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This book will kill me I fear

The possibilities of the Elucien book… the YEARNING… ohmygod…

NO but this is EXACTLY how I picture them in my head.

Elucien Week Day 1: Masks

Here’s my Elucien art that I literally post on the second day 😅 Also.. I‘m thinking about posting my upcoming artworks on tumblr too, but I‘m not so sure yet. I‘m just getting used to it here…

IG: dimaadraws

Reposting is allowed WITH CREDIT!

𝑬𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌: 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔

Elucien week is finally here and I couldn’t be more excited!

This soft and lovely Elucien art was done by @alexandraczerw_art

Thank you so much for this lovely drawing of Elain and Lucien dancing at Nesta and Cassian’s wedding (this is headcanon and has not happened in the books).

@elucienweekofficial

Please everyone be respectful in the comments

Characters belong to Sarah J Maas

I haven’t gotten to this chapter yet (I’m on Part 4), but I am in LOVE with this. The premise, the dialogue, the pacing?! It’s phenomenal!!!!

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Notes: My humble offering for @elucienweekofficial. This fic is a post-ACOSF story — and very close to my heart as it’s based on the very first one-shot I’ve ever written.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Chapter 1 || Masterlist

Chapter 5 - Leave My Body Glowing

Helion did not show up for breakfast the next morning. Elain ate in solitude, since Lucien had gone—well, only the Gods knew where. He’d been up before sunrise, the sudden absence of his heartbeat ripping her from sleep.

Strangely, no nightmares had plagued her last night. She’d woken up to the soft whoosh of the sea the palace overlooked, and the soft neighing of a pegasus somewhere above her bedchamber. She watched it roam happily in the sky as the sun had fully come into view, something like content settling in her chest as she snacked on the colourful pastries the maids had delivered earlier.

She’d asked for their help in dressing—there was no way Elain would ask Lucien for advice—and, to Elain’s utter delight, they absolutely delivered. She stood in front of her wall-length mirror now, her reflection almost unrecognisable as a new woman stared back.

Female, Elain reminded herself, though no bitterness seemed to accompany the thought this time. Her mind seemed too occupied with the change to resort to its usual storm of regret and anger, instead soaking up the light beaming from her reflection.

Elain looked like she’d been born to live in the Day Court.

Her corseted gown had been replaced by a flowy dress of rich sapphire—a thread similar to that worn by the High Lord yesterday, the colour resembling the surface of Day’s quiet sea as it soaked up the afternoon sky. The fabrics fell just below her knees loosely, flowing like a gentle breeze as she moved and revealing her legs—the golden sandals adorning her feet. Their heels clicked lightly on the marble floor with every step, making her feel giddy—like a sudden surge of joy rushing through her despite such simple of an accessory. She’d even asked one of the maids to line her eyes with kohl, a thin, slightly curled line at her lashes, pigmented with a colour similar to that of the gown, bringing out the brown of her eyes and making them look like pools of honey. She looked so different to the female from yesterday—and yet, it was still Elain looking back at her in the mirror. She still had her full lips, though they were curled up in an open smile now instead of their usual tight expression, her whole body relaxed and seemingly flowing along with the morning breeze.

It carried her all the way to the library as Elain walked to the High Lord’s famed collection, praying Lucien had not yet managed to find his way there, giving her at least a few minutes to do some research of her own.

A Day Court scholar she’d bumped into on the way—an elderly male carrying what seemed like a mountain of scrolls and texts, their combined weight surely exceeding his own—directed her toward the tall door at the end of a corridor decorated with sandstone walls and ivory statues. This part of the palace seemed older, somehow, more ancient than the marbled floors and pillars of her own wing, as though the foundations of the library held as much important history as the knowledge they stored.

Elain was not entirely sure what to expect from the space, but not even in her wildest dreams could she have imagined the sight unravelled before her.

Helion’s grand library spanned across what seemed to be the full height of the palace, climbing at least seven floors upward until she could no longer see anything but the sunlight pouring in through the ceiling—or rather the lack of it, as Elain realised, with no glass dome shielding the circular space. Instead, the sun shone freely into the halls, Helion’s own magic no doubt shielding the parchments and tomes from the weather and any other outside disruptions. Somehow, Elain doubted it ever rained here, the land seemingly covered in perpetual light and guarded by bright, fluffy clouds.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of heavy tomes and dried-up ink. There were so many books in here that she doubted even a lifetime of immortality would be enough to make her way through them all. Elain began making her way inside, through the endless walls of bookshelves and desks, with piles upon piles of documents stacked in every corner of the space, the overwhelming prospect of knowledge and information like a magnet pulling in her sight. Her eyes flickered from one shelf to another, growing wider and wider at the sheer amount, her heart quickening as she realised just how much there was to be learned about the world.

She hadn’t ever left the human lands beneath the Wall—and then, in this new life, she’d hidden deep in the Night Court, dreaming about the home she’d abandoned. She had no idea…

Her steps carried her to the second floor as thought with a mind of their own, and Elain did not realise she found herself in a secluded section of tomes shining a spectrum of vibrant greens and yellows, the texts practically calling out her name. She moved in closer, hands reaching for a heavy tome with an elegant, leathery cover of a grassy shade of green. A small gasp escaped her lips as she opened it, a hand-painted picture of tulips gleaming softly from the page.

The text beneath read, The Tulip Fields of Cordana—a small human kingdom bordering the faerie lands deep into the Continent. Elain’s heart quickened as her father’s words came back to life in her mind.

My dear Elain, I promise to take you there one day. The fields are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—other than my lovely daughters, of course, he’d added quickly, making Elain giggle.

Her mother died shortly after that, and then…well.

Her father was right, though. Elain didn’t need to stand in the fields to marvel at their beauty. The bright colours of yellow and pink and amethyst were vibrant even on the yellowed page, and Elain began reading through the fields’ history, nearly devouring the story of the young human queen who’d first planted them centuries ago.

She was just flipping the page when a smooth, quiet voice sounded behind her. “Tulips?”

Elain jolted—and winced as a sharp sting cut through her finger, the paper slicing her skin when she whined back.

“Shit!” she swore as droplets of blood began beading at the small wound, staining the old page with a fresh red.

Lucien chuckled. “I had no idea you were capable of such foul language,” he mocked.

She glared at him. “Helion is going to kill me—I hope you know I’m going to tell him whose fault this was.”

But Lucien did not seem to mind, his gaze elsewhere as he stepped back an inch, sweeping it over her form. Her own heartbeat picked up as she heard his breath catch in his throat, mouth parting slightly in surprise as he took her in—the long, exposed legs, the bare skin of her shoulders, the golden-brown hair framing her face in loose, cascading waves. The sapphire-lined eyes as she returned his gaze, waiting for him to say something—anything before her cheeks truly and openly heated under his stare.

“You…” he started, the word no more than a gasp on his lips.

“Yes?” she asked, her own question breathless.

Lucien’s throat bobbed as he opened his mouth—but then, his gaze slid down to her hand.

“You’re hurt,” he managed to say.

“What?” Elain followed his gaze. “Oh. Oh—it’s nothing.” She looked back to him again. “Where were you this morning?”

Lucien ignored the question. “Why don’t you heal it?” he asked tightly, his body growing rigid with the question. He was holding himself back, she realised, something—that beast—purring in her chest as her Fae instincts responded to his own. He’d scented her blood, the same way she’d scented his during the War—and Elain knew that, unreasonable as it was, everything inside him screamed to protect.

Elain swallowed hard. “It’s fine—it’s just a cut.”

“Still.”

“I don’t—I mean, I simply don’t see the point—”

Lucien’s eyes flickered back to hers at that, something like surprise shining in his stare. “You don’t know how, do you?”

Anger simmered in her at last—finally, an emotion she was familiar with. She’d take it any day over this—over this hot breathlessness in her chest, one that would not stop burning until it got what it wanted. Touch him, smell him, taste him.

No, anger was good. “You have no right to speculate—”

Lucien laughed—actually laughed, a deep, throaty sound as though her frustration amused him. “Are you telling me they never taught you? It’s really quite simple, Elain.”

“I never asked,” Elain seethed now, “It’s not natural—”

She stopped herself before the sentence fully spilled from her tongue, as if some ancient magic was mercifully holding her back. 

Too late. Frowning, Lucien asked, “Not natural?” He stepped in closer, backing her into the sandstone wall. “Elain, magic is the most natural thing in the world. It’s part of you—“

“Stop,” Elain breathed.

“Why?”

“It’s not—it isn’t part of me,” she said, the words no more than a whisper—as that ancient magic could hear. “It can’t be. I didn’t—I didn’t ask for it.”

I didn’t ask for you.

Lucien said, his voice strangely quiet, “I know. But sometimes…sometimes we have to make do with what we’re given.”

There was something in his tone that made her pause—that made her want to ask him more. Had someone hurt him the way she’d been hurt? Had he lost, too, had it drowned him, pulled him into the same desperate darkness?

Elain couldn’t—could not do what he said. Could not simply accept it and move on—not when she was so close, so close to…to going back.

Lucien’s eyes softened. “Then allow me,” he said, and placed her hand in his palm.

He’d never touched her before.

Her hand was small against his, his broad warmth enveloping her, wrapping itself around the cut until she could no longer feel it stinging. Her veins pulsed as the golden thread began thrumming around her rib, pulling her closer toward him, begging her to move until their bodies became one.

Elain forced herself still, every nerve inside her fighting to keep from trembling.

Lucien strained against her, too, but his gaze remained focused on the bleeding finger, a soft glow starting to gleam from his hand. She watched, transfixed as the wound soaked up the light, waiting for the wound to close—except that, a few seconds after, nothing seemed to have changed.

Elain’s brow arched. “Quite simple, huh?” she teased, unable to help herself.

But Lucien’s attention remained fixed on the wound—the blood still thick at its hem. “It’s…not me.”

Elain froze. “What do you mean?”

A bead of sweat formed at his hairline. “I’m trying to heal it, but—it’s like your magic…there’s something in it that’s holding me back.”

Elain kept her face cool. “That’s not possible.”

“It’s like…” he continued, entirely focused on the feeling, “like a thorn in a rose. Like the stem will not smooth out until you remove it, but—” He frowned.

My magic is part of you now, little Seer, that silky voice slid into her mind with the memory. It will live in your veins, a symbol of our bargain, until you fulfil your end.

“—but it’s almost like healing is against its nature,” Lucien finished.

“That can’t be true,” Elain countered, her mind racing for an excuse. “I’ve been healed before—after…after Hybern—”

Lucien stilled for a moment. Then, “Hold on—just let me…” the words faded as he frowned again, his eyes closing as his palm emitted a new light—a golden light, like the the thread that connected their souls.

There was a tug—the tug—somewhere in her chest, and Koschei’s magic…it recoiled.

Elain tried not to gasp as the wound closed slowly, not even a thin scar creasing her skin—even the blood vanishing under the healing light.

A second later, and he was done.

“There,” he said quietly. “I know you asked me not to,” he added, knowing perfectly well she knew what he was referring to, “but I…I had to try.”

Elain swallowed. “Thank you.”

Lucien smiled, not entirely teasing as he said, “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

Elain huffed, making him chuckle.

“So, tulips?” he asked.

Elain blinked, the spell gone entirely as she stepped back, her cover still intact. “It doesn’t matter.” The tulips were part of her old life—unlike him. She’d see them when she was turned, and Lucien…And she wouldn’t see Lucien again.

She wasn’t sure why her heart clenched at the thought.

Lucien’s face fell an inch. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I found something.”

Elain thanked the Gods for the change in subject. “Oh?”

Lucien nodded. “Come.”

She followed him a floor up, to what had to have been the darkest corner of the library—as though even the sunlight wanted to shy away from the secrets it held. The sandstone was older here, a deeper shade of beige, scraped by the passing years. There were no scholars roaming this wing—strange, Elain thought, when the tomes seemed to almost sing of the knowledge they possessed. Their subtle hum slid beneath her skin, stirring her blood, as though compelling her to reach out for them as she and Lucien stopped in front the bookshelf standing farthest from the light.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered.

Lucien’s auburn brows knitted as he looked at her. “Hear…what?”

Oh.

“I must’ve imagined it,” Elain lied. “So what did you find?”

“Elain.” One word—not exactly a warning, but…a plea. As if it took everything inside him not to beg her to push him away.

She gave in—just this one time. “The books, they…” she hesitated, wondering how to best phrase the feeling without sounding like an utter lunatic. “I think they may be enchanted. It feels like they’re calling out to me.”

Lucien looked at her incredulously. “They know your name?”

She listened in—but the song seemed more of a melody than a language—and if it was a language indeed, it was not one Elain was in any way familiar with. “No,” she finally decided. “But…I think they can feel my magic, and it resonates with whatever the books had been spelled with.”

Lucien loosed a shaky breath. “That would make sense.”

Elain frowned. “How?”

He reached up for one of the brownish tomes, resting on a shelf far above Elain’s head—far out of reach. Elain’s eyes trailed the movement—focusing, to her exasperation, less on the book itself but on Lucien’s hand, the same one that had just been holding hers, his sun-warmed skin soft as it welcomed her touch.

She ran a hand through her curls nervously, Lucien’s own eyes darting towards them as he wordlessly handed her the book. “What is it?” she asked him.

Lucien did not look at her as he explained, “You’ve grown out your hair.”

That, Elain did not expect. “Oh. Yes, I—I suppose I did.”

There was a moment of silence, as if Lucien was weighing the risk of his words before he finally said, “It suits you.”

She could have sworn the thread glimmered in answer.

Elain swallowed the light, “So what’s in that book?”

Lucien hid it well—the disappointment. She tried not to let it affect her as he said, “Open it. Page two hundred forty-six.”

She did as instructed, carefully flipping through the nearly disintegrated pages—the books must have been centuries, if not millennia old, no doubt preserved by the library’s magic—until she found the one she was looking for.

“Is that…” she begun, unable to find the words. She’d never been there personally, but Feyre and Nesta’s stories had been painted vividly enough that she recognised the blurry image immediately.

“The Prison,” Lucien nodded. “And this,” he pointed to an old, wrinkled creature, its teeth sharp and exposed, “is the Bone Carver.”

Elain countered, “I thought he looked different.”

“He could appear as whatever he wished. This must be how the author saw him. From what this text says,” he added, pointing to the strange language Elain did not recognise, “the image haunted him until the end of his days.”

Elain asked, “How does this relate to the Trove?”

“Take a look at what he’s holding.”

She glanced at the page. “Well, obviously—a bone. But—” she looked in closer. “Oh.”

Lucien nodded. “This one is different. The bone is curved—like in the image I told you about.”

“The one Nesta’s friend found?”

“Yeah. That one was U-shaped, too. And, look—this one isn’t matted, or scraped, even. There are no old bloodstains, either. It’s too clean, too pristine to not be magical.”

“And it gleams, too,” Elain murmured.

Lucien looked at her weirdly. “It does?”

Elain shifted on her feet. “You don’t see it?”

He hummed. “No. This only confirms my theory—this bone is calling out to you, a Seer, even through the page. Like a pet to its master.”

Elain shivered. “I-I still don’t think we need the Bone,” she stuttered, repeating the same words she’d told him when he’d announced their sudden trip to Day. “We’ve been making progress—with Vassa, that is—I can do it, I can find out how—how to kill him, without it.”

“Elain,” Lucien pressed softly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” she argued. She needed to be back at the house—needed to find the box Lucien must’ve hidden before her time was up.

“Aren’t you tired of being in the dark?” he asked her, making her limbs grow still. “Of not knowing? This Trove could hold all the answers—could help you navigate and understand your visions. Gwyneth even said…she said it could alleviate the pain, too.”

Elain whispered, “You know about the pain?”

He hesitated.

“Lucien,” she urged.

“I feel it,” he said quietly. “I feel it when you sleep. Every night—your visions, all of endless pain. Of fire—and of death.” He released a long, long breath. “Elain—”

“We need to return to the Night Court,” Elain cut in, her voice unrecognisable even to herself. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—speak to him about the bond. Not when…not when it threatened to consume her.

Not when the idea started to no longer fill her soul with dread.

Lucien looked at her until she began to worry he might not speak to her at all.

“We need to visit the Prison,” she pressed.

Lucien sighed, resignation rolling off of him in waves. “We’re going to need an escort.”

Elain nodded, a new plan already sprouting to life in her head. “Alright.”

His eyes dimming, Lucien turned away, his voice quiet as he said, “I will contact Feyre immediately.”

———

“No,” Nesta said immediately.

Lucien chuckled.

“I’m going,” Elain pressed, shooting him a glare.

“Elain,” her sister repeated. “It isn’t safe—”

“Lucien will be there with me,” she said, and thought the words had been meant to appease Nesta, Elain found that they brought her comfort, too.

Surprise flickered from across the room, quickly followed by something else—a deep, intoxicating heat, like the midday sun warming her skin. Elain didn’t have to turn to know its source—to feel Lucien’s gaze on her, his mouth no doubt twisted in a purely male, smug smile.

Lucien was not the only one her words seemed to have affected—Feyre watched, too, from where she and Rhysand sat on the couch, little Nyx babbling happily as she bounced him on her knees. Her younger sister angled her head curiously, Rhys’s lips twitching beside her—Elain had no doubt the two of them were already passing their comments mind-to-mind. She sighed, exasperated—there was nothing between her and Lucien—other than the very unfortunate fact that he seemed to be the key to her finally getting what she truly desired.

Which was not a mate. Especially not an infuriating, cocky, completely improper—

“Elain knows what she’s doing,” came his response. He shot her a wry smile. “And if she doesn’t, she’ll be safe with me.” Lucien looked at Nesta. “You have my word.”

Nesta’s jaw tightened as she turned to Elain. “And there is no changing your mind on this?”

Elain loosed a sigh of relief. “No.”

“Nesta,” Feyre interjected. “I will be there, too.” The Prison’s enchantments had always required the presence of Night’s High Lord—or Lady—to even enter the structure at all.

The eldest Archeron gritted her teeth. “I just—I don’t understand why you need to go there at all. The Bone Carver is dead—what good will going to his cell do?”

“Elain might find some answers there,” Rhysand supplied smoothly, “or clues, even. Revisiting his old…” he hesitate, “home—could potentially trigger a vision.”

“Potentially is not good enough for me,” Nesta barked.

“It is for me,” Elain said firmly. “We’re going.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and Nesta pinched the bridge of her nose—a habit she seemed to have picked up from Cassian, a fact that made Elain stir. She glanced at Lucien quickly, her gaze sweeping over his stance to see if it mirrored her own—but Lucien simply stood there, leaning against Feyre’s couch, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. He’d rolled up his sleeves, Elain noted, golden-brown muscles on display under the afternoon light.

Get it together, she scowled at the beast. It only smirked at her in return.

Feyre sighed, handing her son over to Rhys. Nyx cooed as his father’s arms wrapped around him, wings rising over his head as though preparing for flight.

Rhys chuckled, “Soon, buddy. I promise.”

Elain’s smile faded. Soon, Nyx’s aunt would be human again—when would she see him again? When would she see Feyre and Nesta? When would she see…?

“Are you alright?” Lucien’s voice sounded beside her. She didn’t even notice when he’d stepped in to her side.

Elain simply nodded, turning to Feyre. “We should go now. There’s no…there’s no time to waste.”

After all, she only had a few days.

Bring me the box, little Seer, and you will be human again.

Feyre rose, reaching out a hand. “When we cross the gates, we’re going to have some…company,” she said mysteriously. “Try not to listen to them. They’ll say anything to get you to try and free them.”

Elain nodded, swallowing the tightness in her throat.

Feyre’s blue-grey eyes softened. “Ready?”

“Wait,” Nesta stopped them. She took a step towards her, pulling something from the sheath strapped to her side.

Something long, and sharp. Gleaming.

“This is the dagger I Made,” Nesta explained, then looked at Lucien with a mocking smile. “Your brother had been quite displeased about it slipping from his grasp. I want you to take it,” she said to Elain, a quiet worry filling her gaze. “Just in case.”

Elain swallowed. She didn’t take well to knives.

“Please,” Nesta only said.

The word had never come easily to her sister—and perhaps that was why Elain silently accepted, Nesta’s shoulders loosening with relief.

Feyre nodded, slipping a tattooed hand into Elain’s. “You know where to winnow?” she asked Lucien, who nodded.

A thick, slithering cloud began forming around them—reality folding in on itself, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake. The living room blurred out, and the last thing she saw were Nyx’s eyes, the crushing blue twinkling curiously at his family.

“See you on the other side, Cursebreaker,” Lucien grinned.

Elain closed her eyes and did not open them until a hard wall of wind slammed into her.

The Prison waited beneath the cliff, its very foundations thrumming with the power it contained. Elain let her gaze adjust to the building storm above, the dark waves crashing furiously into the rock. Beside her, Feyre seemed tense, as though lost in the memory of her last time there—or perhaps anxious for what laid ahead.

Lucien looked at them both, his long, auburn hair swept back and floating with the angry wind. “Shall we?”

Elain shivered. “We shall.”

They walked the pebbled path, Elain nearly slipping on the wet rocks as the sea spilled over. Lucien graciously offered his arm, no sly remark falling from his tongue—only his steady presence as they reached the iron entrance. The gates cried heavily as Feyre waved a hand, the ancient metal bending under the will of its High Lady, and finally, darkness enveloped them at last.

The very first thing Elain realised was how silent it was, not even a whisper of an echo as they descended down to the pit of the mountain’s belly. The shadows seemed to swallow every move, every breath, every bead of sweat from Elain’s forehead as she moved, her breathing falling flat.

Elain was not sure how long they walked. She clung to Lucien’s arm as he led them down behind Feyre, his soul the only source of light in the darkness. She could not see the light, perhaps—warm and golden, even in the coldest, most wretched of places.

“The Bone Carver rested beneath the roots of the mountain,” Feyre said quietly, answering the silent question she hadn’t dared to ask out loud. 

Elain nodded, though she doubted her sister could somehow see the movement.

“Do you need some water?” Lucien’s soft voice brushed past her ear. “Thank you,” Elain whispered, the first words she’d spoken since they entered. She could almost feel his smile as he drank. Yet another thank you in one day, his soul teased playfully. I should consider myself a very lucky male.

Elain rolled her eyes, though the tension washed down her body all the same.

“We’re here,” Feyre announced after a few minutes, though all Elain could make out was a smooth wall of stone.

But then her sister pressed her palm to it, and the stone trembled beneath it, tattoos swirling atop her skin. Both Lucien and Elain watched with their mouths agape as the stone shifted and morphed into bone, the ivory gates revealing another space of darkness behind.

Elain did not have the time to study the old markings carved into the gates, a familiar voice penetrating her, smooth and deep.

“Hello, little traitor,” Lucien said.

Elain whirled back.

“What did you say?” she asked breathlessly.

Lucien frowned, the soft glow from Feyre’s palm illuminating his confusion. “I didn’t say anything.”

A low chuckle. “I’ve never known Seers to be so blind.”

Elain shook violently, Lucien’s confusion shifting into concern. “Elain, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing two, strong hands atop her shoulders, her body instinctively leaning into his chest.

“Good,” Lucien’s voice giggled. “Good, little traitor. Lean into your mate before you burn his bones to ash.”

Her breathing came short, her hands trembling as she placed them atop Lucien’s chest. “I don’t understand.”

Feyre angled her head. “Is someone speaking to you?”

“I—I thought it was Lucien,” Elain panted. “He sounds like Lucien.”

“What did he say?” Lucien asked carefully.

“Tell him, Elain Archeron. Tell your mate you’re only here to betray him.” Another giggle—an ugly sound, one she’d never heard fall from Lucien’s mouth, one that seemed to claw at her very bones.

“Who are you?” she breathed.

Lucien squeezed her shoulders. “Elain—”

“Why does your heart race at your mate’s touch, pretty Seer? Does it not still long for another?”

“It does,” Elain said immediately, Koschei’s magic purring in her veins at the words. “It does—”

“What does, Elain?” Feyre asked, urgency rushing into her tone. “Who are you talking to?”

“Very well, then. I suppose you could call me…a memory,” not-Lucien said, the sound coming from somewhere behind her now.

“Elain—”

“From the past?” Elain asked, turning away from Lucien’s warm chest.

The voice clicked its tongue in disappointment. “How truly helpless you are, little Seer. You should know by now that the lines between past, present and future are as blurred as they get.”

Elain breathed, “What does that mean?”

His next chuckle came from behind her back. “It means you should finally open your eyes.”

Elain whirled again, meeting a pair of gold and russet, shining with concern.

“Tell me how to help you,” Lucien begged, desperation creeping into his voice—his real voice, grounding her to reality.

Elain loosed a breath. “I…I think it was the Bone Carver.”

Feyre stepped in closer to them both. “The Bone Carver is dead, Elain,” she reminded her, the cell sounding with a quiet laugh at the words.

Elain shook her head. “No—a part of him—a part of him is still…” she trailed off, finally calm enough to look around the cave.

“Now you See,” the voice purred.

She could make out the gleam beneath the earth even without the ball of sunlight shining in Feyre’s hand. It rippled as she approached, glistening an almost blinding white.

“Come closer, little Seer,” it crooned. “Come closer to me.”

“Elain,” Feyre’s warning came distantly from somewhere behind her.

Elain stopped an inch from the gleam. “It’s here,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

A warm presence enveloped her once more. “What is?”

But Elain didn’t respond, transfixed on the quiet hum coming from deep beneath, her mind once more being pulled into a daze.

“Touch me, pretty traitor. Take what you deserve.”

Elain crouched, reaching for the ground—

A strong hand wrapped around her wrist. “Elain.”

Elain blinked. “Lucien?”

He nodded, lacing their fingers together, her skin tingling at the touch. “What is it that you’re seeing?” he asked softly.

Clarity sucked her in once more. “Lucien,” she repeated. “We need to dig.”

“What do you see?” Feyre asked, parroting Lucien’s question.

“The Bone,” Elain answered. “It gleams beneath the earth.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible.” She looked to the ground where Elain pointed, squinting as though trying to make out the supposed shine. “The Bone…but why wouldn’t he…?”

“We need to dig,” Elain said again. Lucien wasted no time.

His magic tore through the earth, the rock cracking beneath its weight, Elain directing its direction quietly. The Fourth Trove—all this time…It couldn’t have been.

And yet, with Lucien’s final surge of power into the rock, a curved, white bone was revealed, resting between the cracks of the earth. Unstained by as much as a droplet of blood.

“That bastard,” Feyre whispered. The voice chuckled again, the sound echoing off the stone.

Elain reached for it again.

“Wait,” Lucien said. “You shouldn’t—not yet. Not until we know it’s safe.”

Elain hesitated. “I think it has to be me.”

“We don’t risk it,” Feyre agreed. “We’ll take the Trove to the House—it’ll be safer without all those prisoners around us.”

That was enough for Elain to agree. If there was any chance the Bone’s powers could release the creatures that lurked in the Prison’s darkness, she was more than content to wait.

Feyre waved a hand, her magic making the Bone float upwards and into the High Lady’s palm.

“Bad call.”

The cave shook.

Elain started, “What is happening—”

“My purpose is complete. Good luck, little traitor.” A final, bone-shuddering laugh. “If you manage to get out of here alive, that is.”

The stone above their heads began to crack.

“Elain!” Lucien roared, and before she could blink, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her as they lunged forward. A second later, a rock the size of her head fell exactly to where she’d kneeled a moment ago.

Elain gaped at him. “Lucien—”

“No time,” Feyre panted beside them. “Let’s get out of there.”

Elain took Lucien’s hand as they ran out, the cave roaring behind them. Blood rushed in her ears, too hot and loud to hear Feyre’s shouted commands as she led them past the ivory gates, the same bones that had survived millennia now crumbling into dust, one by one. Elain looked back just in time to see the cave collapse.

The only thing Elain could see in the darkness was the faint gleam of the Bone in Feyre’s hand, the excited purring of the Prison’s captives leading them back upwards. There was no time to take breaks now, and even time seemed to pass by quicker as they ran, three heartbeats melting into one sound of pure, unrestrained terror.

The greyish light of the sky finally came into view, the Prison gates towering high above them as Feyre grasped at one of the iron bars.

“Feyre,” Lucien breathed. “What—”

Feyre shoved the Bone into Lucien’s hand. “I need to get Rhysand,” she panted. “Take her—take her to the manor. Take her to safety.” She looked him straight in the eyes, determination momentarily replacing her panic as the High Lady commanded, “Now.”

Lucien did not need to be told twice. His arms wrapped around her waist once more, and with that, the crumbling Prison vanished.

———

“We need to go back,” Elain told Lucien a second later.

Lucien ran a shaky hand through his hair. “We have a mission to complete, Elain.”

“Not yet,” Elain pressed, Koschei’s ticking clock no longer of importance. “Not until we make sure they’re okay.”

“Feyre gave me the Bone for a reason, Elain,” Lucien said, his expression pained. “We will go back as soon as we can.” He squeezed her hand, still placed safely in his own. “They have each other. They’ll be okay.”

Elain loosed a breath and closed her eyes. They would be okay—her sister and Rhysand both held a power she’d never been able to fully grasp, as though the very darkness coiled within their shared souls. If anyone could contain the magic ruining the Prison…it would be the High Lord and Lady of the Night. Together.

Elain opened her eyes. “Alright.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Jurian asked, a shivering Vassa following closely behind him. It only took one look for the General to understand, his brown eyes wide as he saw Lucien’s face. “Get inside.”

Elain had to physically keep from running as they navigated the corridor, its dim light welcoming her back—so different from the sunlit halls of Day. This morning seemed like forever ago.

They finally reached the living room, Jurian gently leading Vassa to the couch. The sun had only just set, Elain realised—Vassa must’ve turned back minutes ago, if not less. “Are you alright?” she asked the queen carefully.

Jurian glowered at her. “A side effect from the elixir.” He looked at Lucien. “She’s cold.”

Vassa waved a hand. “It’s nothing worth mentioning,” she said. Jurian looked inclined to protest, and she added with a sigh, “Not yet, at least.”

That seemed to appease him enough. The Mad General turned to the two Fae in front of him again, his gaze immediately darting to the Trove in Lucien’s hand. “Is that…”

Lucien nodded. “We got it.”

Vassa seemed a little breathless. “Have you used it?”

“We’re about to,” Elain said. “There…there is no time to waste.”

Vassa nodded. “Do you need me?” she asked, reaching out her palm without a second of hesitation. Jurian growled lowly.

“I think…It’s safer if I do it myself.” Jurian grunted his agreement.

Lucien looked into her eyes before handing her the Trove. “Elain,” he began. “I…I’m here if you need me.”

Elain swallowed. “I know.” And with that, she wrapped her fingers around the Bone.

Tell me how to get what I desire, she asked it silently.

What appeared before her made her chest clenched so tight all the air was knocked out from her lungs.

She was still at the manor—still veiled in that old, dusty dimness, still waiting on the mole-eaten couch, except…

“Are you alright, Elain?” Graysen asked her, blue eyes shining with concern.

Elain only stared.

“I’ve asked for some tea to be made for you,” he continued, the words strangely resembling one of the last conversations they’d ever had. “Chamomile, right?”

“Jasmine,” Elain choked out.

“Oh. Right.”

She was back—Elain was back home, with her fiancé less than a few feet away from her. Making her tea. 

So why did her chest still feel so tight?

Elain's gaze fell.

An iron ring glinted atop her finger.

A pale-skinned palm covered it as it took her hand into its own. “I’ve missed you,” Graysen said. “You’ve been away far too long.”

She wasn’t sure she was breathing anymore. “You did?”

“Of course,” Graysen said, as if the answer was obvious. “All I ever thought about was having my beautiful Elain back in my arms.”

Something flitted in the window behind him, Elain’s eyes darting toward the movement.

Her heart stopped entirely as a large, tawny owl winked back at her.

Elain’s gasp made her choke on air, like a drowning person being pulled out from underwater. She coughed into her hand, the Bone discarded on the cushion beside her, a soothing hand on her back.

“Breathe, Elain,” Lucien commanded softly. “Breathe.”

The vision ended as abruptly as it had begun, but Elain couldn’t help but look past the window—and her shoulders fell as she realised that the only thing staring back at her was the starless night. “I think,” she breathed out, “I’m going to need some practice.”

“What did you see?” Jurian asked, wasting no time on letting her adjust.

What, indeed?

She’d asked the Trove to show her how to get what she desired—and the Trove, an object of a power so ancient had shown her her human life. Was that the future awaiting her? Had it meant…

Elain’s eyes burned.

Had it meant she had a chance?”

“Well?” Jurian urged.

But Elain looked at Lucien, his gaze still shining with concern—as though the Bone, the vision, mattered as little as the dust the Bone Carver’s legacy had turned into.

He was a good male, Elain realised—in some way, she had always known. He was cocky and infuriating, yes, but it was his presence that pulled her back when she needed it most. And if Graysen really was the future awaiting her, then Lucien…Lucien deserved happiness, too. Not a mate who’d been…who’d been thrown at him. Not a mate who was no more than a lie. A mistake.

The thought should have brought her peace. But all Elain felt was the suffocating dark as she told them all, “I know how to kill him. I know…I know how to kill Koschei.”

Vassa stifled a sob.

Jurian narrowed his gaze on her. “How?”

“Jurian,” Lucien cut in, his voice calm yet stern. “There’s no need to be so hostile anymore—Elain risked her life to find the Trove.” He looked at her with more certainty than anyone else ever had in her life as he added, “We can trust her.”

No, Elain thought, her heart rotting into mould her chest. You can’t.

She could no longer look into his eyes. She had gone too far now to even dare.

I’m sorry, Lucien.

“There is a box,” Elain told Jurian, her voice unable to keep from shaking. She could only hope they dismissed it for nervousness—not the cold, piercing guilt eating up the last of her aching heart. “Koschei’s soul is stored within it. The only way to kill him is to destroy it.”

Come on, the rot in her blood urged. Say you have it. Tell me where.

Elain was too weak to stop it.

Lucien, Jurian and Vassa exchanged one look before the decision was made.

“I stole it,” Vassa said thickly. “When your father struck a deal with Koschei—I took it from him and hid it, hoping that, one day, I could barter it back for what he took from me.”

Her humanity.

Elain would never atone for this.

Lucien waved a hand, a flicker of light appearing at his fingertips. A gasp tore from her as the onyx box came into view as though it had been crafted from thin air, floating downward until it rested atop the splintered, wooden table.

Well done, my sweet, the box seemed to purr.

Jurian simply said, “Tell us how.”

Bile rose in Elain’s throat with the lie, too quick to stop as she uttered, “You must place it atop Koschei’s lake. The magic beneath the water works against the laws of nature, crying out with the women he’d enslaved into swans. It will seek to punish him—it will weaken the box, allowing you to strike.”

The Band of Exiles looked at each other wordlessly.

“We must go to the Continent,” Elain managed before her throat gave out entirely.

Lucien only nodded, her command the only instruction he needed. “I will contact the Night Court immediately.”

———

“Rest, girl.”

Feyre shook her head, the movement alone making the world spin around her.

“Rest,” Amren pressed. “You and Rhysand have done enough.”

A warm hand rested at her back. “I will take her to bed.”

The female nodded, silver eyes sharp. “Cassian is on site. Nesta will join him shortly—for now, the wards are contained.”

Beside her, Rhysand loosed a shaky breath. “Good. Thank you, Amren.”

“Yes, well. You know how much you owe me.”

He managed a laugh, the sound strained even more than his depleted power. “Make sure to bill it to my office.”

Amren huffed. “You need to rest, too, you know.” And with that, she was gone.

Rhys sighed deeply. “Let’s go, Feyre,” he said, slipping his hand into hers. “There’s not much more we can do now.”

She began to protest, but Rhys’s warm lips on her temple were enough to stop her in her tracks. “I’m so tired,” Feyre admitted.

“Let’s go to bed. We can stay there forever, if you’d like.”

Feyre nodded, taking a swaying step forward.

Forever did not last long enough—did not even truly manage to begin as the study shook, the snapping sound of Rhysand’s wards being cleaved in two their only warning as a blinding light erupted at its centre.

Helion Spell-Cleaver’s booming presence was enough to sharpen every last one of her nerves as the High Lord of Day appeared in their study, sunlight scorching around him without mercy. “Tell me, Cursebreaker,” Helion began, his voice just barely restraining his anger, “When were you going to tell me about my son?”

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @labellefleur-sauvage @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

YES! This made me go listen to “So Close” from the movie on repeat for like an hour.

Is it too cheesy to say that I find this fic enchanting? Probably.

I Was Enchanted To Meet You: Part Five

A/N: Happy Day Six of @elucienweekofficial! Will Elain travel back to Andalasia in this chapter? 😉 Do you see what I did there? It's me pretending I'm somewhat sticking to the prompts. Anywho! The final part after this is the epilogue so this is basically the end. I hope everyone enjoys! :)

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Elain

The sun creeping along the walls and crashing across the hardwood happens almost in slow motion as the minutes tick by. Elain can do nothing but stare at the wall, watching as the apartment swirls and shifts from shades of blue to pinks and purples. As the shadows are cast away and morning truly sneaks up on her.

She had barely gotten any sleep the previous night. The whole time she had laid there, her argument with Lucien and the subsequent moment that followed played over and over in her mind. The way they had laughed so easily, so comfortably together. The way he had looked at her, that flame flaring in his gaze. The way her breath had hitched and her heart had skipped and squeezed. The way that, for a single moment, Elain really had thought the space between them was going to vanish. It all plays like an endless loop for her, taunting her, jumbling up all her feelings until there’s a giant knot digging into her chest.

Elain sighs softly and rolls over onto her back until she’s staring up at the ceiling instead. Her lip finds home between her teeth, and she nibbles at it nervously as she squeezes her eyes shut. Her attention finally flits away from the previous night, but it lands firmly on where Lucien is still sleeping just down the hallway. So close and so far away at the same time.

She doesn’t know why she feels this way, why her chest feels so tight and so full at the same time. Why she feels this way every time she thinks of him. She knows she shouldn’t. She’s sure that Lucien is focused on Nesta, as he should be. She should be focused on Cassian. On getting back to him and to Andalasia. She shouldn't be focused on soft strands of bright red hair that she wants to run her fingers through, on swirling russet eyes and a teasing smirk that she could get lost in.

And yet…

And yet.

With a huff, Elain finally kicks off the blankets and pulls herself up and off the couch. She pads into the kitchen, starting a fresh pot of tea for the morning. She’s stirring her cup of tea when she realizes she’s not the only one having a bright and early morning, the sound of bare feet on the hardwood echoing behind her.

“Morning,” Lucien’s deep, sleep-addled voice speaks behind her.

“Good morning,” Elain echoes quietly, taking her cup of tea and settling at the kitchen table.

She tucks her legs up underneath her, watching as Lucien walks over to the kitchen counter. He reaches up and pulls a mug down from the cabinet, taking the time to prepare his tea how he likes it. Elain is sure that he can probably feel her eyes on him, but she can’t quite look away from the way his shoulders and back stretch and move beneath his tee with the movement. When Lucien finally turns back around, Elain ducks her head and focuses on her own mug, praying that the heat she can feel spilling across her cheeks isn’t too obvious.

“Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, a knock on the front door cuts him off. Elain practically jumps out of her skin in surprise at the sound reverberating around the apartment. Lucien looks just as confused by the knock, his eyebrows furrowing as he slowly sets down his tea. He heads out of the kitchen and toward the front door, the sound clearly having woken up Willow as the little girl yanks open her bedroom door and comes running out into the hallway. Elain follows behind Lucien, standing just over his shoulder, and she finds herself holding her breath as he unlocks the door and pulls it open.

“Elain!”

Elain blinks a bit dumbly, her mind not quite catching up to the fact that Cassian is standing there in the doorway, in front of her. His smile is wide, dark curls tousled around his face and shoulders, hazel eyes practically bright and shining. Elain tries to will her heart, will her emotions, to match his energy, but there’s just a hollowness clanging between her ribs.

She’s forced into action, though, when Cassian’s attention dances to Lucien, that easy smile falling away. Before Elain can even blink, the prince is pulling his sword free, the blade pointed threateningly at Lucien’s chest.

“Cassian, don’t!” Elain jumps in as Cassian slowly backs Lucien up inside the apartment, Lucien’s eyes wide and his hands raised in surrender.

“So, you’ve been the one who’s been holding my bride captive,” Cassian accuses, ignoring Elain’s protests. “Any last words before I dispatch you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lucien mutters, shaking his head.

“Strange words…”

“Cassian, don’t,” Elain repeats, her words more firm this time as she steps between Lucien and him. “Lucien is my friend. He’s been helping me.”

“Oh,” Cassian says simply, sliding his sword back into the scabbard at his waist. He hops up onto the coffee table and spreads his arms, starting to sing. “I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss.”

“Great, he sings too,” Lucien remarks sarcastically.

“And a miss I have begun to miss. Pure and sweet waiting to complete my love song. Yes, somewhere there’s a maid I’ve never met, who was made…”

The silence hangs in the living room like a weight as Cassian trails off. He looks at Elain expectantly, raising his eyebrows in waiting, but Elain merely blinks back at him, unsurety twisting and roiling in her gut. She chances a glance back toward Lucien, but meeting that gaze certainly does the opposite of helping.

“Elain,” Cassian calls beneath his breath and drawing her attention back to him before raising his voice to a higher pitch, almost mimicking her. “To finish… To… you’re not singing.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been thinking, and there’s something I want to do before we leave,” Elain explains, eyes dancing once more toward Lucien who nods encouragingly. “I want to go on a date.”

“A date! What’s a date?”

“Well, we do an activity, like dinner, and we talk about ourselves.”

“Then a date we shall have,” Cassian agrees with a flourish of his hands, already hopping down from the coffee table and heading back toward the front door.

“Okay,” Elain offers with a small smile. She turns properly to Lucien and Willow, crouching down to pull the little girl into a hug. “Thank you both so much for your kindness these past few days.”

“I’ll miss you, Elain,” Willow tells her, squeezing her arms tightly.

“You can come visit in Andalasia any time you’d like,” Elain assures her, pulling back and standing back up.

“And if you’re ever in town again, be sure to hit us up. We can go for dinner or something,” Lucien adds, offering Elain a small smile of his own.

Elain swears that that smile is tinged with sadness, mirroring the ache that seems set on gnawing away until ice crystalizes through Elain’s chest. She swallows hard, around the feelings threatening to clog up her throat, around the heaviness pressing in at her chest, and forces a smile of her own as she nods. A throat clear behind her has Elain finally turning around, taking the arm that Cassian holds out for her. It takes everything in her, all her willpower, not to look back as her prince leads her away, back to everything she swore she wanted.

~ * * * ~

Elain sighs softly, staring out at the churning water of the river. She watches the gulls that fly above the ripples caused by the wind, watches the way the water glints golden in certain places where the droplets catch the sun. When she turns her head to the right, she finds Cassian’s hazel gaze. He tries to smile around his mouth full of food, and Elain can’t help but grimace slightly at the ketchup that’s caught at the corner of his lips.

“Are you enjoying your hotdog?” Elain asks, reaching her hand up to brush away the red droplet. “It’s not really a dog. They just call it that here.”

“It’s delicious,” Cassian tells her after a moment. “We should bring them back to Andalasia with us.”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“Speaking of… how long do these ‘dates’ usually last? We should get back to Andalasia, to be married and live happily ever after forever and ever.”

“Well,” Elain begins, turning away from him again and nibbling at her bottom lip. “They can go on as long as we’d like. As long as we keep thinking of activities. Like, there’s this ball.”

“A ball?”

“There’s music and dancing. You’d like it. We should go.”

“Alright…” Cassian agrees slowly, but when Elain takes his hand and starts to lead him away from the riverfront, he tugs both of them to a stop. “But after this ball, we’ll finally go back to Andalasia?”

“Of course.”

And if the words are a blatant lie tumbling past Elain’s lips, well then, Cassian doesn’t really need to know. At least, that’s what Elain tells herself as she leads them back to the bustling streets. As she sends Cassian on his way to get ready for the ball with instructions of where to meet. As she makes her way back to the apartment building the Vanserras call home.

When she knocks on the door, the babysitter lets her in, and Elain makes her way down the hallway toward Willow’s room. She watches the exact moment that the little girl sees her in her mirror, her eyes widening and smile pulling so big it practically splits her face in two.

“Elain! Elain!” Willow squeals excitedly, spinning around and running toward her. “You came back!”

Willow jumps right into Elain’s arms, and Elain catches her with ease, laughing into her red hair while she squeezes her close. “Oh, Willow. I need your help. I’m going to the ball, and I have absolutely no idea what I should wear.”

Willow pulls back from the hug with a determination lining her face that’s adorable. Her hands settle on her hips as she thinks, mouth pinching slightly to the side. Whatever idea strikes her, has the little girl’s face lighting up, and she gives a decided nod before leading the way out of her bedroom, Elain hot on her heels. They step into Lucien’s office, Willow going over to the desk and rooting around in one of the drawers until she finds what she’s looking for.

“Daddy says this is only for emergencies, and this is definitely an emergency.”

~ * * * ~

Lucien

Music swirls and floats around Lucien, the various bodies, all decked out in costume dresses and suits, moving around him in a blur. He tries to focus on the steps, on the melody as it flows through him. He tries to focus on the feel of Nesta’s waist beneath his palm, on her face as they spin around and around. But it’s easier said than done, and Lucien finds his mind drifting off yet again, attention still ensnared with Elain and her too sweet, soft smile as she said goodbye.

Thankfully, Lucien’s feet remember the steps, moving with practiced ease until the music crescendos and swells. When the song comes to an end, applause echoes around the ballroom, and Lucien steps back enough from Nesta that he can join in. She peers up at him with a bright smile, and Lucien tries to match it, praying she won’t be able to see through the forced quality of it.

Nesta’s smile starts to slip, and Lucien knows that he’s been caught. He knows that his thoughts and where they’ve strayed have finally betrayed him and must show on his face. But Nesta’s attention isn’t on his face anymore. Instead, her eyes have strayed over his shoulder, toward the large, oak doors that lead in and out of the ballroom.

Slowly, Lucien turns, and as if she’s been conjured right from his thoughts, right from his dreams, is Elain. She has on a purple dress, the fabric hugging her every curve and draping around her legs. Her honeyed hair hangs in soft curls down around her face and shoulders, and with the glow of the chandeliers like a spotlight, she looks breathtakingly beautiful.

Lucien’s heart starts to thunder away in his chest, air stolen straight from his lungs, when Elain turns her head and meets his gaze. It’s with such surety, such ease, as if she knows exactly where in the room he is. And when that small, private smile of hers tugs up her lips, Lucien finds himself fully caught in her trap. He can do nothing but gape and stare as Elain gracefully walks down the steps and onto the ballroom floor, as the distance shrinks and shrinks between them until Elain is standing right in front of him. Close enough that her brown eyes flood his vision, enough that the sweet floral scent of her perfume fills his senses.

“Elain,” Lucien breathes before catching himself and clearing his throat. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I’m surprised to be here,” Elain tells him, tucking her hair back behind her ear. She shares another smile with Lucien before seeming to jolt back to herself and turning toward Nesta. “Oh. This is Cassian. He’s my… um… my prince.”

“And this is Nesta,” Lucien introduces to Cassian. “She’s my… um, we’re…”

“Together,” Nesta finishes, shooting Lucien a look. “We’re together.”

“And this beautiful woman, Elain, is the love of my life, my heart’s one true desire” Cassian declares, clearly not understanding how introductions work, not an ounce of irony in his tone.

“Wow,” Nesta sighs almost longingly. “That was so romantic.”

“Thank you.”

“Alright, folks,” the conductor of the band announces, putting an end to any small talk. “It's that time of the night. I'd like to ask each gentleman to invite a lady he did not accompany to dance the King and Queen's waltz.”

“May I have the pleasure?” Cassian asks Nesta, holding his hand out toward her.

Nesta nods and places her hand in his, allowing him to guide them away toward the center of the ballroom floor. Elain watches them go, but Lucien only has eyes for her. His entire being seems to call out for her, that golden thread urging him forward still. His fingers twitch with the desire to reach out and touch, to slide his knuckles down the apple of her cheek, to skate his fingertips across the constellation of freckles.

“Shall we?” Lucien somehow chokes out, drawing Elain’s attention back to him.

He holds his hand out to her in silent offering, and he tries not to let it sting too much when he sees hesitation flicker across her face. But then Elain is sliding her palm against his, and they’re moving to join the fray on the ballroom floor. Elain turns to face him, and Lucien swears his hand is trembling as he slowly places it on her waist, sparks ricocheting up his arm at the contact.

They start to move to the music, and in that moment, everything else fades away. All the other people in the ballroom. Hell, even the music fades to nothing. In that moment, it’s just him and Elain, their hearts beating as one. He swears he can hear it, swears it’s that rhythm his feet move to, and he half wonders if she can hear his too.

Not that he particularly cares either way. All he cares about is keeping Elain’s gaze on his own, her body pressed against his as they spin and twirl across the floor. Her brown eyes are bright, practically sparkling, and Lucien knows that he could get lost in them. This close, he can see the pretty pink that’s started to dust her cheeks, almost the exact shade of her lips. As if sensing where his thoughts have drifted to, her lips part. It wouldn’t take much to close what little distance remains between them. All he’d have to do is lean down and—

“Mind if I cut in?”

Lucien and Elain turn to find Nesta and Cassian standing there, an awkward and stifling air settling between the four of them. Elain shakes her head and steps back as though she’s been burned, offering Lucien one last look before quickly skirting back to Cassian’s side. Words tangle up in Lucien’s mind and weigh heavy on his tongue, especially as he watches Cassian begin to lead Elain away, back toward the stairs and the exit, but he can’t quite seem to unjumble them fast enough. Can’t string together the right ones. Can’t encapsulate every feeling thrumming deep in his chest and rattling at the bars to be released. They clog the back of his throat until only a choked sound escapes.

“Lucien.”

Lucien snaps his attention back to Nesta, her eyebrows raised as she peers up at him expectantly, almost exasperatedly. He shakes his head of all thoughts of Elain and takes Nesta’s hand back in his, his other hand sliding easily to her waist as they finish out the dance. He twirls Nesta around as the music comes to a close, and then they step apart, applauding politely for the band.

The band starts up another song, and Lucien steps closer to Nesta again, ready to fall into the next dance, but something knocks against his foot. He pauses in confusion, glancing down and blinking a few times to ensure he’s seeing correctly. Slowly, he reaches down, picking up the object.

“Is that… an apple?” Nesta asks, the same confusion Lucien feels coloring her tone.

“With a bite taken out of it,” Lucien confirms, frowning.

“What kind of person—”

“Someone help me! Please!”

Lucien’s hackles rise at the alarmed shout echoing through the ballroom. His every nerve ending feels on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with anticipation and dread. Some part of him already knows what he’ll find when he turns, but the sight still makes his stomach drop. Cassian has Elain cradled in his arms, head lolled back and eyes closed. She looks almost lifeless, and Lucien’s feet are moving before he knows it, rushing forward.

“Call 9-1-1,” Lucien calls back to Nesta, hurrying to Elain’s side as Cassian lays her down gently.

Lucien’s hands scramble for Elain’s wrist, pressing his fingers there and silently praying to the Mother. He can feel her pulse, but it’s fluttering, and when he presses his other hand to Elain’s cheek, her skin is concerningly clammy.

“Elain,” Lucien speaks quietly, brushing his hand over her hair.

“You murderous wretch,” Cassian shouts, producing a sword and holding it to a woman Lucien doesn’t think he’s ever seen before, who’s dressed as though she’s stepped straight out of a Disney movie where she played the evil queen. “What have you done to her?”

“Come on, Cassian,” the woman croons with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re being melodramatic?”

“I don’t know what melodramatic means, but I do know that your days as queen are over. Now, fix whatever it is you’ve done to Elain.”

“Sorry, darling, but there’s nothing powerful enough in the world to break that curse.”

“Powerful…” Lucien mutters, the word snagging on a memory. “True love’s kiss. It’s the most powerful thing in the world.”

Lucien feels a bit silly for a moment, especially when everyone merely stares at him after his outburst, but then Cassian is nodding in agreement. He rushes around to where Lucien is kneeling, so Lucien is quick to move out of his way. He swallows hard as Cassian brushes a hand down Elain’s cheek, has to look away as Cassian slowly dips his head down to kiss her. He waits for the gasps of relief, for the applause, but it never comes, and when he finally dares to look again, Elain looks the same.

“It’s not working. Why isn’t it working?” Cassian asks, leaning down and pressing another kiss to Elain’s lips almost frantically. “Unless…”

Cassian looks over his shoulder at Lucien, and Lucien’s blood runs cold, his entire body freezing up at the knowing look on the prince’s face. Lucien tries to laugh it off, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck and glancing around, but no one else seems to think it’s a joke. In fact, no one even seems to be on his side, each gaze more expectant than the next.

“It can’t be me,” Lucien splutters, shaking his head. “I’ve only known Elain for a few days, and it’s not like—”

“Just kiss her, Lucien,” Nesta snaps, cutting him off.

Lucien winces slightly at that, but he takes back the spot kneeling beside Elain. He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore all the eyes he can feel on them. When he thought about potentially kissing Elain, this certainly wasn’t how he thought it would go. With another silent prayer to the Mother that this works, Lucien slowly leans down, slotting his lips against hers and kissing her sweetly.

For a horrifying moment, Lucien doesn’t think that it worked. Elain continues to lie unmoving in his arms, and every millisecond feels like a year, but then she lets out a soft gasp, her eyes fluttering open. Lucien can’t help it, he laughs, a soft chuckle of relief that tumbles past his lips, spurred on by Elain’s soft, answering smile.

“I knew it was you,” Elain tells him before sitting up and kissing him properly.

It’s everything Lucien imagined and more. Elain’s body pressed against his. The sweet taste of her on his tongue. The soft slide of their lips together. His head is swimming with it all, warmth bursting between his ribs enough that his chest practically aches with it.

“Oh, how touching.” Lucien and Elain pull apart only to find that the woman from before has used the distraction to slip away, moving to the center of the ballroom, her hands beginning to glow green. “I’ll show you what the real most powerful thing in the world looks like.”

Green fire erupts around the woman, the flames climbing higher and higher toward the ceiling until out of them steps a dragon. An actual dragon. Lucien knows he’s witnessed and dealt with a lot this week, but this definitely takes the cake. His heart pounds away, but instinctually, he steps in front of Elain, blocking her from the dragon.

“How cute,” the dragon drawls sarcastically, the same voice as the woman.

“If you want to get to Elain, you have to go through me,” Lucien tells her, thankful his voice doesn’t shake too much despite facing down a literal dragon.

“Alright.”

The dragon shrugs and one of its hands swings forward, scooping Lucien up into its clawed grip. Lucien tries to push at the claws, tries to wiggle free, but the dragon’s hold on him is too tight. His alarm only grows when the dragon bursts through the windows and begins to scale the building they’re in. Up and up they climb, until Lucien feels nauseous after he makes the mistake of looking down.

“Amarantha! Let him go!” Elain’s voice rings out, and Lucien dares to look down just in time to see Elain climbing after them, Cassian’s sword clutched in her hand.

“Well, if you insist,” the dragon, Amarantha, says before opening her hand.

Lucien cries out in surprise as he starts to fall, his hands reaching out and scrabbling for anything. His fingers just barely catch on some sort of metal piece sticking out from the roof, his momentum coming to a harsh stop. He tries to readjust his grip, tries to pull himself up properly, but with the rain falling in streaks around them, the metal is too slippery.

Lucien can still hear Amarantha taunting Elain, can hear Elain shouting things back, and most concerningly, he hears what sounds like a sword hitting metal, so after taking a few heaving breaths to try and calm his erratic heart and fraying nerves, he frantically looks around, trying to find something, anything to help him. He needs to get to Elain. He spies a ledge that he can probably get his footing on, so Lucien starts to inch his hands along the metal to get him closer.

Lucien stretches out one of his legs, his toes just barely scraping against the ledge. He lets out a huff of frustration, looking back toward Amarantha and Elain, trying to gauge how much time he has to get there in time, to help. He watches, almost in slow motion, as Elain takes the sword in her hand and throws it. The blade embeds itself right into Amarantha’s dragon underside. It sends her toppling backwards, going right over the edge of the roof. Her screams echo as she falls down and down before vanishing into an eruption of green flames and smoke.

“Lucien, hold on!” Elain calls out to him, clambering across the roof closer to him.

With the dragon now defeated, Lucien focuses again on stretching out his leg toward the ledge. “Don’t worry. I’ve got—”

Lucien’s foot misses the ledge again, but this time, his fingers slip with it. He goes sliding down the roof, crashing right into Elain and taking her with him. They both shout in alarm as they go tumbling, Lucien wrapping his arms tightly around her and desperately trying to find purchase with his legs to stop their descent. They slide down and down before finally, blessedly, coming to a stop.

Lucien swears he’s not breathing, swears that everything that’s just happened might just be the craziest thing he’s ever witnessed, ever been a part of. And then Elain laughs. She laughs, the sound sweet and melodic, as she clutches at Lucien’s shirt. She laughs even as the rain streaks through her hair, all over her now ruined dress. She laughs, and it fills Lucien with a lightness he never thought was possible, with a love he never thought was possible.

“Is this a habit of yours?” Elain asks him teasingly. “Falling off of things.”

Lucien shakes his head, and does the only logical thing he can think of. He kisses her.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes

We rest our case, your honor

Azriel and Elain can't be together because he has short hair...

How is our girl suppose to braid flowers into short hair!?

I have this Elucien scene in my head where they are already together and exploring all their sexual tension and then Elain drops the words "Oral" and Lucien feels he is losing it.

But then, he discover Graysen had never tasted her and had actually made her think that she would probably taste awful and now she has that fear so he calms himself and goes "Let's just try it and if you don't like it then I'll stop" But Elaine is nervous and she goes "I'm afraid you won't like how I taste" and Lucien is just like, WHat? I would love how you taste! Let's try it.

And then there they are, Lucien kneeling with his face between her legs while staring at her and thinking she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and meanwhile Elain is just so freaking nervous. But then Lucien takes a long lick and stops and while it felt amazing Elaine is just so nervous because he is not moving, not talking, not saying anything so she goes "Lucien? Is it bad-" But she can't even finish because Lucien lets out the most unholy growl ever and proceeds to devour her because her flavor is the most amazing thing he had ever tasted

Just saying, it would be a nice scene t0o have on the book

I just when into #pro azriel before a four hour study lesson and I have found out that half the posts are of ewriel? And I just don't understand

Like,

1. Az hides who he really is from Elain and Elain is scared of him

2. Az thinks he is entitled to Elain because she is the third sister and he is the third brother? Which was a pretty toxic mindset

3. Elain is scared of him (which has been stated in a THOUSAND WAYS)

4. Elain wants to use him to reject the mating bond. She literally wants to pull a Mor.

5. Elain deserves better

6. Azriel deserves better

Honestly, both of them deserve someone who will love them and accept them as they are. Elain is not my favorite character but she needs someone who sees how strong she is *Cough Lucien cough* and Azriel deserves someone who is not afraid of his touch and his shadows *Cough Gwyn Cough*

If you truly are pro Azriel or pro Elain, then you should know that they do not belong together, they would be so freaking toxic it will make TamTam look like an angel

Once upon a time, in Velaris...

*Rhys stretching in the morning, his eyes set on the city, his hands on his hips*: How shall I stop Azriel from sleeping with Elain today?

@gwynrielweeksofficial

*whispers in awe* the pictures are alive

| 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓶𝓪𝓲

I went into the Manorian tag and I am ashamed of how many Elriels are in there

Shame on you for thinking Manon or Dorian would ship them.

So, I love getting involved in my personal affairs and since this elriel decided to jump into the Gwynriel tag, I will chime in.

Elain is not Azriel's mate. She is Lucien's mate and this is cannon.

You can delude yourself all you want about Az and Elain being mates but the cannon fact is that Elain does not belong to the night court and Azriel will not leave the night court just for the sake of impossible love. If you want to come at me for what I'm saying, then I ought to remind you that even Cassian mentioned that Elain did not belonged in the night court even if she pretended she did.

You say you like Elain, but if you do then how could you wish for her to pretend to be something she is not? She does not belong in the night court, she will never belong to the night court and Azriel will not quit his position in the night court to follow her around.

"Oh, but Azriel was the one who brought her out of her depression" yeah, after Lucien said she needed sunlight and to go out. Azriel simply followed what Lucien had said.

"Oh, but Elain doesn't like Lucien" well, Feyre didn't like Rhys, Nesta didn't like Cassian, Bryce didn't like Hunt, Aelin didn't like Rowan and yet they are mates.

"Oh, the cauldron is wrong." The cauldron doesn't chooses mates, that's the mother and I honestly doubt the mother makes mistakes.

"Oh, the mating bond was wrong for Rhys's parents" yeah, it was because his father was a soulless monster.

"Oh, Elain is training to become a spy" Excuse me, this is cannon when? There was a slight mention of a theory that she was training but Elain has been hiding since she got to the night court. Is not that Elain has been training to become a spy, is that Elain has been hiding herself .

"Oh, but Lucien is forcing the bond in her" excuse me, but when? When did he ever do that? He's only given her space and respect.

"Oh, he'll make Az do the blood duel" My dear, Lucien would never do that. He wants Elain to be happy, if Elain wants to kick him to the curve then he'll accept it but the reason why he keeps coming is because Elain has done NOTHING to reject him. If she truly wanted to reject him, then she would do it in the blink of an eye. If she wanted to be with Azriel, then she would break the bond and be with azriel but she hasn't done any of these things and one must wonder why. And if you say that it's because she is just shy or waiting for the right moment, the she is a coward and selfish because Lucien deserves to be happy and so does Azriel.

"Oh, but Gwyn is a lightsinger" I have no idea how this theory came to be but it's the most stupid thing I've read because there is no cannon text to explain this in any book.

"Gwyn was sexually abused and therefore cannot maintain a sexual relationship"

Boy, are you off.

I was sexually assaulted when I was 5 and then sexually manipulated when I was 13 and you know what? I want to have sex.

Being sexually abused doesn't mean you're going to stop wanting to have sex and if you do then that's okay but Gwyn has clearly been interested in sex. She reads smut for heaven's sake and reading how some people think that being sexually assaulted means you're not capable of having sex makes my blood boil. Screw that mentality because I am going to have sex and your opinions are rotten.

"Azriel is kinky in bed and Gwyn can't keep up with that" well, I was sexually assaulted and I read smut and I know that there are a LOT of things I want to try, and many of them are kinky. It does not scare me, because I know I will do all of those things when the right guy shows up.

When Gwynriel happens, then Gwyn will have a bunch of sex with Azriel because she trusts him.

Elain, in the other hand, is scared of him and his shadows. Let my girl have the sunlight she deserves and stop trying to make her become Gwyn in your fanfictions, stop trying to make Lucien a bad guy and stop trying to make Azriel become Lucien.

thank you and keep yourself and your toxicity out of the Gwynriel tag.

SJM saying in an interview that she is excited for Azriel's book, and "not just because of his bedroom habits" seems like it's worth mentioning. She called him a "freak". She has suggested that he's the kinkiest bat boy of the three and that interview also made it clear we can expect to see some of those scenes in his book. How will she build a relationship between Azriel and Gwyn in a single book (they are not even friends yet) while allowing Gwyn time to heal from her trauma, and also have super kinky sex scenes mixed in? Does that not feel a little off to anyone else?

the mother and the cauldron

The mother: Say it slowly, so I can get it. What did the Archeron girl said?

The Cauldron: she said that she doesn't want a fae for a mate. Or a mate.

The mother: she doesn't want a-? Is she nuts? I gave her the best one I have!

The Cauldron: She's a bit traumatized, but she's nice.

The mother: I know she's a bit traumatized! But he is-he's- has she seen him? He's perfect! Even I want him as a mate!

The Cauldron: I know. How do we fix it?

The mother: not a mate, not A MATE! Well,give them forced proximity, give them pent up desire, give them loneliness, give them hormones! Make her see him shirtless! Make her see him shirtless and sweating and with his hair on a bun!

The cauldron: I like that! That's nice! Should we do the one bed trope?

The mother: Smart! I love it! She's gonna be eating out of his palm soon enough.

The cauldron: he's gonna be eating her soon enough.

To be known by you

I'm just gonna giggle like a little girl and drop this here in Tumblr.

This is a little peek into something I've been working for a while now. It's gonna be a series (elucien/gwynriel) but the main characters will be Elain and Gwyn. ELRIELS, BRYRIELS OR WHOEVER OTHER TOXIC SHIP YOU BELONG DO NOT INTERACT.

WARNINGS: Honestly, just two girls being girls (👩‍🦰🗡👱‍♀️🌸).

Enjoy this little peek! And don't forget to show your support, I really want to keep this one going.

Elain was convinced that she, as a matter of fact, did not belonged in the night court.

But then, she didn't belong in any court.

The proof was how she had asked to go to the house of wind to visit Nesta and Cassian, but since Nesta was not there and Cassian had to go somewhere she wasn't allowed to know because she wasn't a member of the inner circle, they had dropped her off at the house and told her that someone would go and take care of her soon.

Now, she was there, a grown woma--female, and she was waiting for her nanny to come and pay heed to her needs.

She didn't know what was more pathetic: the fact that they thought she needed a nanny, or the way she simply accepted it.

Currently, she was looking around the library, remembering those first months where she had been reborn, remembering how empty she felt at the way she had lost everything. She still felt like that sometimes.

"You must be Elain." A voice behind her said, curiosity being laced with the delicate voice of the female.

Elain turned around ready to find an actual nanny, but instead she found a tiny red haired girl with teal eyes and a million freckles, with a toned body being covered by illyrian leathers.

The female blinked at her, and Elain found her voice. "Yes," She mumbled and then shook her head clearing the whispers in there. "I mean: yes, I am Elain."

The red haired girl nodded and closed the library door behind her. "Well, I must confess that I was expecting to take care of a kid." Elain blushed furiously which caused the red haired girl to hurry and explain. "Not that there is something wrong with needing someone to take care of you! Because it is okay, I should know ," the girl shook her head with a sight. "What I mean is that the way Cassian said I had to come and they way he worded it made me believe I would be babysitting."

That unsettled Elain. The inner circle had stopped protecting her a long time ago and had started to keep her locked within herself. They didn't told her anything, they kept quiet always, they didn't include her in plans that could possibly affect her.

And Rhys, by the cauldron, Rhys acted with Nesta so horribly simply because Nesta hadn't kept Feyre from going into the forest to hunt. Sometimes, when Rys was being a total arse, she imagined herself getting up and screaming at him that she was also guilty of it, that Nesta wasn't the only one to blame.

Sometimes the guilt ate her alive. Yes, she had no idea about hunting like Feyre or being aggressive like Nesta but she knew how to grow things. She could have grown vegetables to feed her family instead of spending all that money on flowers. But the inner circle only blamed Nesta, and kept Elain in a cocoon that was starting to deem a bit too tight.

"I do not need a nanny." Elain mumbled quietly, not wanting to offend the female that had clearly gone to babysit her in good graces.

The red haired girl nodded. "Noted. What about company? Azriel is going for bloodshed today in training and even though I am up for a challenge most of the time, I have my cycle and I feel near death."

Elain nodded curiously even though the mention of the shadow singer had moved an old wound inside her. Her mind whispered a name and Elain couldn't help but ask, "what is your name?" The female walked to one of the couches, giving her a soft smile.

"Gwyneth Berdara, but you can call me Gwyn." She recognized the name.

Gwyneth Berdara, one of Nesta's closest friends. She had won the blood rite as a carynthian, was a valkyrie and was an acolyte in the library.

Not only that, but she was also Azriel's mate.

The knowledge made her wince a little. After winter solstice, after the fiasco with Azriel, she have had a vision.

Azriel had gone with Rhys and Elain had been left clutching her necklace for dear life when the vision suddenly struck her. In her vision, Azriel was laughing but she couldn't hear his laugh, his eyes were sparkling as he stared at someone, and then a blur of red was going in circles around him, with a soft laugh echoing through her mind; his shadows were twirling freely and peacefully, and when the blur stopped, she saw red hair and Azriel gave a step forward and whispered "Gwyneth."

Elain had been able to see the threads of the mating bond between them, had seen the love and the longing in Azriel's face and she had known that she didn't stood a chance against it, so she had left the necklace behind and walked to her room, just a few door away from her own mate, and cried herself to sleep. Now, his mate was right in front of her and she was sure he knew who she was.

Her knowing who he was seemed impossible, but that was not her business. She had enough with her own mating problem, or in better words: the lack thereof.

The Mother and the Cauldron - creating Elucien

@elucienweekofficial2024 here is my contribution for elucien week 2024! Hope you enjoy!

The Mother: Cauldron, come forth.

The Cauldron: What do you need, Mother?

The Mother: I have a question.

The Cauldron: Nothing new.

The Mother: May I ask the question?

The Cauldron: You are strangely polite today but sure, you may.

The Mother: we know hybern has the Archeron sisters

The Cauldron: Yes, we do.

The Mother: And we know that in about five seconds, Elain will come out of the Cauldron as a Fae.

The Cauldron: Still wondering why I am an actual Cauldron, but yes, she will.

The Mother: And you found her beautiful

The Cauldron: I did, she's nice and scared

The Mother: so you gave her a nice gift

The Cauldron: I did. She's a seer.

The Mother: wonderful. So I was thinking: My calculations about mates are always right, so I did some work and she will find her mate as soon as she comes out

The Cauldron: She will? That's nice, they usually have to put a lot of work for it. Who's it gonna be? Cassian? Tamlin? Azriel?

The Mother: Not Cassian, he already has a mate.

The Cauldron: Right, I forgot. Tamlin?

The Mother: No, I have something else in store for him.

The Cauldron: Then...Azriel? He's been waiting for 500 years.

The Mother: no, no. Not him. That would be more toxic than Hybern.

The Cauldron: so whom? And if you say the King of Hybern I will open up and swallow this universe-

The Mother: Calm down, not him. I was thinking about a handsome red head with a russet eye and fire in his blood...

The Cauldron: ....

The Mother: what do you think?

The Cauldron: didn't he have a mate?

The Mother: I honestly don't know who gave him that impression, but no. He is mateless.

The Cauldron: well, that ought to mess him up. Angst, fluff...I mean, it could work?

The Mother: Right? She can braid flowers into his hair...

The Cauldron: And he can bring her to the continent...

The Mother: and she can go to spring...

The Cauldron: And she is a flower so she needs sunshine...

The Mother: yeah, and he is the heir of day...

The Cauldron: I see it working.

The Mother: Right? The fox and the faun

The Cauldron: The spell breaker and the seer...I like it. I see the plot

The Mother: yeah, impossible to miss the clear signs

The Cauldron: Yeah, they're made for each other. Here comes Elain!

The Mother: okay, to your position. We have a story to start!

me waiting for Sarah's announcement

I realize that Lucien would probably rather chew on glass than wear the fox mask again but I've been obsessed with the idea of Elain in a fawn mask so I'm asking for some suspension of disbelief here. I imagine them dancing away at some Autumn Court ball (probably after Beron kicks the bucket), just for the vibes only.

@elucienweekofficial

Art by me/vivictory_draws on Instagram. Please do not repost anywhere without permission.

When you realize we aren’t getting our Elucien book for at least 4 years

✨☀️ 𝐸𝓁𝓊𝒸𝒾𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒟𝒶𝓎 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒 ☀️✨

✨ I saw this beautiful dress on Pinterest and it gave me such Elain vibes, but in Day Court? So I had to try and draw those two together. They absolutely own me. 🥺 ANYWHO, I’m loving this new style and painting the characters on rather than drawing them and being messy—there’s something fun about not having to follow the lines!

I think I found something...

Chapter 52 of ACOSF