If it wasn't for the bruises, Lucien would have thought that his two days in Autumn were a fever dream.
"Hurry up."
Lucien turned his head to the sentry assigned time escort him to the gate, and scowled.
He'd been growling at Lucien all morning, and by the mother if he wasn't so beat to hell...
Lucien gritted his teeth.
His horse tossed it's head, tugging at the bit, prancing uneasily beneath him.
The damn thing probably hated it there as much as he did.
The noon sun made the sharp autumn air almost pleasantly cool, countering the frigidity of morning and night.
A light breeze rustled the jewel colored leaves, and with every step the horses took, a crackle and intoxicating scent wafted up from the ones carpeting the ground.
Lucien grimaced, and shifted uneasily in the saddle.
How was it that he could so easily fall back in love with a court that hated him?
His body still suffered the fresh pain of his brothers' fury, and yet his heart was content.
Despite all this, what really concerned him was his mother's absence.
Why wasn't she here? Why had she fled directly after his father's death?
He had always known her to have a strong, capable spirit, and her whole life had been full of taking on responsibility that would break a lesser woman.
Why now would she abandon the court of her birth?
Lucien shook his head, brow furrowed.
None of this made sense.
Eris' change in disposition, his mother, and the ever present tug from the mating bond that Elain refused to accept, or deny.
"You can't take the horse, emissary."
Lucien started in the saddle, and turned to see he had mindlessly led his mount nearly to the entrance of the gate, his escort a distance behind him.
The male's helmet covered his face, no doubt hiding the disgust and irritation that was pouring off of him in waves.
Curling his lip, Lucien swung down off the horse, who nipped at his shoulder, the nasty thing.
Without another word to his former lord, the sentry swung both horses about and rode back the way they had come, leaving Lucien alone with his few travel bags and the gate before him.
He gritted his teeth, and his eye clicked in irritation as he hefted his bag onto a bruised shoulder.
...
"Will you not stay and rest here for at least a night, Lucien?"
Viviane's gentle, frosty eyes searched Lucien's face, her face etched with concern as she took in his injuries.
Kallias stood at her side, arm around her waist, brow furrowed.
Lucien merely shook his head, offering a polite smile.
"I deeply appreciate your hospitality, my Lord, my Lady, but I cannot waste any more of your time, nor my own."
The high lord and lady of Winter shared a glance, a wordless conversation between mates, and Lucien's heart squeezed as he fought to clear his mind of roses and iron engagement rings.
Kallias cleared his throat.
"We've sent a message to Rhysand, to send someone to fetch you in light of your condition."
Unlike his mate, Kallias still held wariness and distrust shoddily hidden in his glacial eyes for Rhysand's emissary, Tamlin's right hand, and the son of Beron Vanserra.
That he offered solace, had sat Lucien to sup at his table, and tolerated his presence even this long was a miracle surely wrought by his love for Viviane.
So Lucien bowed deeply and quietly expressed his thanks before taking his leave of his hosts, braving the first neck of the frosty trek to the gate to Night Court.
Somewhere in that stretch, if Rhysand deemed the request from Kallias worthy, one of the inner circle would come to deliver him back to his new court.
He winced, curving his shoulders against a frigid wind as his shoes sank and crunched in fresh powder, and again tried to forget that it also meant returning to his mate.
And with a shiver, a memory resurfaced and he realized he had more to face than Elain.
Namely, his betrayal.
And as shame filled him, as his body heated and his pulse raced, he wondered what that meant.
...
Rhysand, to Lucien's great dismay, had sent the winged buffoon, Cassian, to fetch him.
In the three hours it took to fly from the frozen lake in front of Kallias' palace to the House of Wind, Cassian made it his priority to not only fill the endless silence, but to fill it with profanities, embarrassments, crude humor, and other things that Lucien had previously deemed unspeakable.
The Ilyrian bastard also seemed to take great joy in risking both their skins for his own enjoyment.
By the time they landed on the terrace outside of the banquet hall, Lucien's face was pale and green, his stomach turning.
Beside him, Cassian stretched loudly, and put his hands on his hips, sighing contentedly.
Lucien attempted to measure his breathing, if only to avoid spilling his lunch on the marble, and fought the urge to snarl at Cassian, even as his golden eye chattered its own displeasure and narrowed in disdain at the warrior.
Cassian grinned lazily and reached out a hand, pounding Lucien on the back, making his injuries flare in pain as he was lurched forward.
"Welcome back, Emissary. Easy trip I hope?"
Lucien didnt bother hiding his scowl at Cassian's antagonistic comment, and that damned cocky smirk.
Anyone else.
Rhysand could've sent anyone else-
"But I so enjoy watching Cassian get under your skin, Little Lucien."
Lucien's skin crawled, as it always did when he heard the high lord of the night court's voice, and he turned to see Rhysand leaning against one of the great pillars just behind them, hands in the pockets of his black jacket.
"Dear Cass seems to be the only member of my court that can spark that resentful little fire in you."
Rhysand winked at Lucien and nodded his thanks to the ever impertinent general, as a little unwelcome voice in Lucien's head hissed with a laugh,
'Not the only member of your court.'
Lucien shook his head, his eye clicking nervously, and he met Rhysand's gaze, which had grown curious and bland, head cocked as though to study his emissary.
With another unsolicited chill up his spine, Lucien checked his mental shields to ensure that they were still standing and untampered.
They were.
And yet the daemati high lord before him narrowed his gaze ever so slightly before lazily pushing himself off of the pillar and sweeping into the banquet hall.
"Come on you two. The others are waiting."
Swallowing his nausea and discomfort, Lucien followed his new high lord into the warmly lit hall, keenly aware of Cassian's massive presence behind him.
The table came into view, already laden with food, the smell rich and intoxicating, despite the poor state of Lucien's stomach.
Morrigan and Amren sat side by side, a fact he noticed and quickly dismissed as his eyes avoided that horrible silver gaze, taking in the rest of the table.
Feyre sat across from them, beside the other Ilyrian warrior whose back was to him, wings hanging relaxed nearly to the floor.
Lucien's shoulders tensed at seeing Azriel, at the rosy scent that spiraled off of him like the shadows that whispered in his ears.
Elain.
Rhysand slid into the chair beside his own mate, beside Feyre, and kissed her hair before she turned and saw Lucien.
"Ah! Lucien! Welcome back, my friend."
His territorial jealousy forgotten for a moment, Lucien's chest warmed and loosened at a friendly face as he watched his high lady stand and meet him with a brief embrace.
His arm barked in pain when he returned her hug, but he stifled his groan in favor of a small strained smile.
"My lady," he said, bowing his head.
Feyre rolled her eyes and shook her head with a smirk.
"Will I never break you of that ridiculous habit Lucien? Ah, but never mind. Come! Sit!"
Lucien allowed himself the first true smile he had worn in weeks and let his high lady lead him to a seat beside Morrigan, far to near to the tiny terror for his comfort.
Silent and observant, Azriel sat across from him.
The constant scent of roses and rain pouring off of him taunted Lucien, made his blood boil.
His eye clicked and chattered.
Azriel tilted his head ever so slightly, as if listening, and lifted his gaze to Lucien's.
The blanket of tension turned sharp as the edge of a knife.
Lucien tensed and opened his mouth-
"So what do you have to report, Lucien?"
Rhysand's voice struck him like cold water, and the possessive fury died as he turned to look at his high lord.
Rhysand's violet eyes were hard and unyielding, but his face remained unchanged, relaxed, calm, and ever confident.
The rest of the inner circle was silent.
Lucien's antics had not gone unnoticed.
He cleared his throat.
The eye remained quiet.
"The reports were correct," he started, voice hollow.
"Eris is High Lord of Autumn."
The silence stretched once more as Rhysand and the others watched him, waiting for more.
For the life of him he could not find anything more to tell.
At least, nothing that wasn't oddly personal.
"Much has changed in your absence, little brother."
Lucien blinked hard at the memory as Rhysand's voice once again sliced through the silence, an irritated edge to it.
"And the other reports? Did he kill Beron?"
Lucien clenched his jaw and his hands twitched under the table, but he nodded and stared blankly ahead.
Feyre took in a deep breath and he saw her glance at Rhysand.
The High Lord lifted a hand to his mouth, his face thoughtful.
"So it is as we thought. Lucien, how did your brother seem? Will we have another Beron to deal with?"
Before he could answer, not that he would've known what to say, Morrigan cut in,
"Oh he's worse than his father, you can be sure of that. Beron wanted power. Eris craves suffering."
Her voice shook and Lucien turned his head in time to see a shiver travel down her body.
Rhysand paused before locking his gaze back on Lucien with a silent and persistent question.
His mind warred, scrambling for an answer.
What he had witnessed in Autumn was not his wicked older brother on a throne of tyranny.
It was not the Eris Vanserra who had laughed at the torment of others, who had exceeded their father's expectations and dealt out his punishment.
It was a world weary male who was losing his grip.
"Lucien."
Feyre snapped him out of his miserable reverie once more, and her eyes held not the impatience of her mate, but concern.
And more questions.
"I don't know. Eris is cunning. What I saw in Autumn and what we've all seen in the past centuries are not the same, but he won't jeopardize his power by showing his hand all at once. I do not know who we will be dealing with in the coming years."
That was the truth.
Lucien didn't know anything.
But a knot coiled in his gut, for it was not the entire truth.
A voice in his head screamed at him to tell them that he had seen weakness and mercy in his oldest brother that day.
But he remained silent as the rest of the circle discussed his words.
His half hearted shoddy report.
An overwhelming sense of dread and stimulation consumed him at once, and the voices at the table became too much as he stood abruptly and abandoned all manners.
"Please excuse me my lord. My lady."
Lucien inclined his head to Feyre and her mate before his feet dragged him of their own accord to the safety of his chambers.
He didn't bother to notice the smoke rising from charred handprints at his seat.
...
Every inch of his body was wired with a temper, confusion, and once again, arousal.
Lucien gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to tear through every breakable item in his rooms.
It was all... so much.
Would Eris be like their father? Would he be worse?
Once, Lucien would not have hesitated to agree with Morrigan about his eldest brother.
Once, he would have condemned and damned Eris with every breath in his body.
Once.
But in two days, everything he knew about Eris had been unwound, and now he felt lost.
"Out of all our brothers, I have the only right to call you brother."
Lucien let out a frustrated cry and started pacing the floor.
Elain's scent was driving him wild with need and even more frustration.
His mind was a flaming mess of arousal and anger and confusion.
He had yet to face the shadow nymph, Nuala, and now suffered from thoughts of her interrupting his ceaseless pining for his mate.
It killed him to know he had betrayed Elain and the Cauldron's design in such a way.
And it killed him not to have her dark lips wrapped around his cock.
Lucien hissed and clenched his fists, not knowing what to do with his hands when he wanted to hit something so badly.
Once upon a time, he might have taken his thoughts and confusions to Tamlin.
To his closest friend, who had killed for him, taken him in in his hour of need.
Yet another pain to deal with.
Now, he had no one.
Or rather, the friend he had now, Feyre, was his high lady. Whose mate Lucien still struggled to trust, struggled to serve, let alone beg advice from.
Although, if he was being truthful with himself, he had wanted to see his mother both to be reunited, and to ask for her help.
For words of wisdom from a female who had been married to a monster.
He stopped pacing and braced himself on the footboard of his bed, breathing hard, scrambling to bind his thoughts into a coherent stream.
Where in this cursed land could his mother be?
Why had she disappeared? Was fear of Beron the only force keeping her in Autumn? In her home?
And now that he had seen a new side to his eldest brother, Lucien wondered why their mother had abandoned him to lord over a land so filled with foxes and vultures.
Mother above he was going to go insane.
His head hung between his shoulders, hair limp around his dejected face.
He didn't understand anything.
Nothing that had happened within the past months made any sense.
And they kept getting worse and more perplexing.
A knock sounded behind him and he whirled, smelling her before he saw her.
"Nuala?"
A shadowy feminine figure came into view, standing at his now open doors, face serene.
"Hello, lord Lucien. Lord Rhysand has asked me to gather the rest of your report from Autumn. May I come in?"
Lucien's face heated and his eye clicked betraying his discomfort.
He shifted, willing himself to stop replaying the events of that night in his mind as he looked at her.
"Yes," he cleared his throat, "yes. Please."
He waved her inside awkwardly and she walked forward, weightless and elegant, stopping beside a set of chairs and gesturing for him to sit in the one across from her.
Lucien swallowed hard, every conflicting thought in his head silenced by the myriad of emotions he felt looking at Nuala.
Regardless, he joined her, avoiding eye contact as he sat in the chair that was far too close to her fragrant skin.
The silence between them became heavy and unbearable, so Lucien cleared his throat again.
"I ah... I am unsure where to start," he said hoarsely.
"From your arrival would be best," she responded, voice calm and quiet.
It tamed the chaos in his mind ever so slightly.
So he began, giving her the bits and pieces he remembered, and those he deemed worthy of the court and Rhysand knowing.
Her eyes roved his face when he brushed past the events of his fraternal abuse, as if searching for proof, or an intended injury.
She found none.
Though, his shoulder still ached violently.
Nuala remained silent and thoughtful until his recounting was done, but as she rose to her feet to leave, clearly satisfied with the information she had now to return to Rhysand, Lucien abruptly stood with her.
She glanced at him, a hint of a question in her dark eyes.
"I..."
A flush rose up his neck to his cheeks.
"I meant to speak with you... after... before I left, I suppose," he stammered.
Her face remained unchanged.
"Nuala, what happened that night... I- you wanted to help me and I thank you but..."
Mother above he was a blithering fool.
"But?"
Her voice, silken and cool, streamed through him like a fountain.
"But. I have a mate," he said slowly, trailing off, watching her expectantly.
His answer was clear, he thought, but she cocked her head ever so slightly.
"Forgive me my lord, but I am aware. Is that not the reason you require release?"
Lucien drew in a deep breath, lips pursed, fighting the urges her words were reigniting in him.
He paused, and before he could respond, she continued.
"I wish only to serve. You are emissary to my court, and as such you are responsible for much of our good will between courts and between the races of men and fae. My duty is to ensure that you let nothing come between you and your duties."
He gaped at her as she turned gracefully and began walking to the doors.
"Should you require my services, I shall serve."
Lucien's head was spinning and a strange sinking feeling caught in his chest.
This was not what he had expected from their talk.
This is not what he had... wanted?
What had he wanted?
My duty.
Was that why she had... serviced... him?
Simply duty to hearth and home?
He scoffed at himself, mind racing.
Of course it was.
"Wait."
Her fingers brushed the edge of the door before he called to her.
If this was nothing more than an aid, an outlet...
Was it really betraying Elain?
His skin felt tight, his flesh beneath barely contained.
Nuala turned and looked at him.
Through him.
"This... can never mean anything. I am mated."
Something inside of him felt sick.
"And it can never be known."
Nuala gave him a soft smile, and inclined her head.
And in a moment, she was before him, her cool hands on the heat of his skin, a temporary balm, a fleeting relief.
"I wish only to serve, my lord."