Elain balanced precariously on the saddle, struggling to pull at the side of her skirts which were hitching up her thigh, the leather of the saddle chafing against her skin.
Hot Day Court sun beat down on her shoulders, and she felt a drop of sweat forming under the straw hat Nuala had fastened to her curled updo. Lucien and Elain had been riding for the past hour, and her legs were beginning to feel numb.
Looking up from her skirt and over the mare's bobbing head, Elain gripped the cantle of the saddle and watched as Lucien expertly maneuvered the tight trail, his posture relaxed and easy, commanding the mare with skill and confidence over the rocky terrain, missing the nearby branches effortlessly, his shoulders angling away whenever he passed by a tree closely.
He made it seem so easy.
Frustrated, Elain reached down, giving the cotton material of her skirts another yank. She pulled hard, throwing her weight against the fabric, but not before regretting it immediately as she felt her balance falter, letting out a startled shriek, frightening her horse. The mare bucked, whinnying with displeasure as Elain shrieked again, holding onto the cantle and grabbing at the mare's mane.
Lucien whirled in his saddle, raising a hand to the horse and calming her gently with a single word. Elain regained her balance, embarrassment flooding her cheeks, as she nodded her thanks to her mate with a smile of chagrin.
He turned forward in his saddle again, calling back toward her. "It would be simpler for you to try trousers perhaps. When she was in Spring Court, Tamlin and I were shocked when Feyre— "
"I am not Feyre." Elain snapped. Startled by her own tone, she added softly. "I prefer dresses."
Lucien glanced back, offering a nod of understanding, but Elain noticed a ripple of tension cresting his jaw.
This was the second time the mates had attempted a horseback ride through the countryside of Patras. On the previous try, Elain had ridden on Lucien's horse, holding his waist from behind. They had started the trek in the vineyards of Helion's palace, traveling East, heading for gods-only-knew-where, for all of thirty minutes before it was decided that her straw hat pressing into his shoulder blades was uncomfortable for both parties.
That failed attempt at bonding pretty much summed up how the entire last month had gone for them following the exit of the Inner Circle from Patras.
Lucien and Elain had spent hours and hours together, courting in the company of chaperones, trying their hand at a menagerie of activities, desperately trying to find one they could mutually enjoy. So far, Elain had fallen asleep during three games of chess, Lucien had stepped on her toe during a waltzing lesson, and the pair had decided together that the markets were too loud and hot for comfortable conversation.
Helion had become a buffer for the mates, and as much as Elain hated to admit it, she was happier when the High Lord deigned to join them on their outings. His laid-back presence comforted her, and it seemed that Lucien and Helion could spend eternity discussing everything under the sun. The High Lord had even gotten in the habit of bringing Lucien with him on his near-daily Pegasi flights on the afternoons Elain spent in the gardens with Sandrielle exploring and cataloging her blooming influence over living plants.
Lucien had seemed impressed at first with Elain's magic, calling it a "nice amplification of a beloved hobby." Probably because the magical skill was all but useless in battle or war strategy she mused, rolling her eyes as she gripped the cantle tighter. The High Priestess however, did not seem to believe that Elain's magic was insignificant. Her time with Sandrielle in the gardens had become almost sacred to Elain, and it seemed that Lucien felt the same way about his time with Helion. Taking the horseback ride with Elain this afternoon had meant that he would miss a Pegasi flight with Helion, and Elain noticed that Lucien seemed to feel it was the lesser of two opportunities.
So Elain and Lucien had indeed spent the past month bonding... with fae of the mentor variety, rather than with each other.
She sighed, watching Lucien ride ahead of her, feeling the skin on her thigh begin to burn miserably. She wanted to go back to the palace. To end this insufferable adventure and return to the comfort of her rooms. Elain felt her toe begin to prickle, the numbness spreading to the rest of her foot as an inexplicable streak of rage coursed through her. Why was she on this damn horse if she didn't want to be? Lucien certainly didn't force himself to sit in the garden with her after he had concluded it was not his cup of tea.
This was ridiculous. She didn't have to be here.
"Can we go back?" Elain called sharply toward the fireling.
"Sure, we can begin riding East..."
"No," she interrupted him. "Can you winnow me? I can't do this any longer."
Lucien turned back toward her, frustration flooding his eyes, but he nodded, removing himself from his horse, and fastening it to a tree.
"I'm sorry." she squeaked out, feeling guilty for the change of plans.
She suddenly wished she was stronger. Wished she was like Feyre. Or Nesta. Hells... she wished she was like Vassa: a female who could tolerate adventure or at the very least, not cause Lucien to look at her this way. She may not have romantic feelings for him, but she felt terrible disappointing him. Or maybe she just felt terrible disappointing anyone.
Sighing, Lucien approached her horse, reaching up and grabbing her around the waist, he pulling her off the mare and depositing her on the ground. And it wasn't her imagination when she noticed that he performed the task rather roughly.
"Are you upset with me?" Elain drew her eyes up towards Lucien's, a sick feeling creeping in her stomach.
"No. It's just... Well." Lucian cut himself off, drawing his fist to his eyebrow.
The gesture reminded her of a parent.
An exasperated parent who was done dealing with a needy toddler. Elain had seen her mother perform the same gesture many times throughout her childhood. The realization struck a chord within Elain, and she found the sick feeling traveling up from her stomach and exploding into her mouth.
"You ARE annoyed with me. I can tell."
Lucian just stared down at her, his fist falling from his eyebrow and resting on the mare beside them in a pat.
"I know you are. Just admit it. You wish I was different." She took a step toward him. "I know you wish I could ride horses for hours. Or that I could match you in games, fight with a sword, be sarcastic, or powerful, or whatever." She spat the words at him, surprised that her tone seemed to remind her so much of Nesta. Or Feyre on a bad day. "I know you're frustrated with me: that I don't seem to feel our bond and that I talk about gardening too much, that I'm too quiet, and that I only like to wear skirts. I know it grates on you. I know I grate on you."
Lucian stared down at her, dumbfounded. Perhaps he didn't realize that she wasn't dense. That she could absolutely pick up on his subtle cues of frustration over the past month they had been spending together. Closing the gap between them, he reached toward her shoulder.
"You said you don't feel the bond, but yet you know what frustrates me."
Wrenching her shoulder away, she turned from him. "I'm not an idiot Lucien. I can read people. I'm observant." It was the first time she had ever addressed him by his name, a wake of sparking intensity following her remark, circling them, cracking and fizzling.
"I'm sorry." He answered quietly.
Elain didn't realize it until she heard those words from Lucien, but some part of her was hoping that he would listen to her frustrated speech and get angry: that he would bite back at her, or fight with her. She wished bitterly that he would challenge her words or argue with her, either to tell her she was wrong or to show some form of passion. But his hollow apology felt like acid on her heart, drawing a wellspring of tears to the back of her lids.
Because he had not said that her observations were incorrect.
Just that he was sorry she wasn't too stupid to not notice.
"I'd like to be alone now." Elain felt a tear draw dangerously close to her lashes, and she wiped her eye with the back of her hand. "Take me to my rooms please."
Without replying further, Lucien gently rested his hand on her wrist, taking it lightly and winnowing her directly into her bedroom and then disappearing before she could even offer a thank you.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
"What do you mean Koschei isn't setting up for war?" Cassian was staring across the table at Azriel, confusion knitting his brows.
They were sitting with the Inner Circle, hunched over reports and papers that Azriel had gathered over the course of the past month.
After returning from Patras, Azriel had arranged an extended spy mission, with Rhys' permission, to scope out Koschei's lake in an attempt to learn what the death God had in store for Prythian. Azriel had been living in the wild and shadow, drifting in and out of his fae form, his sole focus on the lake, refusing to allow his mind to drift toward Patras.
It had been a miserable month in the woods, but Azriel knew that he would have been more miserable in Velaris.
He knew that the rest of the Inner Circle would have carried on with life, unaffected by the absence of the third Archeron sister, and it would have killed him. Living in the trees, becoming one with the shadow and focused on his mission, Azriel had been able to push away the onslaught of images his mind tortured him with, of the fox curled around Elain's precious shoulders, leading her on long walks in the garden as she smiled up at him.
He often tossed and turned in the night, choosing to sleep folded in his wings on the forest floor near rough fires, the stars above and the shadows below his only company. But his isolation was not enough to prevent one reoccurring dream from haunting his wakeful sleep.
It was always the same fucking nightmare.
Elain, draped in one of her usual peach gowns, smiling and striding across a dining room, a tray of food in her hands, heading toward him. He could smell the meal wafting from the tray as she came toward him, closer, and closer, until she was near enough to touch. But then, to his horror and agony, Elain would simply keep walking, straight through him, as if he was dissolved mist. Whirling around, he would watch her, immobile, as if he was chained to the floor, as she sauntered toward the fox who greeted her with a smile, taking the tray and reaching for her hand. The agony would crescendo as Azriel saw the fox take a bite of the food, magic exploding and crackling in the surrounding air as the mating bond snapped into permanence.
It was worse than being impaled by faebane.
Breaking his reverie, he looked up from his reports toward Cassian. "Koschei is intent on getting Vassa back to his lake, but other than that, I have gleaned no further plans from him. He seems to enjoy the company of his collection of female prisoners."
"But when we were near him with Eris—"
"Koschei is a Death God." Rhys interrupted his general. "The last living sibling of the Weaver and the Bone Carver, who both happily stayed in imprisonment, self-inflicted or otherwise, for centuries. These creatures are patient. We only learned of Koschei last year for Mother's sake. Perhaps he is deciding to enjoy his lake and slaves for awhile longer before unleashing his wrath on Prythian."
"I, for one," Feyre's voice rang out from her seat at the foot of the table. "Am not saddened to know that we may have a year without war. Let us take this as a win and go back to our happiness, perhaps even trying to permanently free Vassa in the meantime." Looking toward Azriel, she addressed the Shadowsinger. "Thank you for your work this past month. It must have been difficult to spend so much time in isolation in order to gather this information. We appreciate your sacrifice."
Azriel bowed his head toward his High Lady, not bothering to tell her or the rest of the Inner Circle that he had relished the isolation. That he had wanted to do everything his power to not return to Velaris, and to avoid this very seat he was now sitting in, facing toward the billowing lilacs sparkling behind the glass panes of the dining room. He wondered wistfully if the light of Velaris had truly been dimmed since Elain's extended absence, or if the garden was wilting out of grief for its lady's departure. The gardens certainly seemed less vibrant than before, but perhaps it was only because they knew she was not here he wondered.
Rising from the table, Azriel collected his papers, intent on leaving for the House of Wind and away from the ornamental garden as soon as possible, when he felt a light touch on his scarred hand.
"Az, can we speak for a moment?"
Mor.
She gestured toward the gardens with her head, and he nodded in return.
Mor had come back from Vallahan last week. He was happy to see her return, but realized that he had not thought about her in the month he was living in Koschei's forest. Following the ray of sunshine through the glass doors and onto the patio, Azriel settled on the foot of a lounger, tucking his wings and leaning his elbows on his knees.
"Did you have a nice time in Vallahan?" He queried, watching her as she settled in a patio chair, her arm resting on the table beside.
An image sprang before his eyes, of Elain bumping into that very table, only a month ago, their kiss wet on her lips as she winnowed away, dematerializing into golden light as he desperately reached for her. Looking away from Mor, he cringed. Would he ever be able to comfortably rest in Velaris? In this damn river mansion? When it felt like the spirit of Prythian's most beautiful soul was whispering in all its corners?
"Yes I did." Mor's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I was happy to return though. I missed—"
"Emerie?" Azriel looked up at Mor whose eyes widened into a shocked expression, his glance landing on the necklace sparkling on her clavicle.
"How did you... when... did Feyre?" Mor's words tumbled together, her hands wringing in front of her.
"No one betrayed your secret. I've known for many centuries." Mor's eyes widened even larger, boring into Azriel. "Come on Mor. I'm the spymaster of The Night Court!"
She laughed, her surprise breaking her down into a more relaxed posture as he continued. "I'm happy for you. And I'm not going to fly head first into Ramiel. Don't worry."
Rising from her chair, she came to join him on the lounger. "I thought for so long that you were—"
"Wings over heels in love with you?" She nodded. "I think I once was. Or maybe I've just loved you as family for a long time, wanting what was best for you, sometimes hoping that would be me. When I found you in the forest," He watched her eyes narrow in pain. "I vowed to myself to ensure that you would always be happy. And safe. And though I felt confused at times in my feelings, I truly think that I have kept that vow."
Mor smiled again, reaching a hand toward his scarred wrist. "You have. Oh, Azriel, I'm sorry I could not have this conversation sooner. I just didn't want to disappoint you, and I thought that I would lose you as a friend forever if I rejected you. I can't love you like that, but I truly love you like a brother."
"And I love you as a sister Mor." He patted her hand comfortingly, before looking up and grinning wickedly. "But can you blame me for loving you for so long? You're stunning!"
Mor threw her head back into a laugh, tossing his hand away and punching him in the shoulder. "Az—"
"Emerie is a lucky female. And from training with her for so long, I know that she is worthy of you." Mor ducked her head, a blush coloring her cheeks in response. "Even if she did steal my necklace and give it to you."
Questions filled her eyes as Mor reached up to the intricate rose on her neck. "But Emerie has worn this since I met her! Did you give it to her?"
"No." Azriel leaned back, letting out a sigh and covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I gave it to Elain." Mor watched his frustrated posture, still confused. "Who gave it back to me after I called an almost-kiss between us a mistake."
Mor's eyes widened with shock, letting go of the necklace and drawing a hand to her mouth. "Elain? But she's mated to Lucien! And that still doesn't explain how Emerie..."
"I didn't want it anymore. The necklace I mean. But I didn't have the heart to throw it away... it felt like throwing it away would be like throwing a piece of her away. So I brought the necklace to the library and gave it to Clotho to give to Gwyn." Mor's eyes were narrow, confusion still brimming her thick lashes. "And Gwynneth lost it in a game of poker to Emerie during some Valkyrie party."
Azriel finished the sweeping explanation, hunching over again, dropping his face into his hands and let out a sigh, unable to look at Mor.
"Az... I don't know how to say this but..." He turned to face her, his hands hovering beneath his head. "But you fucked up."
"Yep." He rubbed his eyes again. Harder.
"And she decided to court Lucien?"
"The day after she saw that damned necklace on your throat at dinner." He let out a sigh.
Mor paused. "Well... Shit."
"Yep." Azriel heaved another sigh, unable to raise his head from his hands.
She leaned back, her hands gripping the lounger behind her, sunning her face in the warm Velaris heat as she pondered his dilemma. "So what are you going to do? Sit back and watch her mate the princeling? Or maybe make a move in five hundred years?"
The jab was not unnoticed, nor was it unwarranted Azriel chuckled slightly.
"What can I do Mor?" He took his elbows from his knees, standing up and pacing the patio, allowing his wings to flare and stretch. "She's decided to court her mate. It's been a month. They've probably already exchanged a meal by now."
"Maybe you can't wait this time Az. Maybe you need to take action before that happens"
"And what? Drop down into Patras and stop her? Challenge Lucien to a blood duel? " He stopped abruptly, turning toward Morrigan, his fists balled in frustration, siphons coming to life. "If she but breathed the request, I would. I would fight. I would kill anyone to be with her. But she is trying to sort out her bond, and I want to respect that."
"But what if she's just doing it because she thinks we're together? If she knew how you felt, would it change?"
"She knows we're not together... I think... I mean, we've had... interactions." He avoided Mor's surprised expression. "But she still won't let go of him. I don't know why, other than that she must feel a connection to him or something." Or maybe I'm indeed not good enough, the unspoken though lingered in his mind.
And as if reading his feelings, Mor's eyes softened, standing, she reached a hand toward Azriel, patting his arm gently. "She would be the most blessed female in Prythian to have you Az. Don't believe the voice in your head."
He sighed, his wings drooping before he tucked them tightly, a hand covering Mor's. "I think this is why I held onto you for so long Mor. You get me."
"I'll play wing woman for you any time."