in a long time. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever see it again, to be quite honest.

It had been a week of revelry and happiness that the court deserved after so long starving of any real joy. The staff were buzzing and busy and laughing as they worked, and in the chaos of it all, Ianthe had been scarce—perhaps the biggest bonus in Lucien’s eyes. Now, as it all culminated in the night of the ball, he was happy to watch it all come together.

But the ball itself, for all its grandeur, wasn’t the most wonderful part of the week.

At the heart of it all, rushing around like a spinning top, was Elain. Beautiful, lovely, entirely perfect and overwhelmed Elain.

Lucien had taken to just watching her work when he wasn’t busy actively helping. Elain was always soft and kind, but he’d never seen anyone crack the whip of efficiency and wield it with such agility as she did. In all his days of planning and organizing, he could never have pulled off anything of this size and scale. He wasn’t sure he knew anyone else who possibly could. 

Still, everyone Elain met seemed enchanted by her, ready to help in whatever way they possibly could. She was planning and organization and skill and joy, and Lucien had spent the last few weeks wondering how much longer he could hold on to any sense of keeping himself away from her.

His visit with the Suriel had only confused him, leaving him with more questions than answers. And all he’d done since that day was think about the barely-there brush of her lips against his in the water of the starlight pool. But this new side of Elain had taken what little willpower that he had left and shredded it to bits. She was so smart, so clever, so capable. He was in awe of her and the ability to have planned such a massive and impactful event with such care. He couldn’t imagine a world where he’d ever viewed her, even just on description alone, as Feyre’s vapid, socialite older sister.

And now, standing beneath endless fae lights draped across the gardens and courtyard filled with people, he wasn’t sure any part of him wanted to hold back anymore. 

Of course, there was risk. And of course she was human. And Lucien had history—his stomach turned to think of what it might mean for Elain if patterns held. But she was his mate. Not only that, but she was perfect for him, Cauldron-blessed or not. She was quick and fun, she matched his wit and asked smart questions. She kept Lucien on his toes, and he could feel her good intentions. More still, he could feel how much she wanted him, too.

The Suriel might not have given him any straight answers, and he might not have any idea of what the prophecy it had given him meant, but Lucien wanted Elain—no matter the fear, no matter the consequences. No matter the amount of time they may have.

He wanted her, and he wanted her to want him just as badly.

But Lucien knew he needed to tell her about the bond. He needed to make sure she understood the many implications of the two of them being together. The fact that she was human, and he never would be.

It wasn’t fair to her to engage in anything until she knew. And Lucien wanted nothing more than to start this on good footing so it would last for as long as they had together. 

He couldn’t do it tonight—this was everything Elain had been working for. If she didn’t react well about the news of the bond, it would overshadow all the good she’d done here. She deserved to enjoy the ball in all its glory.

But Lucien would do it soon. He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer. 

Elain

Elain’s gown shifted and rustled around her ankles, pretty tulle and taffeta in a bright forest green shimmering in the lamplight. 

She’d been just sitting at her vanity, ready for what felt like hours, but refusing to get up and go downstairs just yet. She could hear the revelry from her window, knew what a great success the ball and this whole week had turned out to be.

But Elain had not been sleeping, her dreams wilder and wilder each night, that strange voice still talking to her, sweet and reassuring and slow.

Her friends in the kitchen had given her some tea to help her sleep after they’d caught her yawning, but she didn’t think it was doing much good. Every night, regardless of how tired she was or what she did to ward them off, the dreams and nightmares would twist together, that voice echoing in her ears and leaving her wide awake before the sun.

She’d gotten ready too early today, coming straight back to her room after spending the morning in the library. Since Tamlin had told her the space was hers to research, she’d been in more than once, a spread of books across the desks and a candle or five burning low as she pored over the recent history of Prythian.

The books seemed to use magic to update themselves, and just last week, she’d finally gotten the full, detailed story of Amarantha and Feyre’s involvement with it. Elain had been up long into the hours of the night, forcing herself through every gruesome detail the book she’d found could provide. And when she was done, she’d vomited into the waste basket tucked into the corner until tears streamed down her face.

Her little sister.

Elain had very few memories from early childhood, but she remembered the first day Feyre was laid into her arms. She was bright red and squawking, barely a few hours old with a bright swooping curl of hair on her round head. Elain vividly remembered the night nurse saying she’d been crying since the second she’d breathed air, but when they laid her in Elain’s arms on the chaise, she’d gone totally silent.

Elain was entranced as she’d opened her eyes, the brightest blue she’d ever seen. She remembered in that moment feeling like she was holding the world in her arms—her little sister, hers to care for, to love.

Her baby sister, the savior of Prythian.

Her nightmares had been relentless since, but she pressed on, still dissatisfied with the information on Nesta. Certainly, something had happened after Feyre had freed Prythian that brought Nesta to her. Elain remembered what she’d seen—her sisters were indisputably both fae, and she wanted to understand how.

Feyre’s circumstances seemed vague in the book at best, a general nod to the fact that her sacrifice and the willingness of the High Lord of Night, her mate, to love her loudly despite her being human, had led to her immortality. That was all the detail she’d found. There were no incantations, no spells, no potions or herbs that she could find. It was almost like a fairytale ending.

And then the princess and the prince lived happily ever after forever…

She refused to take no for an answer, pressing on into each book that might possibly have more. And this morning, she’d finally had some luck with Nesta.

Tucked on a shelf was a thin tome, so small and indistinguishable that she’d looked right over it twice. And inside it was only a short footnote: the High Lady of Night’s sister and her mate, the General of the Night Court.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to confirm Elain’s suspicions. Both sisters had found their mates. Both had fallen in love. Both were now immortal.

Was that what it took? A tie to their mate to trigger immortality?

Elain fought that bubble of hope as she wondered if there was a way she could have the life she dreamed of. What if Lucien was holding back because she was human, but there was a way to make it so she was fae, too?

Would it change everything?

The cord in her chest had flared to life as if in answer.

Elain felt him now, a quiet and steady hum, and all she wanted was to be near him. She pushed up from the vanity, brushing down her skirts and walking to the door. She would find a way to explain all this to Lucien—the bond, her awareness of it, her theories about the future. 

But not tonight. 

She had worked hard, and tonight was about Spring.

Lucien

The drink in his hand was sweating as he leaned against the foyer wall. From here, Lucien had a wide view of the grand ballroom, a swirl of bodies within painting the marbled floor with color. Everyone smiled as the music swelled around them, bright and fun and celebratory. 

He remembered when he was younger, before grief and rage had taken things from him. He’d loved to dance as a youngling, twirling around his mother’s skirts at gatherings as the music played. Now, Lucien couldn’t truly remember the last time he’d danced. 

From the corner of his eye, a flash of green drew his gaze to the stairs. It was all he could do to not choke on his own inhale.

Elain Archeron, in all her human glory, stood at the top of the stairs like an angel. 

Lucien was hypnotized, following every step she took down the staircase and down to the ballroom. He had a perfect view of her, though in the crowd, he wasn’t sure that she’d see him. 

The green fabric flowed around her ankles like a pool of bright vines, the delicate embroidered flowers in deep maroon crawling up her legs and hips and curling around to her back. Her dress was tight around the bodice, lace just barely covering her arms. She’d grown tan and freckled in her time here, and Lucien loved it. She looked most at home outside, in the gardens, beneath the sun. It brightened her in ways that made his chest squeeze.

Her eyes found his suddenly, a smile widening across her face as she lifted a hand to wave as she reached the bottom. She held up a single finger, signalling she’d be right back before disappearing into the kitchens. Leave it to Elain to come to the ball looking like royalty and get straight to work.

Lucien was still struggling to get his pounding heart under control, inhaling slowly and deeply, but catching notes of her scent floating across the room. He had the sudden urge to hide her away—to make sure no one else saw her looking so beautiful.

Ridiculous, he chided himself, but the bond was riding him so hard that his teeth clenched uncomfortably. 

He was going to need to talk to her soon—he truly wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the unacknowledgedment of it roaring like an inferno in his chest. He wondered if even her knowing about it, acknowledging its presence alone, might help the unending need to tell her, be close to her, touch her…

Lucien clenched his fists tight and tried to focus on other things. 

Across the room, standing just at the meeting place of the ballroom and the expansive refreshment table, stood Tamlin and the gardener, Lindy. Though Tamlin hadn’t said as much to him, Lucien wasn’t blind. He saw the way his friend looked at the pretty gardener from a distance, noticed how enthusiastic he was about Elain working with her on the decorations so he’d have more excuses to talk to her.

Over two centuries, and Lucien had never once seen the High Lord improve upon his skills when it came to romancing. But he’d also never seen him so tripped up talking to anyone. Even from here, he could see the dusting of pale pink across his best friend’s cheeks as he spoke. Lindy seemed just as tentative, her hands moving jerkily as she spoke as those she wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

Lucien grinned, and wasn’t even all that surprised when she stepped back to reveal the smallest thread stretching between them. It was shimmering and thin, coated in tiny purple flowers, and the burst of joy that exploded in his chest at the revelation was so strong he almost felt like crying.

No one deserved it more than Tamlin, and the way he stared at Lindy as she talked confirmed it. Lucien wondered if his friend had any idea at all.

As he stared at them, the image flickered in his mind, turning from Tamlin and Lindy to himself and Elain—flirting openly at a party, dancing, holding hands. He could see that shining, thin bond between them bright and functional and accepted, strong and solid as a rod connecting them. 

He wanted that with her, more than he thought he might have ever wanted anything before. In all of this, the guilt of realizing Jes hadn’t been his mate seemed to weave through everything else. But he knew, somehow above all else, that Jes wouldn’t have wanted him to throw away his own happiness. She had been kind and she had truly loved him. If she couldn’t give him the love he deserved, he was certain that she’d insist in her stubborn, willful way that he find it again.

The truth was, Jes would have loved Elain. Everyone loved Elain. Lucien himself thought he might love Elain.

His chest lurched again, the feeling from somewhere outside himself this time. Like a physical draw, his eyes found hers across the room as she emerged from the staff rooms. Beautiful and staring at Tamlin and Lindy the way he’d just been. 

The longing in his chest was not just his own, and he could see it plain as day across her face. Did she want this just as badly as he did? Would she still if she understood what the bond was—what it meant?

It was all too much to consider that she might run when she found out. That all that interest and feeling and emotion he’d been pushing aside for months might not mean the same to her. That she might be so startled by the concept of a mate that she’d want nothing to do with him.

The thought itself was so physically painful that Lucien staggered back, turning down a back hall into the east wing and fleeing into the dark.

Elain

Elain had seen Lucien slip off into the service hallway, looking unreasonably pale, right after she’d felt a stab of something painful in her chest. 

She barely hesitated before walking after him. No one who would miss her had seen her yet, and she slipped quietly into the dark behind him, closing the doors with a quiet snick. 

The sconces were barely lit, all the staff working in the kitchens and around the manor to help with the festivities tonight. Still, he could see his receding figure not far ahead, and she called out.

“Are you leaving?”

He stopped so quickly at the sound of her voice that she worried he might topple over, but watched him whip around instead to face her. As always, in the glow of any firelight, his face was beautiful, all angles and shadows and illuminated features. Her heart pounded.

He opened his mouth then shut it again, then began to walk toward her. It was so quiet in the hall that she could hear his footsteps, each one falling with purpose on the plush carpet. Her breath lodged in her throat.

He was dressed so stunningly, always cleaning up more nicely than anyone she’d ever seen, here or beneath The Wall. It was only now she noticed the colors of his clothing matched her dress, the greens and deep reds complimenting each other so perfectly it was almost enough to make her laugh as he came into her space.

“You didn’t try any of the apple tarts,” she offered, then immediately could have smacked herself for such a strange observation. He’d know she’d been watching him, and the shame of it burned her cheeks. She was thankful for the darkness.

Before, he’d made it so clear time and time again that he wasn’t interested in anything beyond friendship with her. She’d almost been ready to accept it, too, until the day at the starlight pool. Since then, she hadn’t been able to let go of the hope. He’d been about to kiss her—their lips touching. She’d played in her mind over and over again that day what she might have allowed had Ianthe not ruined things. 

And now, now that she knew there was a chance she might become like him—that there could be a way to escape her own humanity. She needed to know if it might change things for him. She’d questioned over and over again the morality of telling Lucien about a bond he couldn’t feel, but she was more sure that she couldn’t go on like this without him knowing. 

It wasn’t fair to him to know that she could feel what he felt. Wasn’t fair for only one of them to know. She’d almost prefer he reject her outright knowing than to live in this unending torture of what if.

She wouldn’t tell him tonight, but she needed to tell him soon. 

“I hadn’t made it to the food yet,” he answered, his voice deep and low as it rumbled in front of her. He was whispering, but she still felt the timbre of it reverberate in the air around them. She was embarrassed how weak in the knees it made her.

“You should try them before you go. I made them all myself.” His eyes closed for just a moment, as though he were fighting saying what he truly wanted. When they opened again, she was fixated on them—one gold, one russet, both the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, especially when they were focused on her.

He seemed as though he wasn’t going to respond, and she wondered if he really had been leaving for good.

“Where are you going?” Elain hated how desperate she sounded, hated him to hear her this pathetic. 

But she didn’t want him to go.

“I just…” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His thumb caught the edge of his hair, pulling a bright red strand forward over his forehead. 

Elain wasn’t thinking anymore—she was only moving, her fingers gently taking the strand and brushing it behind the pointed tip of Lucien’s ear. His lips parted, an exhale on them so quiet that she only heard it because of their proximity. She felt it across her skin. 

“Elain.” Her name was a plea, and it sounded like music to her. Her fingers landed on his neck and stayed there, his skin hot beneath her touch. She couldn’t pull away if she’d tried, the pull toward him so strong that she felt if she didn’t touch him now she might die. Her chest was screaming, his emotions and hers a whirlwind of sound, sensation, and need. 

She knew the need was not solely her own. 

“Why don’t you want me?” The question poured out of her against her will, all her insecurities spilling to the floor in between them like dirty secrets in the dark. Another person for whom she wasn’t good enough.

Lucien physically recoiled at the question, then stepped back closer immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of hurt and something like determination.

“Elain, I fear I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life,” he responded, and something burst wide open inside Elain, relief so palpable she could almost reach out and touch it. It seemed like something similar was breaking inside of him, a wall holding the other out crashing and burning inside them simultaneously.

“Do you feel it, Elain? Do you want me too?” The vulnerability in his own words was so comforting to her that she let her hands both fall to his chest, fingers gripping his lapels for dear life. She couldn’t believe this was real. It was happening.

She nodded, ready to repeat his own answer to his question, but Lucien was already moving, and Elain was simply happy to go along with the pull of his arms. His hands were on her, one on her waist and one in her hair—barely enough time to register either before his lips crashed into hers. She could feel her own body reacting, her fingers lacing into his hair, just as lovely and beautiful as she’d imagined it would feel in her hands.

She was stumbling back, his hands pulling her close to cushion her, then letting her lower her back against the wall, their lips never breaking contact. His mouth was plush and pliant but insistent against hers, the sweep of his tongue something she’d only dreamed of. Graysen had barely bothered to kiss her, and when he had, it had been awful—teeth and sloppy tongue and saliva. 

This was entirely different, a dance of lips and tongues that sent so much heat through her veins that Elain was certain she could catch fire and not notice a difference. She made a noise in the back of her throat, and in response, Lucien pulled her closer. She loved the feel of his body against hers, the hardness of him against the softness of her curves feeling more right than anything else ever had. She wanted him to pull the lace from her shoulders, to press her bodice down and—

The opening and shutting of a door down the hall broke them apart, some staff members carrying something from the back kitchens to the floor. But it had been enough to break the moment.

Lucien had turned to conceal her, to block her and protect her modesty from anyone incoming, and the gesture alone had her melting all over again despite the fact that her heart felt like it might be living outside of her chest. He was breathing heavily too, his back rising and falling against her chest while her hands rested on his hips. When he finally turned around, the smile on his face was unlike any she’d seen on him before.

There was something so charming and boyish in it, so unburdened and joyful. She felt the emotion echo in her own chest, the longing and happiness and relief all muddled together until she wasn’t sure who they belonged to. She hoped for both.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best spot for this,” she offered to break the silence. Lucien’s laugh echoed in the hall, sounding like the church bells she used to so love from the village. Her grin was uncontrollable, so firm that it hurt her cheeks, but she didn’t care. 

“Come, my lady. Let’s get you back to the ball.”

My lady.