Sublimecoffeefestival - Coffee In An IV, Please

“Keep talking, Wraith. Don't slip away from me.”

“But it's what I do best.”

Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa

aka Dirtyhands and his Wraith

art by Frostbite Studios

via: twitter | IG

if i ever had godlike powers over the nature of animals i'd just make crabs smarter. like on par with crows or something. you'll walk out onto the pier at night and see a group of crabs working together to drag an unconscious man into the water. you can't help him now. he's gone.

Do you see how I dislike a ship without turning it into a moral crusade? Very demure, very cutesy. I don't stalk the tags of ships I hate. I don't stir up the ship war when I get bored. Very demure. Very mindful.

i think we all need to complain about LED headlights more. please can we all complain about them more. night driving is nearly impossible for me to do now without having to white knuckle my way through a thousand evil suns. every time i see those headlights in my mirrors i take 2d6 radiant damage. i want to destroy every single LED headlight under my feet like they’re goombas

the trouble with wanting

@elucienweekofficial

Summary

Despite Hybern’s defeat and the restoration of peace across Prythian, Elain and Lucien are still grappling with their own demons and struggling to find a way forward. Enter Madame Beauvais, an unconventional healer who runs an apothecary by day… and a pleasure house by night. With her encouragement, Elain and Lucien meet anonymously under the cover of darkness and the glamour of disguise to indulge in their baser instincts.

When Madame Beauvais calls in a favour, Elain and Lucien are forced to work together to help her and finally start to imagine what it might be like to accept the bond. Can they reconcile their newly embraced nighttime personas with their demure daytime identities and connect as their true selves at last? Or will the secrets they keep–the masks they wear–sabotage any hopes they have for a future together?

One - Two - Three - Read on AO3

Elain

It had been almost one full week since her first encounter with Kiran–whoever he was–and still Elain felt the pleasant hum of satisfaction thrumming beneath her skin.

A revelation of sorts, the relief it brought coloured the dimness of her days with light so that everything felt brighter, more vibrant.

She rose from bed with purpose, knowing however tedious and fraught her days would be, they would inevitably lead her back to Madame Beauvais’, back to the room with the enticing stranger who had wrung pleasure from her as effortlessly as one could press water from a sodden cloth. 

Even days later, every fibre of her being, from the crest of her scalp to the pads of her toes felt alight. Her hair shone in glossy waves, her eyes sparkled, and looking in the mirror, an act that once had made her skin itch now felt almost reverent. She no longer shirked from the other-worldly luminescence of her skin or the pink pointed tips of her ears. Taking in her reflection from the glass, Elain thought she looked almost beautiful.

Springing lightly down the steps and into the dining room on the pads of her feet, Elain was refreshed from her night of unbroken sleep. Unexpectedly, as she turned the corner and reached the threshold, she realized she wasn’t alone. 

Elain had been in the habit of breaking her fast after Rhys and Feyre had slipped out for their morning walk with Nyx, easing into her days in solitude, taking the time to armour herself in preparation for the demands of the day. On any other day she would have felt put upon, disgruntled by the unexpected presence of another during the time she so often treasured for herself, but now she only felt… intrigued.

Silhouetted by the clear light of morning, he stood, head bent over something and Elain approached silently, curiosity burning like a candle in her mind. She looked upon the broad slope of his back, hair shimmering copper, a burning tide that contrasted beautifully against the dark olive of his jacket, the bronze of his skin. Unnoticed, she paused a moment to drink him in, to admire the stretch of his trousers against powerful thighs.

Lucien.

Elain noted something had changed in his countenance since the last time he’d been at River House only days ago. 

Once wound so tightly, she could usually feel the tension in the room between them like the high pitched string of a violin tuned sharp. It played tinny in her mind, pinching something deep within her and causing a sting behind her eyes that made her seek refuge in the darkness of her room. Now she felt–if not heard–the lower tuning of a cello; deep, resonant and pleasing, and it drew her to him in a way that felt different than it ever had before. 

An attraction less forced–an inviting, effortless pull hummed through her, and she felt the mellow tone of his presence tingle against the skin of her lower back and prickle against the inside of her thighs.

Cauldron, what had come over her?

Lucien’s body shifted and she noticed he was carefully arranging a bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase. The brightness of the scene nearly overtook the light streaming into the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the golden glow of the sunrise over the Sidra.

“Are you familiar with the flowers? I’ve never seen this variety before.” Before she had even realized she had stepped into the room, Elain was standing at his elbow, closer than she had been since the cursed day he’d placed his body-warm coat around her shoulders. 

She shivered a bit at the recollection, but although her feelings would usually overtake her, heaving her into the clattering noise of unpleasant memories and fragments of possible futures, she found she was able to cast aside the memory and focus on the moment unfolding before her with an unfamiliar ease. 

Lucien looked up at her, startled. There was a guarded expression on his face and Elain’s heart sank. The same mask he always wore around her was still present now, a palpable trepidation in his air. Even his heartbeat was cautious, its pounding stilted and heavy in her ears.

He took a breath before answering, the silence taut between them.

“This is an autumnal amaryllis…” He thoughtfully stroked a blush-pink petal that glowed a burning orange at its centre like the lick of a flame. “I haven’t seen one like it since I was just a boy.”

“Amaryllis,” Elain hummed in response, suddenly brazen. “They’re said to symbolize timidity but also determination. Oppositional qualities, some might say, but the meeting of the bashful pink and the flaming orange represents it beautifully, wouldn’t you say?” Unbidden, her hand fluttered over the bloom like a butterfly before grazing the petal, brushing over the path Lucien’s finger had traced only a moment ago.

Lucien’s body stiffened in response, his breath deepening, and Elain wondered if she had hurt him somehow with her words, if she had spoken out of turn.

“I believe you’re right, milady.” His russet eye burned into her as his golden one clicked and whirred, and Elain struggled to parse the emotion that lingered there, in his searing gaze.

“There is a variety of orchid… The fire orchid. I have one that’s just blossomed, in the garden. If you ever might like to see it.” Elain’s voice drifted away as she asked herself what she was doing, and to what end. One shared moment, no matter how potent, wasn’t enough to build a friendship upon, was it? Would he deign to give her a chance after so many unintentional slights, so many missed moments?

“I would love to see it, one day.” His voice was low and gentle; he sounded almost sad, but Elain couldn’t place why.

She looked up at him through her lashes, hedging her bets and preparing for disappointment. Surely it couldn’t be this easy to start anew.

“If you aren’t busy, I could show you now.” A look of surprise flashed over his features before a mask of cool arrogance fell into place, as heavy and unyielding as a shroud.

“Oh Elain,” something in the lilt of his voice when he said her name, turned it over his tongue, made a flush of warmth blossom from her chest into her fingertips, the soles of her feet, the back of her neck. “I’m afraid I have a standing engagement today, in fact I’m already late. Forgive me, I must bid you farewell.”

With a terse nod of his head, Lucien turned and walked from the room leaving Elain alone, her finger still tracing the path of his on the velvet soft petal of the autumnal amaryllis.

***

Back in her room, Elain felt herself slowly deflating. 

She had been foolish to believe one night of bliss was enough to free her from her agonizing self-doubt or the mess of thoughts that clouded her mind. But here she was, alone again and forced to parse through the clutter in her head. 

Truthfully, Lucien infuriated her. Every step she felt herself taking forward seemed to set her back further, and the taunting of the bond only added insult to injury. Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?

Sure, she could feel an electricity between them, certainly a pull, but the chasm that separated them only yawned wider with every stilted interaction, every shared glance.

Her attention drifted to her closet and the sacrosanct, bloody stupid treasure it held. The stashed jacket, gloves and pearls were nothing more than bits of cloth and a couple of semi-precious gems. It had been ridiculous for her to keep them at all and yet here she was, proselytizing to herself as if by doing so, she could will her life to come together. What a fool she was.

And then there was the deranged bargain she had somehow managed to get herself into. She could almost feel the sting of the tattoo on her spine even now, and rolled her shoulders backwards as if she could erase the marking from her skin. Feyre and Nesta had always considered her overly romantic, even naive. If they ever caught word of this, she wouldn’t have ground to stand on against them ever again.

And yet, it had been so good .

She had expected a perfunctory, transactional evening. Had expected some cad, as lonely, desperate as she was, who would take his pleasure from her, hopefully granting her some scraps of her own in return. What she had received defied her expectations in every way. 

In that room days ago, her wrists untied and her body replete with satisfaction, she had reached for him but he gruffly declined. Pulling the soft velvet mantle over her body and tucking it around her shoulders, he brushed a tender kiss over the slope of her brow and stole away into the night. 

Who was he?

A knock at her door interrupted her from her reverie, and Elain glanced up to see Feyre standing at her door, somewhat bashful, with a predictably impish smile on her face.

“Rhys and I have just returned from our walk with Nyx and we ran into an uncharacteristically frazzled Madame Beauvais on our way home. I trust you met her at the apothecary?”

Elain only hummed in response, feigning indifference that belied the pound of her heart in her chest. Would Madame Beauvais have betrayed her confidence? Did Feyre know of their… unusual bargain? If so, Feyre was doing a damn good job of playing ignorant.

“I’ve told her you might be of some assistance to her. It seems she has a predicament in need of solving.”

“How could I possibly be of use to her, Feyre?” Elain heard the terse tone in her voice and course-corrected, looking up at Feyre with wide eyes and giving her a slow blink.

“It involves plants.” 

Elain rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help but feel she had been cast in some sort of ruse, no doubt a work of Feyre and Rhysand. Some plot to get her out of the house, no doubt. Regardless, the taste of adventure beckoned to her, and besides, if she met with Madame Beauvais perhaps she could learn more about the enticing stranger who seemed to have flipped her world upside-down in the matter of a few short hours.

“Fine, I'll go.” Feyre's face lit as if from within, her dazzling blue eyes sparkling like the sun over the Sidra.

“Wonderful! She expects you there as soon as you’re able.”

Elain sighed, resigning herself to whatever torture she was bound to take part in. But still, the pitter-patter of her heart told her she was actually excited . For once. The prospect of revisiting the scene of the crime, as it were, compelled her body into motion and  she rushed from the protection of her room

***

Rounding the corner of the block where Elain now knew the apothecary waited, mysterious and tucked away, her heart thumped as heavy and steady as the beat of a drum. Would she learn anything that would make this all worthwhile? The call of safety had beckoned to her, the solitude of her garden, the steadiness of her routine, but how had they really served her until now? The only true excitement she had felt, the only pleasure she could recall experiencing since being made, was that night almost a week ago, sneaking away into darkness for adventures unknown. 

It had been Madame Beauvais’ doing, after all… perhaps this would be another chance for Elain to find purpose beyond the stone walls of the garden, if only she dared.

As she approached the doorway, she could see the silhouette of Madame Beauvais with a man by her side. He was broad and fit, the caress of long loose curls kissing his shoulder blades. It was impossible to make out any discerning features against the light behind him but could it be him, could it be Kiran?

Just then he turned, the light of the sun catching his skin, the locks of his hair and Elain gasped. 

Lucien.

Unsure if the surge she felt in her chest was disappointment or excitement, Elain took a deep breath to fortify herself before stepping toward them.

Lucien

He should have known she was approaching from the way the dappled sun of the street he stood upon shone a little brighter, its caress a little warmer as it danced upon the bronzed skin of his cheek. But once a fool, always a fool, and when he deigned to glance upward to the approaching figure, his heart leapt.

It has been a few short hours since he stood with her in the dining room of the River House, close enough he could have reached out and touched her, pulled her into his arms and into a darkened corner, if he had wanted to.

And oh, he had.

But here she was, walking toward him with a curious glimmer in her eyes, a wrinkle of confusion knit between her brows. Why was he here?

His hunger for her was deep and insatiable. Though he wanted her badly, with a desire that outweighed any he had felt in his life, he couldn’t start anything with her. He knew he would only be leading a docile lamb toward the voracious appetite of a wolf if he did. She was too precious, too effortlessly sublime. Instead he would stand guard, lapping up the freshness of her smile, the sweet tinkling of her voice as if it were a bowl of sweetened cream. 

The ache for her stole the very air from his lungs, and made his heart gallop painfully in his chest. Try as he might to snuff the emotions that burned for her, the embers still smouldered hot and glowing.

But then again, there was Ayla. 

She was like an angel sent for him in his time of need. Pure as freshly driven snow but also curious and bold. Lucien had never kn0wn as much pleasure as he had laying her down on the velvet counterpane, drinking from her like a man on the brink of dehydration. Sweet and succulent, he could almost feel the slippery glide of her on his tongue even now, could almost hear her whimpers and moans. 

By god, he had to control himself or he was apt to make a scene right there in the company of Selene and Elain both, and how could he explain that?

He was usually so tightly wound, so hesitant and withdrawn in the company of Elain. He told himself it was a measure of respect, an act of good intentions to hide himself from her, to keep her from feeling the burden of his desire for her. In truth, he knew it was only that if he were ever to let it slip, to open himself to her at all, he wasn’t sure he would be able to control the deluge of feeling he had for her already, despite not knowing her at all. And how would he ever get to know her with everything in the way? The pulse of the bond, the press of expectation, the force of attraction? Once again he wished he could meet her someplace far from here, only two bodies, two souls. 

Could she ever see him as a friend? Could she ever long for something more? He feared his questions would forever go unanswered.

Regardless, here she was. Taking her hand in his, he brushed the lightest of kisses across her knuckles, the graze of his lips sparking like fireflies behind her eyes. Lucien struggled to read the emotions that flitted through them, like a murmuration of starlings dancing in the sky. Was it grief or shame, anticipation or dread? He didn’t know and yet was somehow prepared to find out.

Selene, in top form, was happy to break through the friction suspended between them

“Ah, Elain! I had feared you wouldn’t come but here you are, as resplendent as ever. Tell me, how is our high lady faring this beautiful morning?”

Lucien shot Selene a loaded glance. 

“Funny, Madame Beauvais, but it seems she spoke with you this morning. I’m sure you know already how well she fares.”

“Touche, darling! But please call me Selene, we’re old friends now, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucien’s stomach twisted. How well were Elain and Selene acquainted that Elain felt so comfortable with her? He felt he was in dangerous territory, that being in the same space with Selene and Elain might very well cause him to self-combust. Was she really here by design or was this a circumstance of fate bringing them near each other once again? He didn’t know whether to be irate or elated and found he was a curious mixture of both. 

Selene caught him staring, and as subtle as she ever was, felt the need to comment on the buzzing tension between them.

“Well, it seems you two are already acquainted, how lovely! Perhaps this shouldn’t be such a chore after all! Please do come in.”

Lucien could have throttled her.

Elain nearly choked and Lucien watched as she pulled herself together to form a response.

“Yes, Lucien and Iare…” His heart lurched as she paused her speech. Would she finally claim him for what he was? “Acquainted.”

So that was it then.  

And yet now, after one night of decadent pleasure with a mysterious stranger, no longer touch-starved and desperate, he didn’t feel the need to keep himself so restrained. Reaching over, he placed his hand at the small of Elain’s back leading her forward gently through the open door as if  leading her to a waltz through a gilded ballroom.

For a moment nothing seemed to matter save the heated pulse of his fingertips, the fine silk filigree of her gown and the curve of her backbone beneath it.

By gods, this was a recipe for disaster.

Once inside, Selene led them to the long wooden counter from which she typically dispersed her potions. The sharp, astringent smell of tinctures and the deep, almost sensual scent of dried herbs was thick in the air as shapes of coloured light reflected onto the walls, the floor, the tousled curls of Elain’s hair. Lucien imagined for a moment what it would feel like brushing over the skin of his bare chest and suddenly it was like he couldn’t take in enough air , his body hot and tight.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here, milady. Your sister tells me you’re quite skilled in the knowledge of plants.”

Elain only looked at her, wide-eyed, and fidgeted with the silk of her skirts, playing the fabric between her dainty pale fingers. Lucien knew she had never worn the gloves he had gifted her and wondered for a moment if her hands were calloused, how the look of them might betray an unexpected roughness. What other secrets might her body hold? 

The silence was heavy and still, and a triangle of golden light played against the plane of her cheek.

“It’s true,” he murmured.

Elain shot him a look that was molten in its fury.

“What?” Lucien retorted. “You can’t possibly–”

“I can speak for myself, Lucien.” Her voice was laced with a ferocity he hadn’t known her to possess. 

He didn’t know what had come over him beyond knowing that this inkling of passion she showed him was possibly even more enticing than the bare, beautiful body that had lain before him not a week ago. His blood burned hot and fast, a raging inferno of desire pulsing through him.

“By all means Elain, go ahead.”

She scowled and then flicked her gaze back to Selene, the fire in her eyes dimming to the warm glow of candlelight.

Cauldron, he wanted her.

“I’m little more than a hobby gardener, Madame, but please do go on.”

Selene reached under the counter and lifted a thick, worn tome onto its surface. Bound in leather and beautifully worn, her long, elegant fingers slid over the pages like she was engaging in a game of cards and knew how to play to win. Flipping it open, she gently smoothed the page beneath her palm and stepped back.

Tilting her head curiously, Elain stepped forward and Lucien watched as something caught alight in her like kindling held to flame.

“Oh,” she sighed, “it’s beautiful.”

He didn’t know if she was referring to the book itself or something on the page, all he knew was that he too, was in the presence of beauty. One so sure and absolute his heart ached at the sight of it.

“The Galanthus arcaunus, ” Selene replied. “The hidden snowdrop.”

Elain repeated the words but made no sound, only a whisper of breath passing over her tongue and the plush fullness of her lips.

“It’s an ancient flower native only to the Winter Court, and hugely important to the health of Prythian. Our fae lifespans may be endless but there are illnesses that take root within the elders of our communities. One of the most potent scrambles the mind and leaves one without a sense of time or place, drifting in a world that is unable to offer them safe harbour or dry land. This plant is the only remedy we know of and very rare, and difficult to find. Only a few blossoms can be used to make an infusion which would go on to treat the afflicted fae for years. And I am near to running out.”

“Forgive me Madame Beauvais–Selene–but I fail to see why I am needed… or why he is here.” 

For as much as he had relished her earlier challenge, Lucien now felt despondent. What could he do to prove his worth to her, once and for all? This seemed like just another fruitless task in trying to win over his mate, and he was suddenly sick of being rejected out of hand. He turned for the door but the command of Selene’s voice stopped him.

“ He is here because he owes me a favour. And you, my dear, are instrumental in the success of his mission to repay it.”

Lucien turned and glared at Selene, the tension in the room as sharp and metallic as the blade of a knife. His tattoo burned on his thigh, demanding his obedience and he hated her in this moment, knowing this was just a convoluted means by which to torture him.

“Out with it then, Selene. Why, exactly, are we here? Don’t mince your words as my patience is running thin.”

“My gods, Lucien, I had forgotten how that fire in your blood can boil over at the slightest of grievances. Calm down, dear boy, and I'll be on with it.”

Elain snickered and Lucien clenched his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth may crack.

“Out with it then, Selene.”

“Alright.” Selene looked back and forth between Lucien and his mate and it infuriated him to see she was amused. These two females would be the death of him, he was certain of that much.

“I have strong powers and am highly skilled, but sadly the ability to winnow evades me. It always has,” she began. “As you may well know, my business is important and not to be taken lightly. I dispense remedies to the best healers of Prythian, Majda among them.”

Lucien watched as Elain’s eyes widened at mention of the prolific healer who had saved her loved ones from ruinous disaster on more than one occasion, most recently aiding Nyx through a fever that left his small body limp and near lifeless.

“I can’t leave the foraging of such important plants to just anyone, I need somebody who knows plants, who cares for them and has the aptitude for nurturing along with it. Elain, you may not realize this, being so new to our lands, but the magic of our plants is temperamental. Harvested by the wrong hands, many a plant will wilt away or turn its nectar to poison. I work only with those whom I can trust with the burden of this responsibility. Judging by the words of your sister, I believe wholeheartedly that you are the right fae for the job.”

Lucien watched as Elain’s posture grew cautiously stiff.

“Selene. I am honoured by your request, but I'm not sure you have the right impression of me. I believe you’re mistaken.”

Selene’s gaze hardened and her voice dipped low, any hint of mirth now gone. “If there is one thing I can do, dear Elain, it’s read people. Their strengths and weaknesses, their regrets and their desires. I assure you I am not mistaken.”

Elain fought against a shiver as she wondered if Selene was talking about more than just the harvesting of plants.

“By all means Elain, go back to the walls of your riverside garden. Go back to the mediocrity of your life and leave us seasoned fae to take care of it. It’s what you’d prefer, isn’t it?” Lucien regretted the acerbic words the moment they left his mouth.

And yet.

And yet, Elain turned to him with a burning fury in her eyes, the likes of which he had never seen. Hands fisted at her sides, her cheeks were flushed, a lock of golden brown hair curled over her forehead sheathed in sweat. 

He knew then that he had won this battle, but he likely wouldn’t win the war.

Elain

Elain watched, rapt as Selene explained to Lucien the places it could be found, the regions most fertile and prolific for its growth.

For so much of her life Elain felt slowed, like she was moving underwater. Her life was an exercise in patience and reaching for things only to never be able to grasp them.

Suddenly, in this dark room, heavy with the smoke of incense and the scent of drying herbs everything moved quickly. Her skin burned with humiliation, but also something more potent. Indignant and resolved, she would take this chance to prove her worth. 

Elain had known her mate to be a great many things, but his combative arrogance was new. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to humiliate him. But perhaps most infuriatingly, she wanted to rip his clothes off with her teeth and make him grovel at her feet.

Before she knew what was happening, Elain was escorted to the private room behind the apothecary where she had talked with Selene that first fateful day. Fitted with heavy leather boots and a fur-lined cape, she was ushered from the room and onto the street. 

Elain had no idea what had possessed her or where they were going. Not really, anyway. All she knew was what she had learned in the few suspended moments she had leaned over the book in the apothecary. The petals were as delicate as ice chips. The clippings would only survive if the stems were plucked at its base, near the root. The plants thrived in temperate winter, where conditions hovered near early spring. Steeling herself against all the unknowns, she clung to what she did know and hoped it would be enough.

Reaching for Lucien’s offered hand, she stumbled through a bright, sun-warmed curtain that felt like an embrace. On the other side, she was met with a humid chill that settled deep in her bones. 

Overlooking a vista in front of her, Elain was astounded by the crystalline beauty of the Winter Court. The high ground they now occupied overlooked a vast, rolling landscape covered in a mantle of freshly fallen snow, glinting brightly in the sunlight as though it were dusted with diamonds. Far below was a vast, ice-covered lake where she observed figures, some confidently trudging the surface while others bent over small holes in the ice.

“They’re fishing,” Lucien explained. “Winter is well known for the best varieties of freshwater fish, mild and flakey and astoundingly delicious.”

It seemed the change in scenery offered them a reprieve from the hostility that had settled between them in the company or Madame Beauvais, and Elain took a chance on it, responding more openly than she would have otherwise. “It’s beautiful, Lucien. I’ve seen snow before, of course, but nothing quite like this.”

“It’s quite a change from winter in the human lands, isn’t it?” Elain looked up, surprised, before remembering the time Lucien had spent there with Vassa and Jurien. “A drab, muddy affair as I remember it.”

She let out a soft laugh and nodded, trying to ignore the way she could feel the warmth of his regard, heating her cheeks against the coolness of the air. “You’re quite right about that. I remember only a few cold, sparkling moments like this before the barrage of traffic would mar the landscape and the melting snow would become sullied with muck. The peace of a clean landscape never seemed to last long enough.”

“The Winter Court is quite a sight different from that. The consistent temperatures make for the most pristine, picturesque visions of winter. I had come to take it for granted, to be honest, but it really is something.” Lucien’s brow was upturned in thought as he took in the world around them and Elain made note of his introspection, his willingness to open his mind to her thoughts and the way he seemed to parse her thoughts without much difficulty at all. Her first instinct was to panic, for as much she lamented the overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood, neither did she feel comfortable opening herself to the alternative. 

“Is all of the Winter Court like this?”

“Gods no. Like any of the courts, there is a vast and changing landscape in Winter, all of it breathtaking in different ways. The land at the coast is all craggy moors bathed in grey mist and rocky beaches that give way to deep forests of towering pines, nearly as wise and ancient as the mother. The weather there is moody and mercurial, with great tempest storms rising from the sea. When the clouds part and the rain stills, it’s as though the gods are smiling down on you and all your sins have been washed away.”

Elain was quiet and still, willing him to continue.

“In parts of the south-central region, the land stretches ahead of you like the expanse of time. The sky is neverending, with soft white clouds that seem to be suspended from the sky by lengths of invisible string. On the coldest days of the year, the sun is haloed by a ring of glowing white light. Some say it’s an effect created by ice crystals in the air reflecting the light of the sun, while others believe it’s a message from the gods, a reminder to hold those we love close in our hearts always.”

Elain fought and lost against a great swelling tide of radiant warmth swelling in her chest, tugging against the inside of her ribs. Overcome with feeling, she forced her face to reveal nothing more than scholastic interest.

“What do you believe?” She asked. “For me, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. I believe it’s both.”

“I think I might like to see it one day, if only to decide for myself.”

Lucien only nodded and turned, leading her away from the idyllic scene and toward a line of trees with thick trunks and grey, gnarled branches that twisted into the sky. The trees were adorned with silver tin buckets suspended from hooks that seemed to collect nectar from the trees. The air felt warmer, somehow, and Elain was beginning to understand the rich variety of landscape that winter held within its boundaries.

“We’re nearing the border where the land of Winter meets the Summer Court. The land on the other side of these trees is unmistakably summer, but the weather is mild and the temperature drops low at night, the whisper of fall playing gently on the breeze. We should make haste, I’ve got to be back in Velaris by nightfall.”

Elain was startled by the realization that she too had to hurry home, for her next encounter with Kiran was to be that night. So caught up with Lucien and their shared adventure, she had almost forgotten, was almost sad to think of leaving him to join her mystifying lover under the cover of darkness.

As Lucien dropped low on his haunches to examine the earth, Elain realized the snow gave way to patches of green dotted with fine violet crocuses and butter-coloured primrose blossoms. He handed her the leather pouch Selene had pushed into his hands at their departure, spelled for the protection of the plants it would carry back to Velaris.

Scouring the earth, Elain noticed a golden white parcel of blossoms at the base of a tree and felt the unmistakable hum of magic beneath her skin at the sight

“ Galanthus arcaunus,” she breathed, and Lucien traced her line of sight, following her intently as she gracefully knelt before them as if in prayer. Fingertips light and deft, she broke away the stems carefully near the root, taking the milk-white, honey-touched blooms in her hand and carefully storing them away. 

She worked silently, diligently until the flowers were all harvested before standing to face Lucien, who looked awed for a moment before he schooled his face into careful nonchalance.

“If that’s it then, I guess we best be going.” His voice was low and rough, and he cleared his throat politely, offering his hand. Taking one last look at the Winter Court in the blue-tinged light of the setting sun, Elain gave a nod and reached for him. In only a moment they were winnowing once again through that strange, warm light that smelled of woodsmoke, honey and sage before appearing suddenly on the front steps of River House. 

Elain was perplexed when she realized she was clinging to Lucien, his arm strong and solid beneath her warming hands. Startled, she stepped away and shook her head, righting herself in place and time. 

Lucien nodded at the leather satchel he still carried under one arm. “I’ll take leave of you now and deliver these to Madame Beauvais. Congratulations on a successful mission to the Winter Court, Elain.”

“It was so much more than I ever expected. Perhaps I have been hiding away in my garden a little too long.” She couldn’t offer him much, but the admission felt like a start, no matter how small it was.

Lucien looked down at her and quirked a smile that was equal parts warm and withdrawn. 

“Goodbye, Elain. Until next time.”

***

Craving the dark oblivion of sleep, where she wouldn’t feel obliged to find answers to the bombardment of questions running through her mind, Elain fell into bed. There were only a few short hours before she’d be expected back at Madame Beauvais’, but all she could think about was the unexpected turn her day had taken. 

Taking a pillow from the head of her bed, Elain carefully positioned it between her thighs and ground her pelvis against it as she struggled to empty her mind and sate her body. It was an effective means to an end, and before long Elain was panting against her sheets, breath heavy and arousal peaking. She longed to feel Kiran’s hands on her again and wondered what the night would bring. Could anything possibly compare to the intense, fortifying experience of having him between her legs? She could hardly imagine anything would come close.

But when Elain came, shimmering bright sunspots behind her eyes and echoing pulses of pleasure thundering through her body, it wasn’t Kiran she pictured.

It was Lucien.