The story takes place right after acosf bonus chapter and contains spoilers for it. English isn't my first language so if you notice any mistakes and want to point it out you're welcome ❤️
A mistake.
It had been a mistake.
Those were his words, echoing in Elain's mind in the darkness of her bedroom. It was not the rejection, she knew, that made her feel this uncomfortable burning sensation inside her chest.
When Grayesen had rejected her, it had been as if a chasm had been dug right where her heart was now beating at a different rhythm than she was normally used to.
The pain had subsided with time. Was there any wound that did not heal with it?
However, deep inside, a small part of her still continued to hope, to dream of the life that had been ripped away from her.
When she was alone in the darkness of her bedroom, she closed her eyes and imagined what could have been.
She used her powers to try to glimpse a future where what she wished was still possible, but she had never been able to find it.
From time to time she saw Graysen. Whether in the future, or in the present, she could not say.
She hadn't spoken to anyone about what her abilities really were since the battle against Hybern, and she preferred it that way. She hid out of shame at the use she made of her power.
Watching Graysen caused her both pleasure and pain, and for months it had consumed her. While her sisters fought in the war, she had isolated herself, silent, without eating, mourning for what she had lost. But then, slowly, something had changed. And she did not care what Feyre said to her. It was not her 'mate' who had slowly begun to fill the black hole inside her chest and the gaps in her mind.
And now he said it was a mistake.
She should have expected it. Although her body had never really felt anything so right when his hands had grazed her, caressing her neck and wrapping around her hair.
She stared at the dark ceiling of her bedroom, sighing. Part of her knew that if it hadn't been for that stupid connection with a male she didn't even know, Azriel wouldn't have hesitated to kiss her. For months now, since they had first met, when she was still human, she had never been able to take her eyes off him. Even when there was only room in her heart and in her future for Greysen, she couldn't help her thoughts from wandering around that winged male who had barged into their home.
She understood, and would have understood even without Feyre's thousands of explanations, that the bond between mates was something extraordinarily rare and precious, and that if she had given him a chance, perhaps, she would have felt...
She didn't even want to think about it.
Lucien didn't really know her, and she didn't know him. Although she felt a physical attraction to him, there was nothing else that drove her to approach him. And given the way he had collaborated with Tamlin to betray her family... The revulsion she felt at the mere memory of that day was strong enough to extinguish any kind of attraction that resurfaced from time to time. He didn't deserve her affection, and the fact that he seemed to demand it made her feel even worse.
When the blood began to boil in her veins, as it often did when she thought of Lucien, she took a deep breath and turned her mind away from those thoughts.
She could still feel the sensation of Azriel's fingers on her neck.
The glances they were secretly exchanging, the light touch of their fingers, the feeling of his eyes on her, of his shadows watching her when he seemed not to. All of this had rekindled in her sensations that she had only felt with Greysen before, in a body that now no longer belonged to her.
And this new body was totally different from the previous one. Every sensation was amplified. Every single touch ricocheting through her nerves like a drummer in a church.
She could not resist the temptation to brush her neck where she still felt the imprint of his fingers.
She sighed at her own touch, as the usual feeling of tension began to grow inside her, uncontrollable.
Her sisters had told her about what it felt like in this new body, how intense each sensation was. It only took Azriel the lightest touch for her to feel the excitement rise and flow through her underwear.
What would happen once she brings someone into her bed, if his fingers alone were capable of making her feel so much?
She had only been with one person in her life. A human, when she herself was still human. Yet, more and more in the last few months, the curiosity of what it felt like in this new body was consuming her.
Her hands descended from her neck, brushing gently over her collarbones, until they stopped at the level of her breasts. When she caressed them, she had to restrain from panting. In front of her, she imagined Azriel again, his neck bent towards her, their lips only one breath away from touching.
Her hand slid lower, and when she slipped it under her panties, she was not surprised to find that she was already frighteningly wet. This body was too responsive.
She grazed the apex of her sex, biting her lip to keep from making a noise, and then slipped two fingers inside herself, curving them to get the pressure she craved. She thought back to those hazel irises, that dark, intense gaze, and when she closed her eyes she let her power flow freely.
The images that flashed under her eyelids were one of the things that she was most ashamed of, but could not stop conjuring up.
She saw Azriel kneeling before her.
The first time she had had this vision, it had been during a dream. Or at least she thought she was asleep. She had woken up sweating and aroused. It was the first night in which she had not cried thinking about Greysen and the life she had lost, and in which she had discovered how overwhelming orgasms could be in this new body. Since then, it occurred to her that all she had to do was close her eyes and focus for these sorts of visions to appear behind her eyelids.
She had not mentioned it to anyone, nor had she gone beyond that episode, embarrassed at herself for her use of her own powers. She felt like she was violating Azriel's privacy, yet she couldn't help but recall that scene whenever excitement pulsed between her legs.
And so she lost herself in the depths of his eyes, in the veiled darkness visible within his pupils, staring down at him as he knelt before her.
" Lie down on the bed," his voice ordered.
She obeyed.
Remaining on her knees, Azriel stroked her leg, up to the hem of her nightgown at the apex of her thighs.
She never recognized the bedroom they were in, and she was glad for it. If it had been here, in this house, she would have never been able to sleep again.
His lips deposited a series of kisses along her leg, slowly moving up from her calf to her thigh, caressing and savoring every inch of her exposed skin, until she was panting with impatience.
"Azriel, please."
Although she had seen this same scene more times than she would ever admit to a living soul, she still felt her cheeks blush.
But the embarrassment she felt was always short-lived: as soon as those words left her mouth, the gaze of the male at her feet seemed to blaze. The grip of his hands on her flesh tightened, a sight she would never tire of.
Her own fingers, meanwhile, began to move faster, in and out of her.
Azriel's hands lifted her nightgown, exposing her underwear.
Her second hand, the one that was not inside her, began to move with circular movements at the exact moment Azriel's lips came to rest on her sex in her vision.
Despite the painful grip of her teeth on her lips, a sigh left her mouth before she could control it. Their previous encounter, that slightest physical contact with this new body, had aroused her to the point that she was already so close to coming.
Her fingers began to move frantically, and she arched her back.
The orgasm overwhelmed her, and jolts of pleasure raced through her body, causing her to curl her feet against the sheets as her walls contracted on her fingers.
It took several seconds for those contractions to cease, and several minutes to allow the frantic beating of her heart to slow down.
As soon as she calmed down, she felt something push inside her chest, like a thread tensing, pulling her towards something, inviting her to get more of this.
She tried to shut that feeling down.
She had almost forgotten that Lucien, her mate, no matter how meaningless those words were to her, was under her same roof at this very moment.
Her heart, which was finally slowing down, started beating again. Could he hear her? Could he know what she had done, smell her?
The thought made her shiver.
She curled up on her side, dipping under the covers facing the window. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn't get this mating thing down. Why did magic, or the cauldron, or whoever, have to choose for her who was the right person? Why couldn't she decide that herself?
She settled her hands under the cushions, ignoring the urge growing again between her legs, knowing damn well that it had risen from somewhere else within her, and fearing what would happen, and who she would think about, if she surrendered to it.
She focused on the black sky outside her window, counting the stars until her eyelids collapsed, hoping to spot some blue lights up in the sky.
Lucien hated this place. He could hardly say that he hated the people who lived here, nor that he had not received the best welcome one could wish for, bordering on the disgusting.
However, he hated being here. Seeing these people, so at ease with each other and in this city, in this court, only reminded him of how he didn't belong anywhere.
Not in the Autumn court, from which he had fled: the place where his life had been in more danger than ever. Not even in the Spring court: he had made a decision when he had helped Feyre escape. That decision had dragged him here, where perhaps he could have found some peace if only she would at least acknowledge his presence.
And yet no, he had been forced to flee from this place too to be able to quell the ache in his chest that grew whenever she ignored him, whenever he saw her approach that man, seek his gaze in the room, smile at him.
What a twist of fate was this? The first woman he ever loved had been brutally murdered by his own family. Then, when he thought the universe had granted him a new opportunity to love and be happy, an opportunity he had never even dared to think about, it fired back in his face in the most humiliating way ever.
Perhaps it was the punishment he deserved, after all. For not helping a friend when she needed it, and betraying and abandoning another in one of his worst moments.
He had retreated to his room at the first possible opportunity after the evening spent in her presence. Her scent had filled his nostrils, and his body had ignited. He had not been able to separate his eyes from her the entire evening, hoping that just for once she would meet his gaze for more than a fraction of a second. Yet she persisted in avoiding him.
He was going to wait. He was a patient man, and it would be much longer before his patience ran out. Yet…
He knew she needed time to get over her past, her love - just thinking about that word made him clench his teeth - for that human. He hoped that sooner or later it would happen, and in the meantime he would be here, making sure she noticed what united them, what they could be.
At the mere thought, he could feel the blood turn to fire and sparks in his veins. It hadn't been easy being away from her all evening, seeing how she had purposely sat in the farthest possible place from him, the way she stiffened whenever his feet moved in her direction. How could she not feel what was between them? How could she not realize it? If only she would give him a chance to prove it to her.
He could wait. He swore to himself that he would. There was nothing else he could do.
There was no female that was remotely comparable to her for him, no smell that came close to hers anymore. And now he couldn't get that smell out of his nostrils: he knew it would linger there as long as they were under the same roof. Perhaps in the same city.
He looked out the window at the lights of Velaris. One day, he had promised Feyre and Rhys. One day only, to clarify with the latter his dealings with Jurian and Vassa and the situation in the human lands, and then he would return. Feyre must have read the pain in his eyes this time, because she had not insisted any longer.
He thought again of Rhys.
He had waited for her. Even though he knew she was his mate, he had been ready to give her up, knowing she was about to become Tamlin's wife. How he had managed to keep his sanity knowing she was sharing another's man bed was beyond his comprehension.
Just the thought of Elain…
His hands, clenched into fists along his sides, turned red, the flames on the verge of bursting out. He pushed those thoughts away, taking a series of deep breaths. He was stronger than that. Rhys, and even Cassian, had been patient, had fought when necessary and given their mates their space if they needed it. He was going to do the same.
He wanted to show Elaine what he could be to her, though. He could understand her, venerate her, love her, if she just gave him the smallest change.
Then maybe he would finally feel part of something.
He crawled into his bed, hoping that the alcohol in his body and the fact that he had spent the previous night sleepless would succeed in plunging him into a dreamless oblivion, distancing his mind from the thought that she was here, only a few walls away from him.
What would happen if they were left alone? Part of himself knew he would never hurt her, but another, a deeper one, feared his body's reactions, his own instincts, in her presence.
He feared he could frighten her.
Luckily, oblivion overtook him fast, but when he opened his eyes again, he discovered to his dismay that the sky was still dark outside.
The house was immersed in silence, the celebrations were over. It didn't take him long to recognize what had woken him up.
The smell... that smell.
Without him having any control over it, his body reacted. He sprang to his feet from the bed, throwing open the window.
This had happened already, months ago, when he had been under her same roof.
The walls of distance between them couldn't avoid him the pain of smelling her arousal.
He leaned out of the window, letting the cold winter air freeze his face and run over his bare skin. The arousal between his legs, however, showed no sign of abating, and his muscles began to tremble.
A small part of himself, to which he tried not to give voice, knew what she was doing right now in the darkness of her room, and he also knew that it was not him she was thinking of.
His hands clenched against the edge of the window.
A gust of cold air tousled his hair.
Breathing in at the top of his lungs, he pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt and walked outside, holding his breath until he was in the main room downstairs, where they had been celebrating, and then on the small balcony outside it.
Once outside, he finally allowed himself to breathe again, leaning back against the railing.
He let the air cool his blood down, contemplating the city lights below him.
He watched and breathed, not realising how much time passed. He didn't dare to go back upstairs, to feel that smell again. This feeling inside him... it was a curse and a blessing at the same time. He wanted to scream, cry and smash a wall, or jump off this balcony and crash into the very lights of the city.
"The longest night of the year"
He turned around.
Rhysand was behind him, leaning against the french window of the balcony, his hands in his pockets. His violet eyes squared him from top to bottom.
He did not answer, keeping his body against the railing in a position that hid the unpleasant erection between his trousers.
"Yet many of us cannot sleep," continued the high lord, joining him.
"I fail to see how this is any of your business" he blurted, in a more acid tone than he would have liked. It didn't matter; he was good enough at reading people to know that it was no coincidence that Rhys had joined him out here. If he was here, there was something specific he wanted to tell him now that no one could hear them.
A bitter smile tinged his lips. "What takes your sleep away, Rhysand?"
"My court. My people. The increasingly precarious peace of these lands."
Lucien snorted. "Your lands are safe. As are all your people."
"For now."
"What do you want?" he continued, sighing. The icy air slipped under his shirt, running against every inch of his skin. The sky was darker than ever, despite the fact that only a few hours now separated them from dawn.
"I just wanted to know how are you feeling"
For a moment, for just a moment, he seemed to catch some sincerity in his words. He knew that Rhys had been watching him and Elain all night, and he also knew that he was the only person who could understand his feelings right now.
"How am I supposed to feel? She won't even deign to look at me. She'll probably reject me and refuse the bond," he turned to him, his mechanical eye squaring Rhys's figure from head to toe, giving him a detailed account of his posture, the look in his eyes, the facial micro-expressions that not even the most powerful high lord could control. "And who knows, if I go mad maybe my father will finally like me."
Rhys lowered his gaze and swallowed.
"I'm not going to pretend I haven't noticed the way your shadowsinger looks at her," he then added, returning to stare at the city but not losing sight of him out of the corner of his eye.
Rhys's voice grew lower. "Azriel has nothing to do with this. If she rejects you, it will be solely and exclusively her choice."
His muscles tensed, but he clutched the thick stone railing to keep from starting to tremble.
He knew Rhysand was right, and yet...
"Maybe if he wasn't always around her, I could be there to comfort her. To help her heal."
"Azriel is her friend. As am I." The corners of Rhys's mouth curved downwards.
"You don't believe that either, Rhysand"
Rhys took a step towards him. "I know what it feels like, Lucien. I stayed watching, and I had less chances than you have now."
"Of course."
"The only thing I cared about was Feyre's happiness."
"And you think I don't want the same for Elain? Why do you think I still tolerate him being so close to her?"
Rhys stiffened his shoulders. "Azriel lives in this court. And you could, too, if you only wanted to."
"I-"
"It is your choice, Lucien, whether to fight or not, and also how you do it. But you cannot expect others to stand aside. I wouldn't have expected it from Tamlin."
Something clicked inside his blood. He turned so that he was looking Rhys in the face. "She should be mine. She is mine."
Saying those last words made something roar from the very heart of his magic.
Rhys smiled at his outburst, squaring him from head to toe. "You are a good ally, Lucien. You have helped my mate and this court on several occasions. But if you even remotely try to harm Elain, or just annoy her..."
"What are you going to do, blow me off? As if I haven't noticed his shadows already following my every move."
At that information even Rhys looked surprised.
"So I have to imagine he's not doing on your order" that instinct churned in his chest, the purest anger he'd ever felt. "He does it for her. To control her."
"He just wants her to be safe."
"I want her to be safe. He has no demands."
"Until she accepts the bond, Lucien," Rhys urged him, surprisingly calm despite his outburst, "you don't have either. I don't care if she's your mate. Elain remains a free woman. And as such, as a citizen of Velaris and as a member of my family, we will not hesitate to defend her."
We
Those words reverberated in his mind after Rhys left, until the first light of morning began to peep over the mountains, and the cold had now penetrated so deep into his flesh that even the fire in his blood had chilled.
As if he were the villain. As if he was the one whose hands were stained with blood, whose hands did not even deserve to touch her. He was her mate. The cauldron had chosen him, no one would ever be fairer to her than him.
And he would prove it to her.
He had time.
The next morning, from the smell that wafted through the corridor and then downstairs, he could tell that she had woken up early. She was probably outside, tending her garden. Last year he had given her gloves, which he had never seen her use. This year, however, he had chosen for her seeds of the most distinctive and beautiful flowers he had managed to find at the spring court. He had specially contacted Alis to help him retrieving the seeds from the gardeners who had once worked in Tamlin's palace.
He stared at the kitchen clock as he served himself a cup of coffee, trying to ignore the looks Nuala and Cerridwen were giving him. To most of the people they would have gone unnoticed, but despite knowing that Rhys and his shadowsinger had eyes and ears constantly on him, he also had his mechanical eye to allow him to see what normal eyes escaped.
The clock suggested it was still early for his meeting with Rhys, and the whole house was immersed in silence. Everyone was still recovering from the previous evening's drink and would probably sleep until the afternoon.
But he knew that this would not be the case with Elain. She loved the sunlight and her gardens too much to lose the best part of the day indoors in her bedroom.
He put on one of his best shirts, leaving his hair down, as his mistresses had always suggested it looked best on him, and walked towards the garden. He promised himself it would only be a walk. If he ever saw her, he would observe her from a distance, and would not approach her unless it was clear that she wanted him to.
He strolled for a long time, enjoying the fact that the scent of the flowers masked her smell, striving not to look for it among those fragrances. It was only when a slight gust of wind whipped it overwhelmingly against his nostrils that he turned in that direction, to his left, finding her carrying a sack of soil apparently as large and heavy as she was.
He approached, taking great strides against the instinct that suggested he should run instead.
She sensed his presence, but lifted her gaze without a word.
He stretched out his arms towards the large sack she held. "Let me help you."
"I can manage," she replied, her words so cold that he had to lower his gaze from those doe eyes, staring at his shoes.
Lucien swallowed. "It seems heavy," he went on, his arms rigidly fixed along his sides.
"This new body of mine is far stronger than the previous one. I can manage, but..."
At her hesitation, he lifted his gaze. Those were more words than she had ever spoken to him. He was ready to kneel at her feet only to beg her to finish the sentence.
"If you want to save me a trip, could you take that one?" She lifted her shoulders, turning her pink neck towards another of those big soil bags a few feet back.
It was the first time she had addressed him directly by asking for something, and his instincts ignited. She could very well have asked him to go to the ends of the world and collect the soil with his bare hands, and he would have done it.
"Sure," he merely said, grabbing the sack and following her with it in his arms to the opposite end of the garden.
When she stopped, depositing it on the ground, he did the same, holding his breath.
"Thank you," her voice, now, was soft.
He kept his gaze in her eyes. "It's nothing," he swallowed. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
He looked towards the flowerbed she was working on, noticing some of the seeds he had gifted her on the ground. She had accepted his gift at last.
"No, thank you. I'm good now."
"All right," he said. He recognized that his moment with her was over. Insisting on staying would only make his situation worse. "I'll leave you to your work, Elain."
And without waiting for her reply, he turned and walked towards the entrance.
If nothing else, she had spoken to him, and seemed to have accepted his gift.
He just needed to be patient.
And he would be.