Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Stop fussing.”

Impossible instructions for nine year old Elain. While her mother tried her best to tie a large, cream colored ribbon in her bouncy curls, Elain tried to inch herself further toward the window. A lilac scented breeze poured in, ruffing sheer curtains playfully, while buttery beams of sunlight illuminated her mothers bedchamber.

All of Prythian was about to descend on the Spring Court. For the first time in seven years, given the current rotation of courts and lords. Elain had been only a baby then, and too young and unimportant to be allowed to go to any of the other courts. She was minor nobility—a Wildwood on her mothers side, which meant something among the Spring courtiers. Her line was ancient and old, and the fact that she’d married an Archeron had been unusual.

Her father, after all, was little more than a merchant from Hybern, come to settle after the last war with Prythian. He’d left his home and everything he loved for Elain’s mother, and though he was mostly respected at court, he’d never be anything other than a foreign born working man.

No matter how wealthy he was, or how his ties improved the High Lord of Springs relationship with the once volatile nation.

Elain knew these things because she wanted a seat at the High Lord’s table someday. Not as a wife, which she knew was whispered about, but an equal. A political player to rival even the wiliest of Autumn Court. 

More than that, Elain wanted to study in the Day Court. She wanted to learn from the High Lord and his lady, wanted to sit in their famed libraries that reportedly held the compendium of the world's knowledge. Which meant today, with a perfect ribbon in her immaculately curled hair, and a pretty, daffodil yellow dress, that Elain had to impress the Lady of Day Court.

Amera Spell-Cleaver. Rumored to be the most beautiful female in all of Prythian, Amera had been wed to not one, but two High Lords. Beron Vanserra had claimed the Autumn born lady as his bride, and sired four sons with her before a mating bond snapped between Amera and Helion, High Lord of Day. Elain had been alive for none of the following drama, though she’d heard a war had nearly been fought on her behalf. In the end, a deal had been struck—Beron kept his sons, and Amera was allowed to leave and remarry.

She had another son Elain had never met, though she knew his name. Lucien. Elain knew the names of all the one-day High Lords. She knew the names of the daughters who would intermarry into other courts, strengthening the ties of their brothers and their allies.

As a second daughter, Elain felt less pressure to marry well. She was certain a proper match would be arranged for her eventually, but marrying an important lord—or even an heir—would fall to Nesta. Feyre was far too wild to ever marry, no matter what the youngest son of the High Lord of Spring thought.

“Are you paying attention?” her mother demanded, pulling open a wooden box of jewelry. Elain nodded her head, though of course she hadn’t been. She was so afraid she’d miss the arrival of Amera and thus her chance at making a perfect first impression. 

“It’s your job to keep Feyre in line,” her mother told her, handing Elain a pair of pretty, pear earrings. Elain slid them in carefully, lips sealed though she wanted to protest. “We can have no embarrassments. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mama,” Elain agreed, knowing full well her mother wasn’t asking so much as telling. No matter how hard anyone tried, Feyre was never going to be a great lady which irked their mother to no end. She’d all but written Feyre off as unsalvageable. Elain pretended it didn’t hurt her feelings, even when her parents made their blatant favorites known. 

“Do try and keep from being too underfoot,” her mother added, taking one last look at Elain. Whatever she saw satisfied her, which Elain took to mean she was beautiful. “I know how you love parties.”

Elain offered a beaming smile. “Yes, mama.”

And with those final, parting words, Elain was allowed to leave her mothers chamber in the High Lords sprawling country estate. Elain’s own bedroom was just down the hall, a trio of interconnecting chambers she shared with both Nesta and Feyre. Elain had grown up among the rolling, lush hills dotted with wildflowers. She’d spent days in the woods, playing hide and seek with the other children at court. In between her own lessons, Elain spent time in the garden, working the soil until she managed to make something lovely grow. The Lady of Spring didn’t mind and had encouraged Elain with her own set of gardening tools.

Elain found Nesta in the grandhall, beautiful like always with her braided crown of golden brown hair and her nose pressed into a book. Elain bounded toward her, plopping beside Nesta on the rose-carved bench.

“Are you excited?”

“No.”

Elain huffed out a sigh. Nesta glanced over, one brow arched. “You know, one day some male is going to think you like politics so much because you find him fascinating. And then what, Elain? When you have to marry some boring lord's son, all because you don’t know when to make yourself scarce?” “At least I’ll have someone to talk to,” Elain snarked back.

“Yes,” Nesta’s lips curled into a sneer so reminiscent of their mother that Elain sat up taller instinctively. “How interesting he’ll find you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Elain snapped. 

“You’re better off in the woods with Feyre,” Nesta added, her silvery blue eyes drifting toward the archway. Elain started to look before the sound of chatter down the opposite end of the hall caught her attention. Someone had arrived. Elain jumped from her chair, nearly smacking into Killian. The second born to the High Lord of Spring, he and Elain might have been friends had he been born a century earlier.

And he not been so cruel. Oh, he was kind to her, but to those he found unworthy of his time or attention, Killian was often vicious. He made her nervous, despite his easy, golden good looks. He didn’t particularly care for Nesta, who was snappish, and she’d heard him once shout at Feyre for dragging mud into the estate. 

He was nice to her, though. Catching her by the arms, he offered her a handsome smile. “Careful, princess.”

She’d long since stopped reminding him she wasn’t a princess. 

“Sorry,” she said instead, dipping into a polite bow. His smile widened, one hand reaching for one of her springy curls. He was always touching her hair for reasons Elain couldn’t make sense of. 

“No need to apologize. Where are you off to?”

Green eyes sparkled with some unknown joke. Elain wanted to pull the hair he was threading through his fingers out of his grasp. She could see her older sister from the corner of her eye watching, those silvery blue eyes burning with dislike. 

“I heard someone arrived.”

“Dawn,” he said conspiratorially. “Punctual, like always.”

He didn’t budge, forcing her to keep her attention wholly on him. Elain still wanted to meet the other delegations. 

“Of course, my lord.”

“Why don’t you let me walk you through the garden, little princess?”

An arm looped through Elain’s and all at once, Killian dropped the curl he’d been fingering. Nesta stood beside Elain, her book clutched in her free hand.

“No need, Lord Killian. I will occupy my baby sister.”

His easy smile faded. Dipping a head of shoulder length blonde hair, Elain watched him retreat. She had the sense there’d been some sort of power struggle and that Nesta, despite being eleven, had won. 

“Come on,” Nesta grumbled, tugging Elain down the corridor. “We’ll miss everyone’s arrival if Killian keeps talking.”

Elain rounded the corner just in time. Freezing in place and gripping Nesta’s hand so hard her sister yanked away with a hiss, Elain made it to the foyer just in time for the Lady of Day to step inside. 

She was beautiful. Elain had never seen anyone as lovely as Amera Spell-Cleaver. Draped in a gown of gold and crowned in a bright, sunburst tiara, she looked warm. Russet eyes sparkled while her auburn hair cascaded about her slim shoulders in a glossy waterfall. She was greeted by the pretty Lady of Spring while her husband, Helion Spell-Cleaver, offered the High Lord of Spring a tense smile and a tight bow. 

“My son,” Amera said sweetly. Her voice was like music, Elain decided. Even Nesta seemed taken aback by her sweetness. Amera pushed forward a boy who couldn’t have been older than Nesta. He had his fathers face, though all of his features seemed too big for his lanky frame. His golden brown skin was offset by shoulder length red hair half braided from his scap. Like his father, he wore a white pleated skirt around his skinny legs, while a bolt of fabric clasped over one of his bony shoulders.

He did not look pleased to be there. 

Elain started to take a step forward, which proved to be a mistake. The Lady of Spring noticed her. Smiling, she said, “Poor Lucien looks exhausted. Tamlin is out with his older brother, but perhaps Lady Elain could show you around?”
Lucien looked over at Elain before turning to his father. “I want to stay with you,” he said, not looking at Elain a second more.

“Go,” his father urged as he placed a broad hand against his son's back. “Make a friend.”

Nesta snorted, well aware Elain had been thwarted. But Lady Amera was looking at her, and Elain was able to sink into a deep curtsey before the Day Court royals. Looking only at Amera, she said, “It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Elain.”

Amera’s smile widened. “If my son gives you any trouble, you come find me.”

“Of course.”

The adults pushed forward while Nesta took off, determined not to be roped into entertaining a foreign prince. It left Elain to stand before him awkwardly.

“Do you want to see the garden?” she asked him. Lucien shrugged.

“Fine.”

Elain gestured for him to follow her out onto the lawn. A paved stone path wound from the front drive, leading around the side of the estate toward the sprawling garden. Elain was giddy with excitement. She’d show Lucien around, take him back indoors, and charm the mother he clearly didn’t appreciate.

“Do you like flowers?” she asked him.

“No.”

“What do you like?” she pressed, a little annoyed with how sullen he was. 

“Swimming,” Lucien finally said, shuffling his sandaled feet. Elain thought of the starlight pool before casting it from her mind. It was too far from the grounds to trek out that far, especially when she barely wanted to be in the garden.

“Well—”

“Little Lucy,” crooned a masculine voice just behind them. Lucien went still for a second, his face wan. Elain turned, frowning when Eris Vanserra strolled around the hedges, his hands jammed in his pockets. He was fifty something, far older than either of them.

“Do you want a tour of the garden?” Elain asked, thinking it would scare him off. Eris grinned, canines gleaming beneath the golden light of Spring.

“I would love a tour, little princess. I hear this was a mating gift from the High Lord to his wife.”

Eris was far better company than Lucien based on that one sentence alone.

“He did!” she said with a smile, resuming her pace along the path. 

“How lovely. Mates are so rare…so cherished—”

“Shut up,” Lucien hissed under his breath, his hands balled to fists. “Shut up about father right now.”

“What did I say?” Eris asked innocently, and too late, Elain realized she was caught in the middle of a fight between half brothers. 

“You know what you’re doing!” Lucien accused. Elain sidestepped them both, backing toward a pond at the edge of the garden. A little bench beckoned for her to sit, to wait this out until she could return indoors.

Eris, every inch a grown male, stared down his straight nose at his brother. “Why don’t you, in all your infinite wisdom, tell me what I’m doing.”

It was a warning. Elain lived with four brothers, all of whom fought like this. Telling Eris, the heir apparent to Autumn, to stop, was far too frightening. Lucien was just a boy, though. Eris’s amber eyes flashed as a warm breeze ruffled his short auburn hair. Both Lucien and Eris favored their fathers too much to look similar, though they shared that same shade of red hair. 

“Maybe we could keep walking?” Elain asked, the words coming from her in a squeak. Eris’s eyes snapped to her face.

“A wonderful idea—”

“I don’t want to be out here with him!” Lucien snapped, whirling so fast Elain knocked into him. Lucien’s hands collided with her chest, shoving her out of the way. Elain reached for something that might prevent her from falling into the pond and found only air.

Her back hit the cold water with a splash. It wasn’t deep where she’d fallen, but when Elain scrambled up onto her elbows, looking at a stunned—and maybe apologetic—Lucien, fingers curled around her ankle and yanked.

She tried to scream. Water filled her lungs and Elain screwed her eyes up tight, choking and spluttering with panic. She knew who held her—one of the water wraiths had found her and was dragging her to the bottom where Elain would be made into a meal. Twisting and thrashing did no good. The grip on her was ironclad, bruising her ankle to the point of crushing bone.

Elain felt a sob rise in her chest. She wanted her dad, or her mom, or even her sisters. Someone to save her.

Strong hands gripped Elain’s shoulders. More wraiths, she thought as she fought violently against the hold. The water had warmed, was almost too hot, though that might have been her imagination. The hand on her ankle vanished as the ones on her arms wrapped around her body. She couldn’t fight them, could only accept this miserable fate.

Her head hit the air first. Elain spluttered, blinking open her eyes. Eris Vanserra waded toward the shore, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“You’re fine,” he said when she began trembling. Elain wrapped her arms and legs around him, trying to climb higher in order to escape the water and the wraiths she was certain would return. “Calm down, you’ll drown us both.”

“I want my daddy,” Elain managed, sucking in a breath of air. On the shore, Lucien stood looking terrified.

“I—” he tried, but Elain couldn’t help the wailing sob that escaped her. 

“She’s fine,” Eris told his brother, rising from the water. Water sluiced off them both, creating large puddles as Eris walked her back to the estate. Elain couldn’t help her frantic sobs, face buried in Eris’s fine green tunic. 

“What happened?”

“No,” she whispered, hearing Killian’s voice just behind her. Eris’s grip on Elain’s body tightened ever so slightly. 

“Nothing that concerns you,” Eris sneered.

“Hand her over,” Killian ordered. Elain clung to Eris tighter. 

“I want my dad,” Elain whimpered as Eris glanced down at her.

“Is this your father?” Eris asked, well aware it wasn’t. Elain shook her head back and forth, unwilling to even look at Killian.

“Eris–”

“Mind your own business,” Eris snapped, his younger brother still trailing at his feet. 

It was humiliating—all of it. Killian didn’t leave, which meant by the time Eris found Elain’s father, another argument had broken out between the pair. Eris’s own father was furious to see his son sopping wet while Amera Vanserra had listened to Elain explain what happened with big, disappointed eyes. 

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Amera said to her eldest as Elain’s father held her tight. 

“I guess it runs in the fucking family,” Eris had spat, turning his back to her.

“I messed this all up,” Elain whispered. Lady Amera would never forgive her for this. 

And in turn, Elain would never forgive Lucien, either.

*fifteen years later*

“WAKE UP LUCIEN!” 

Lucien had the vaguest sense of his bedroom door banging open. Of sandals slapping against marble floors…and a blanket being ripped off his body. Beside him, a feminine voice moaned with displeasure. 

Lucien peeked open an eye. “Arina,” he said lazily, running a hand down his chest. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Get up,” she hissed, eyeing the three naked females surrounding him with distaste. “Helion sent me.”

“He knows where I am.” Lucien smiled as a set of lips kissed down the side of his neck. Arina reached for a pillow and threw it at the offending female so hard she fell off the bed in an attempt to avoid pain.

“Get out of here. Lucien has things to do.”

Lucien groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Is she here, then?”

“Not yet,” Arina told him, watching the females from the night before dress quickly and file out. Lucien would need them again, likely before the day was out. He didn’t know which he enjoyed more—watching them pleasure each other, or how well they pleasured him. 

When it was just him and Arina, Lucien sat up, not bothering to hide his naked frame. It was nothing the willowy blonde hadn’t seen before, though Arina might have been the only female at court that hadn’t climbed into his bed. She was just as prolific—she merely had no interest in him. They’d grown up together, and Lucien supposed Arina was more like a sister. A sister he’d once watch suck someone off in a corridor, at any rate. 

“Your mother would like me to remind you that drowning Elain Archeron is forbidden.”

Lucien scowled. “She’s never going to get over that. It was a fucking accident.”

Arina shrugged. “Is that why you hate her so much?”

Lucien rose, kicking aside a set of underwear that did not belong to him. Lucien hated Elain Archeron for any number of reasons. She was everything wrong with Spring, for one–pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside. She was spoiled, pampered, and selfish. Lucien had been delaying her coming to Day for the last five years, certain she’d give up and marry one of the High Lord’s sons and free him of the misery that was her presence.

She wanted to study politics in his family’s libraries. Wanted to learn from Helion Spell-Cleaver himself. And though Lucien would never admit it, he hated how much his mother seemed to like her. As if she wished Elain was the daughter she’d gotten, versus the son that disappointed her. 

Lucien pulled a white and gold chiton over his head before plunking down in a chair. Arina plunged her fingers into his hair, plucking at last night's braids with her long nails. 

“I don’t hate her,” Lucien finally said. “That would require caring about her, which I don’t.”

“Good. Then you have no problem greeting her at the door.”

He had a lot of problems with that. Lucien had managed to avoid her since that day in Spring. Elain wasn’t considered important enough to join the delegations in other courts, and the one other time he’d been trapped in Spring, he’d avoided her like the plague. Lucien had never forgotten the look of anger on Eris’s face the day Elain was nearly drowned—nor had he forgotten his fathers anger and his mothers quiet disappointment.

No matter how many times he insisted he’d never meant to shove her, that they’d merely collided into each other and he’d been just as afraid she would be hurt as Eris had been, no one believed him. Elain had sniffled through that story like a doe eyed mouse and claimed he’d been so mad he’d pushed her.

I was only doing what I was told.

Yeah, well, fuck her. 

Lucien laced up his sandals, satisfied his hair was decent enough, and turned to Arina. “How long am I supposed to endure her presence?”

Arina sighed as she smoothed out her own vibrant, purple dress. “She’s one female, Lucien. You’re supposed to be High Lord someday. You’ll have to endure far worse than Elain before then.”
Lucien reached for a wavy strand of her golden hair and tugged. She smacked him in the stomach, a scowl twisting her pretty features. Lucien took her hand in his and pulled her from the bedroom. Day Court was unlike any other palace in Prythian. Built atop a hill, the structure stretched skyward with yawning spires that, at high noon, seemed to touch the very sun itself. Open and vibrant light poured through massive windows while the corridors were often the site of passionate debate among scholars, politicians, and other folks who’d come up for the day. 

Helion hosted musicians and artists, as well as priestesses who had a temple in the city of Rhodes below. No one was ever truly alone in the palace, and while the noise occasionally got to him, Lucien rather liked the bustle of his home. 

There were always things to do. 

Today, though, Lucien only had one job. He knew he was late when he strolled into the throne room where his father sat, crowned High Lord of their home. His mother was at the foot of the dais, holding the face of Elain Archeron in her hands. Lucien could see the cascade of honey blonde hair trailing to her waist and the blush colored gown hugging her frame. He was grateful to see nothing else—from behind, Elain was exactly his type. 

“Lucien,” his mother breathed, smiling over Elain’s head to look at him. “You made it.”

Lucien swept into a deep bow, pausing at Elain’s shoulder. The smell of jasmine and honey slammed into him, heady and sweet like Spring itself. Lucien kept his eyes on his mother, well aware somewhere behind him, Arina was still watching.

“Lucien is our most skilled emissary,” his mother told Elain affectionately. Her praise filled him with warmth only for a moment, replaced in the next second with cold dread. Why was she telling Elain this?

Elain tilted her head to look up at him. Lucien couldn’t breathe fully as he faced her. What had happened to the chubby cheeked child he remembered? The sniveling baby with the big, watery eyes? Elain was, without a doubt, the most beautiful female he’d ever seen in his entire life. Lucien gave himself permission to stare just for a heartbeat. She still had those big, brown eyes though they were somehow more appealing in that soft, heart shaped face she had. Pouty, pink lips were curved into a strained smile, as if looking at him pained her. 

Lucien’s gaze swept toward her small, pert breasts, pressed against the top of her dress before looking back at his mother with a lazy smile. 

“Will Lord Lucien be taking me to Summer, then?” Elain asked with a soft, lilting voice. Lucien’s gaze snapped to his father, reclining in his chair with an easy, amused grace.

“Yes. I trust no one more than my son. For the year you’re with us, Lucien will be your instructor.”

Lucien’s stomach bottomed out. “Will she be accompanying me on my various trips?” That was going to cause him problems, given how Lucien liked to obtain gossip from the other courts. Pillow talk was his best weapon—outside of his cock, of course. 

“If you’re able.”

There was a flash of warning on his fathers face that kept Lucien silent. Elain glanced up at Lucien one last time before beaming at his mother. “I’m so grateful for the opportunity.”

As his mother began to walk Elain out, intending to give her a tour, Lucien made his way toward his father.

“Don’t,” Helion warned, holding up his hand to silence Lucien. “This will be good for you.”

Lucien plopped down on his mothers throne. “What is the point of this? Spring doesn’t allow female emissaries or politicians. Am I training her to be someone’s well-informed wife?”

Helion smothered a smile. “Between you and I, Killian has made his intentions toward Elain very plain—”

“Good, then let her marry him—”

“And your mother thinks Elain was meant for more. She wants more, and I think as long as she’s willing to fight for it, we shouldn’t stand in her way. What could be more terrible than being forced into a marriage you don’t want?”

Lucien groaned. Of course his parents were thinking that. Of course they’d draw parallels between spoiled Elain and Lucien’s lovely mother. “They are hardly the same.”

“Be kind,” his father urged. “Don’t push her in the pool—”

“It was an accident!” he hissed, causing his father to laugh. 

“I know it was. Your mother knows it. It’s a year of a very, very long life, and I trust you will set her up with enough foundational knowledge and your connections in the other courts that, should she decide to leave, she isn’t forced to go back to Spring.”

“And if she wants to stay?”

His father’s smile told Lucien he very much hoped she did. “Well. You can’t be emissary forever.”

Lucien scowled. “I’ll do as you ask. I won’t enjoy it, though.”

Lucien didn’t turn as he strode out of the throne room. 

And he ignored his father's booming laughter trailing behind him.