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Chapter Text

In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him.

Lucien had been a young boy. His brothers towered over him, menacing monoliths that pinched and swatted and kicked at him. Already, he was an expert at deflection, using humor to soften the blows and distract his violent family members. He often wondered if there was something wrong with him. Why he was soft and sensitive, when the other males in his family were hard and brutal. If they could sense that weakness in him, and if it was why they tortured him so.

A contingent of the Spring Court was due to arrive. Lucien had never met any of them, but the knowledge that his father and the High Lord of the Spring Court were friends made him wary. If Beron thought highly of someone, it was likely they were just as cutthroat as he was. He dutifully stood at the end of his line of brothers, back ramrod straight. They lined the path in front of the palace to greet their visitors. As the youngest and least important of the Vanserras, he was last in line, closest to the palace doors. He fidgeted under the heavy ceremonial cloak, digging his fingertips into the collar that suffocated him. A glance down the line revealed that his brothers were perfectly still. The only movement was from Atlas, who sneered at him. Atlas was exactly in the middle of the brothers, the fourth son. He was barely taller than Lucien now, but he made up for his small stature in cruelty.

Before Lucien could begin to contemplate how Atlas would punish his restlessness, the trumpets began to play a jaunty tune to announce the arrival of the Spring Court royalty. The stately procession passed by on horseback, first the High Lord, then his wife, then their three sons. The Spring High Lord’s eyes glazed over Lucien, not even deigning to glance down at him. The next three fae were the same, barely sparing a glance at the youngest of the Autumn Court’s brood. Humiliation boiled in Lucien’s gut. The royals in the other courts didn’t want to acknowledge him, even though he was just as likely to be the next High Lord as any of his brothers. Resisting the urge to turn his eyes to the ground in shame, he lifted his chin. The youngest prince of the High Court met his gaze and smiled. Lucien’s heart stopped beating.

He was a man, but only just so. Hints of a gangly teen peeked from within his muscular frame. He rode confidently on his horse, only the white knuckles clenched around the reigns any indication of nervousness. He was dressed like a warrior: a leather baldric crisscrossed with daggers encased his chest, and a bow and quiver of arrows were slung across his back. Long blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders and down his back, accented by a half-circlet of golden leaves perched behind each ear. The emeralds that adorned the circlet perfectly matched his eyes, which were still trained on Lucien.

It was then Lucien realized that he was staring at the golden prince, mouth agape. He snapped his mouth shut. The prince’s grin widened, and he nodded his head at Lucien as he passed by. Lightheaded, Lucien was barely aware that his brothers were moving, intending on following the delegation from the Spring Court into the palace.

A hand clamped down on the back of Lucien’s neck. “Move,” Atlas growled, shoving him forward. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Lucien mumbled. His usual smart mouth had deserted him. He had no idea what had just happened, only that the Spring Court prince smiling at him felt like the sun warming his face.

The meeting between the courts was just as boring as Lucien expected. He zoned out, allowing his gaze to roam across his father’s throne room. The complex political machinations of the High Lords didn’t interest him. Although it was theoretically possible for him to become High Lord someday, everybody knew that that was as likely to happen as an amicable human/fae relationship. Being a High Lord required a cunning, distrustful mind and a heart of stone. Lucien was just fine with that. Let his brothers contribute to the boring discussion. Let them worry about treaties and alliances and guerilla fighters and traitors.

There was one place that Lucien refused to let his eyes fall. The Spring Court royalty had introduced themselves; he now knew that the golden prince was named Tamlin. Lucien didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to acknowledge the fluttering in his chest when he saw the prince’s fine features and blazing green eyes.

Unfortunately, Lucien rarely got what he wanted. Drawn by some magnetic force, Lucien’s gaze landed on Tamlin. The other youngest son looked just as bored as Lucien. His arms were crossed, his fingers drumming a rhythmic beat against the handle of one of his knives. As Lucien watched, Tamlin glanced over and made eye contact. His mouth curved up into the shadow of a grin, and his fingers stopped tapping against the blade to twitch once in his direction. A clandestine greeting.

Despite the consequences of getting caught, Lucien smiled back, curling his own fingers into a returning wave. Tamlin’s eyes glowed, radiating a friendly warmth that Lucien had only ever received from his mother.

After the meeting, Beron extended an offer for the Spring Court to stay for a meal. They declined, High Lord Theon stiffly explaining that he had to return to his own land. In the shuffle to prepare the horses to ride back home, Lucien found Tamlin at his side.

“Hey,” Tamlin greeted him. His voice was soft, aware of the shrewd males that prowled throughout the courtyard, their ears pricked for any shred of gossip.

Lucien’s mouth was dry, but he managed to respond somewhat normally. “Hey.”

“You’re Lucien, right?”

He remembered my name. Lucien shoved down the pitiful, hopeful thought. “Yes.”

“Oh good! I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I heard all your brother’s names at once.”

Lucien would have expected a handsome, powerful prince like Tamlin to be perfectly self-assured. The stilted way he spoke, as if he wasn’t sure if he was going to offend or not, was strangely reassuring. “Yeah, there’s a lot of us. You’re Tamlin, right?”

“Yes.” Tamlin moved out of the way as a Lesser Fairy scuttled past, carrying a freshly scrubbed saddle. “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” Lucien answered, self-conscious. Not wanting Tamlin to think him a dull child, he asked, “How old are you?”

“Old,” Tamlin replied with a wink. “I guess you’re not into these High Lord meetings either, huh?”

“Not when they’re this boring, no,” Lucien answered honestly.

Tamlin laughed, the sudden loud sound causing a nearby servant to leap a foot in the air. “Maybe they’ll be more interesting when we’re the High Lords.”

“I’m not going to be High Lord,” Lucien replied. There was no self-pity in the statement. He had lived under the tyranny of High Lord Beron his whole life, and he had no intention of taking up his mantle.

Tamlin’s response shocked him. “Me either.”

Privately, Lucien thought that Tamlin would be a much better High Lord than both of their fathers combined. Before he could ask why, Tamlin’s eldest brother strode in between them. His left shoulder bumped Tamlin to the side, and his right shoulder almost bowled Lucien over completely. “Enough playtime, Tamlin. We’re leaving.”

Lucien’s face burned, either with rage or embarrassment. He expected Tamlin to realize that he was wasting his time with a child, and to leave quickly. Instead, Tamlin clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Maybe next time I’ll be able to stay a little longer. Until then, Lucien.” He effortlessly mounted his and took his place at the end of the line. Lucien watched until they were out of sight.

Lucien’s mother, Petra, came to his room every night to brush his hair before bed. He was definitely getting too old for that, but he was loathe to complain or tell her stop. Time that he got to spend with only his mother had withered away to only this hour in the evening. Petra’s nimble fingers carded through his hair, scratching against his scalp. Lucien’s eyes half-closed and he leaned back, cocooned in his mother’s warmth and autumnal scent.

“What did you think of the meeting today?” she asked.

Lucien tilted his head, considering. “It was pretty dull, and I didn’t understand most of it,” he admitted. His mother was the only person he could really be honest with. “I liked Tamlin, though.”

Petra hummed in agreement. “Tamlin is a sweet boy. A formidable warrior, but with a kind heart.”

Lucien mulled over this new bit of information. He shouldn’t be so shocked to hear that Tamlin was a warrior, especially since he came to the meeting fully armed. “He said he also doesn’t want to be High Lord.”

“I’m not surprised.” Petra was far more clever than anybody, including Beron, gave her credit for. “Being the High Lord is a very difficult position. It’s not for everyone. Males like you and Tamlin are destined for far greater things.”

This was what Lucien loved about his mother. She didn’t lie to him, try to assure him that he stood a chance of being High Lord. And she understood that it wasn’t something he aspired to in the first place.

He liked being grouped together with Tamlin.

“All done.” Petra stood up, leaving Lucien’s back cold. “Good night, my love.” She pressed a kiss to Lucien’s forehead before returning to her room.

That night, Lucien dreamed that he was a warrior. He fought back-to-back with Tamlin, their swords flashing in the face of a horde of shadowy enemies. They emerged victorious, and Tamlin smiled at him. Even in his dreams, Lucien’s heart skipped a beat.

Chapter Text

“The food this year sucks.”

“Nobody’s making you eat it.”

“What else am I supposed to eat?”

“I don’t know, but you could stop whining for three seconds.”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. Where’s Lucien anyway? He went to get drinks half an hour ago.”

“Why? You need something else to complain about?”

Lucien elbowed his way into the gaggle of muttering fae. “Calm down, I’m back. Eris was watching me like a hawk. Took me forever to grab enough for all of us.” He held up the three bottles of wine in one hand, the neck of each bottle wedged between two of his fingers. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

The group that followed Lucien was a medley of High Fae around his age that he had accumulated in the Autumn Court. As Lucien had grown, the fragile pretense that he had any chance of becoming High Lord had been shattered. His family went from training and tormenting him to straight up ignoring him. That suited Lucien just fine; he’d rather spend time with other low-ranking fae than be part of the upper echelon of the court.

It was the Autumn Equinox, which was Beron’s chance to throw a lavish party and show off his palace to the rest of the citizens of the Autumn Court. For Lucien, it was a chance to sneak off and get wildly drunk with his friends. Though he was considered a male of little importance, his father and brothers disliked him drinking in public, especially his eldest brother, Eris. They thought it made their family look bad. Of course, that only incentivized Lucien to find some more creative solutions, where he could have fun without constant supervision.

Calix, the male who had been complaining about the food, snatched one of the bottles out of Lucien’s hand. Both of his parents served as courtiers in Beron’s palace, and expected him to take up the mantle. Unfortunately for them, Calix was much more interested in dodging work and wooing females. “Why does Eris care so much about you taking drinks anyway?” he asked blithely, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Because he’s a control freak,” a female responded, taking the bottle from Calix’s hand and downing a gulp of the sweet wine herself. Thana was a migrant from the Winter Court, and had helped organize the equinox party. She was the oldest of the group, and held no true loyalty to any court. Winter, Autumn, it was all the same to her, as long as she got paid.

They reached their destination, still enumerating on Eris’s many flaws. Lucien laughed openly as they settled in the dim corner of one of the palace’s courtyards. There was a small gazebo and a large round table surrounded by comfortable, threadbare chairs. It was close enough to the bulk of the party that they could hear what was going on, but far enough away from them to have some fun in peace. These friends, all of whom held Lucien’s family in similar disdain, were what made Lucien’s life bearable.

The wine was passed around, each fairy taking careless swigs straight from the bottle. Lucien allowed the heady drunkenness to wash over him. He smiled lazily and sank back in his chair, content for now to simply enjoy the antics of his friends. Calix was, as he did every time he had wine, challenging everyone to an arm-wrestling contest. He was busy losing against another male, Arif, when a light fell over the group. The playful banter stopped. Lucien turned and squinted, taking in the new figure that brandished the orb of light floating above his outstretched palm.

“Hey, sorry. I heard voices over here…I can go.”

Lucien recognized Tamlin immediately, though he hadn’t seen the other male in decades. He looked just as Lucien remembered: plainly dressed, with beautiful golden hair that draped over his shoulders like a curtain. Lucien scrambled to his feet.

“It’s okay, you can stay.” He ignored the pointed looks from his friends, who watched with a mix of amusement and confusion. Despite Tamlin’s unadorned appearance, it was clear that he was royalty. It shone from him, as brightly as the magic light cradled in his hand. Exactly the type of person that Lucien usually scorned.

Tamlin examined him, head tilted to the side. “Lucien, correct?” he hesitated, clearly aware of his precarious social position. Lucien nodded, and Tamlin relaxed, just a little bit, and smiled. “I haven’t seen you in ages. You’ve grown.”

That was an understatement. Since Lucien had hit puberty, he had shot upward like a weed, and was now among the tallest of his brothers. Only Orion, the second eldest, was taller than him. Lucien noted, with no small degree of satisfaction, that he stood several inches higher than the Spring Court prince. He was overwhelmed by the urge to show off his companions, to make jokes and laugh at the pompous opulence of the courts. To show that he had grown, in both appearance and emotional maturity, and was no longer a shy child lurking at the end of a line of giants.

“Come, join us.” Lucien took Tamlin by the forearm and dragged him to the seat next to his. “Everyone, this is Tamlin, from the Spring Court.”

The group eyed Tamlin distrustfully. “You’re High Lord Theon’s youngest, aren’t you?” Calix asked, though it was clear that he knew the answer already. Suspicion among the fae heightened. None of them were terribly fond of the High Lords.

“Unfortunately,” Tamlin grimaced. The tension dissipated; Tamlin having passed an unspoken test. The others introduced themselves, and Thana made sure to pass Tamlin one of the bottles of wine. He threw his head back as he drank. A drop of blood-red wine spilt from the corner of his mouth, down the line of his throat. Lucien watched, transfixed, as the droplet fled down Tamlin’s open tunic and collected against his delicate collarbone. It smudged against his shirt, leaving a purple stain. Tamlin caught him looking and frowned, glancing down at his own chest to see what Lucien was staring at. He pressed one finger over the stain on his chest, and when he removed it, the stain was gone.

Lucien came back to himself all at once. Internally chiding himself (and blaming his odd behavior on the wine), he allowed his ears to tune back into the conversations happening around him. Calix wasted no time dragging him into an argument he was having with Arif about which court served the best liquor. The debate was as lively as it was pointless, and the friends were soon alternating between heated shouting and helpless giggling. Even Tamlin chimed in, citing the fizzing strawberry cordial from the Spring Court as the most decadent drink to be had.

Time passed quickly, the way it does when one is having a good time with good people. Nobody from the court ever bothered to track down Lucien at these types of events. It was an unspoken agreement that it was better for him to stay out of the way, out of the public eye. Lucien drank and he laughed. He arm-wrestled Calix and Arif and was trounced soundly both times. He danced and he sang, making up off-color lyrics to the muffled music being played at the event. Somebody had taken his chair, and before he could pout for too long, Thana pulled him onto her lap. There was nothing lascivious in her touch, just the warmth and security of friendship.

Tamlin blossomed to life, right before their eyes. He joked and hollered with the rest of them, his shyness having long been beaten into submission by the wine. After making the fatal mistake of admitting that he played the fiddle, he acquiesced to their drunken demands for him to perform. He disappeared for a few minutes, leaving them to wonder if he had abandoned them for good. When he returned bearing a fiddle that he had convinced one of the members of the band to lend him, Lucien was inexplicably relieved. Tamlin rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, cradled the fiddle between his chin and neck, and began to play.

Miraculously, the entire group stopped talking. The song Tamlin chose was haunting, bittersweet, filled with longing and tragedy. Lucien was unable to tear his eyes away. He had been raised to believe that musicians were all fanciful airheads, making silly notes with their silly instruments to entertain the fairies that were actually important. Tamlin played as if the instrument were a part of himself, and he was revealing the innermost workings of his soul to his audience. When Tamlin finished to raucous applause, Lucien was mortified to find that he had tears in his eyes.

Evening gave way to night, gave way to early morning. One by one, Lucien’s friends excused themselves, retiring to their various beds, which mostly belonged to them. Calix and Thana stumbled away together, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Their friends-with-benefits thing was a poorly-kept secret in the group, and went largely unacknowledged. Soon, it was just Lucien and Tamlin in the courtyard.

“I should probably return this before the band leaves,” Tamlin gestured to the fiddle. “Want to walk back with me?”

“Sure.” Lucien swayed as he stood. Tamlin put out a hand to steady him, that paradoxically made Lucien feel even more unstable. They walked side by side, back to the main event, which was starting to wind down. Lucien threw back his head and gazed up at the stars, savoring these last few moments of freedom. “Will your family care that you disappeared for the entire party?”

Tamlin chuckled. “No, nobody else in my family came. It’s just me.”

“Oh. Why’d you come then?”

“I don’t know. I thought it would be fun.” Tamlin changed the subject. “Does your family care?”

“No.” A scowl marred Lucien’s untroubled face. “They don’t care about anything I do.”

“Mine is the same way.”

There was nobody else, Lucien realized, that actually understood. Being the youngest son of a merciless High Lord, older brothers constantly at each other’s throats. Trapped in a family of royal affluence: nobody wanted or expected them to rule, but they were powerless to choose their own destinies.

Tamlin stopped them at the outskirts of the main party. “Thank you for allowing me to join you tonight. I’m not…great…at social events like this.”

On most people, the awkward fumbling would have been unappealing. Instead, Lucien found it charming. “Yeah, it was fun. I’m glad you got to loosen up a bit.”

Too late, Lucien realized that what he said could be taken as an insult. He braced himself to apologize, but Tamlin only grinned. “Me too.” He thoughtfully appraised Lucien, head tilted in consideration. “I have a feeling that you are a bad influence that more fae sorely need, Lucien Vanserra.”

Never before was Lucien so grateful that it was too dark to make out the flush that set his entire face aflame. “Well, somebody has to do it.” Unable to maintain eye contact any longer, Lucien hurried into the light of the main party. Tamlin’s footsteps were behind him for a few seconds, but when Lucien finally had the courage to turn around and look, the Spring Court prince was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Text

Having a family that didn’t give a shit about him was working out just fine for Lucien. Of course he still loved his mother, but as he matured and passed his first century of life, she had withdrawn her affection from him. Lucien didn’t hold it against her; he knew that if Petra tried to smother him with motherly adoration, he would be targeted by his brothers and torn to shreds. And he could only hope that it was figurative. Instead, his biological family ignored him, and he was free to make a new family for himself. A family that actually cared about him, that thought he was hilarious and fun to be around.

As he grew, he was able to pinpoint exactly what was wrong with him. He had flirted with females throughout his life, but he never had any desire to do much more than that. Not the way he did with males. It was frowned upon, seen as an unforgivable weakness. But Lucien had found that there were others like him. Other males who wanted to touch him, kiss him, introduce him to a world of pleasure. As he neared his second century, he was by no means inexperienced.

Still, nothing in his life could have prepared him for Jesper.

Lucien had taken to exploring the countryside of the Autumn Court on horseback. Stirred by the thrill of complete freedom, he would take off for days at a time without telling anybody except the servant that cleaned his room that he was going. The palace bored him. Life there was dull, artificial. It seemed to be a particularly vindictive ring of Hell that his father and brothers voluntarily ensconced themselves in: to be immortal, to be young and healthy and strong for millennia, and to waste that time skulking around a palace waiting for a family member to stab you in the back. Much better to be out in the middle of nowhere, his horse’s hooves eating up the miles between him and the court, his hair whipped behind him by the wind.

On this trip, he had made it to the coastline that bordered the eastern edge of the Autumn Court, trotting through the sparsely planted sand dunes. He had no idea that there was someone bent down in one of the sand hollows until he was almost on top of them. The humanoid shadow startled Lucien, and he instinctively jerked on the reins. His horse reared back, unceremoniously dumping Lucien to the ground. The air rushed out of his lungs when he landed on his back, still trying to figure out what exactly was happening. The receding thunder of hoofbeats alerted him that his horse had taken off without him, along with his tent and all of his food. Great, he thought sourly, glaring up at the sky. Now I’m going to die out here.

His melodramatic self-pity was interrupted by a figure blotting out the sunshine overhead. “What are you doing here?” a voice demanded.

Lucien fought to prop himself up on his elbows. Whatever caustic remark he was about to make died on his tongue when he saw who he had almost trampled.

The male was short and slender, casually dressed in an oversized tunic that gaped around his neck and exposed the delicate flute of his throat and most of his chest. Straight black hair, a stunning contrast to his peachy skin, brushed over his rounded ears and against his shoulders. His face was statuesque, with almond-shaped eyes, a long straight nose, and deliciously plush lips. It would have been one of the most beautiful faces he had ever seen, if it weren’t twisted with distrust. His jet-black eyes were narrowed, that exquisite mouth pursed in a frown.

In an effort to reorient himself, Lucien tried to push himself up into a sitting position. He’d feel less vulnerable sitting upright than he was on his back, and maybe he could find his tongue. At the first sign of movement, the other fairy shoved him on the shoulder, sending him back down to his elbows. “I said, what are you doing here?”

A shadow flared up behind the male, and Lucien instinctively flinched. The shadow moved again, and this time Lucien was able to focus on its source: a pair of wings that jutted out from the male’s back. They were butterfly wings, a symphony of oranges and reds arranged in a stained-glass pattern, with each shape outlined in black. Lucien had never seen anything like it.

All at once, Lucien realized that he had been asked the same question twice and had done little more than gape like an idiot in response. “I live here.”

“No you don’t.” The furious expression on the stranger’s face hadn’t wavered, and if anything was growing more incensed. “I live here. You’re trespassing. And you almost killed me.”

“I’m not trespassing!” However striking this male was, his accusations made Lucien defensive. “I am a prince in the Autumn Court. This is all my land.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, Lucien regreted them. That entitled attitude was exactly why he hated his family so much. They thought that they owned everything and everybody in the court, to do with them as they pleased. Lucien knew better than that.

The stranger snorted. “You High Fae are all the same. Arrogant bastards.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucien snapped.

“I think you know exactly what it means.” The stranger stepped back, a contemptuous flick of his head all to indicate that it was safe for Lucien to move. The revulsion in his tone made Lucien’s insides squirm in shame. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t stupid. He knew that there was tension between the lesser fae and the High Fae, and for a good reason. The High Fae were arrogant bastards, often treating other fairies as little more than barely sentient animals. Lucien had always detested that way of thinking. And here he was, acting exactly like his loathsome brothers.

“Look, I’m sorry. You’re right, I was being shitty. I am trespassing, and I did almost kill you. I’m sorry.” Lucien offered his most charming smile. “Please, let’s start again. I’m Lucien.”

“Jesper.” The male was still regarding him suspiciously, clearly not placated by Lucien’s apology. “What’s a prince doing this far from the court?”

Lucien grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m barely a prince.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m the seventh son of High Lord Beron. I have no chance of succeeding him, and so nobody really cares about who I am. I was just exploring the countryside. You know, goofing off, fucking around.”

“I see.” Jesper’s tone remained neutral, but there was a hint of warmth in his expression that hadn’t been there before. It emboldened Lucien to ask a question of his own.

“What were you doing in the sand anyway?”

Jesper hesitated, then held out a basket that Lucien hadn’t noticed. Inside were bundles of one of the types of grass that sprouted in the dunes. These ones were long and stringy, and looked wholly unappetizing.

“Do you…eat it?” Lucien inquired. He didn’t want to offend the other fairy any more than he already had, but he was struggling to come up with something nice to say about the fibrous collection.

Rather than snap at him, Jesper threw back his head and laughed. The sound was pure, unrestrained joy. Lucien made a mental note to try hear it as often as possible. “No, we don’t eat it. It’s to make fishing nets.”

“Oh.” He picked up one of the bundles, running his fingers over the grass. It was dry, but supple. He supposed he could see why it would be good material to make a net. “I’ve never been fishing before.”

“Is that your subtle way of asking me to show you how to fish?” Jesper’s words were pointed, but Lucien was encouraged by the teasing note in them. This kind of playful back-and-forth was far more familiar ground than the outright hostility.

“Well, I didn’t think it was that subtle. Guess I’ll have to be more forward next time.” He grinned cheekily. Jesper merely raised his eyebrows, but Lucien could tell that he was at least a little charmed by him. He was good at reading people, and especially other young males.

They had taken maybe a dozen steps before Lucien remembered something. “Oh fuck, my horse! I need to find her, she has all of my supplies.”

Jesper was unconcerned. “She’ll probably be at the village. There are other horses there, and fresh water. Any horse with half a brain would make it there.” He glanced over at Lucien. “Though this is your horse, so half a brain might be asking a bit too much.”

“Ha ha,” Lucien intoned. He was relieved to hear that. His horse was clever, and would have the instincts to make her way towards civilization rather than wandering off into the wilderness.

The Anosians lived in a sprawling settlement on an outcrop of rocks between the sand dunes. There were less than a hundred living there, Jesper explained, but there were similar camps all along the coastline. The buildings themselves were low and slate gray, but the colorful wings of their inhabitants lent a vibrant atmosphere to the village. Lucien braced himself to be mobbed by irate townsfolk. After all, he stood out like a sore thumb: a tall, ginger, dark-skinned sore thumb. As Jesper guided him through the town, he received nothing more than curious stares.

“Where are we going?”

Jesper waved to a pair of beautiful Anosian females with iridescent blue wings. They giggled, and Lucien felt a stab of well-acquainted jealousy. “To my house. I need to drop this cordage off, then grab a net I’ve already made. Then we’ll go to the beach and I’ll show you how to use it.”

Though Jesper was clearly warming up to Lucien, he wouldn’t let him inside his house. While Lucien waited, a familiar nickering and gust of hot hair snuffled at the back of his neck. He was relieved that his horse had made it to the Anosian village, and had managed to find him again. When Jesper stepped out of his home with a net slung over one shoulder, Lucien was smoothing his hands over the horse’s neck and murmuring sweet assurances under his breath.

“If you want, we can take her to the stables, and she can get brushed and fed while we fish,” Jesper offered. Lucien thought that was a fine idea, even more so when he actually saw what the Anosians referred to as “stables.” A wide grassy field, overlooking the sapphire sea, dotted with fruit trees and ponds of freshwater. The Anosian horses trotted over, unafraid, curiously nosing through Lucien’s hair and clothing. Lucien was delighted; he loved animals, horses especially. He was the only one of his brothers that the palace horses weren’t afraid of, because he was the only one who didn’t whip and scream at them. He chuckled when one of them nibbled the end of one of his braids. Turning his head to free himself, he caught Jesper watching him intently. “What?” he asked, but Jesper merely shrugged and indicated that they should go.

Lucien finally extricated himself from the prying horses and followed Jesper to the beach. A chilly wind tugged at his tunic and ruffled the free pieces of hair around the side of his face. Despite the cold air and even colder water, Jesper rolled up his pants and waded ankle-deep into the surf. Lucien kicked off his riding boots and followed suit, trying not to shiver. Jesper unfurled the net from his shoulder and gave a brief introduction to it, pointing out the row of weights along the bottom and the long handline that he secured around his wrist.

“Toss it out with a bit of a twist, so the net opens up before it hits the water. Let it sink for a couple seconds, then jerk on the handline to trap the fish and haul the net in.” With that, he handed the net over and stepped back to observe.

Lucien tried his best, he really did. He was a formidable warrior and hunter. He could hit a deer in the eye with an arrow from a hundred yards away. But he had never worked with something as unwieldy as the cast net, and certainly not with ice cold water sloshing up his legs while his feet sank down into sand. His first toss barely got the net in front of him, but it refused to open. The second and third throws were worse, now that the net was weighed down with seawater. By his fifth toss, he somehow managed to get the net tangled around his own feet.

“Wow, you’re terrible at this,” Jesper commented. He was hovering in the air above the water, his citrine wings slowly beating to keep him aloft. While he wasn’t openly laughing at Lucien, he was clearly amused, his mouth curled up in a smirk.

“Yeah, no shit.” Lucien freed himself without falling over, which he thought was a tremendous feat deserving of praise. “Any chance you could help me out?”

“Fine.” Jesper landed back in the water without creating so much as a ripple. Lucien was expecting more verbal instruction, and sucked in a gasp when the Anosian stepped up behind him, close enough that his chest was pressed against Lucien’s back. He moved his hands down Lucien’s arms, coaching him through the movement. Unfortunately, his touch was so distracting that the next cast was the worst one of all. At first, Lucien was embarrassed. He felt dirty, the way he always did when he found another male’s presence that intoxicating. But when he looked back at Jesper, he was grinning wickedly.

“You did that on purpose!” Lucien accused. He didn’t dare be hopeful enough to think that Jesper was actually flirting with him. But the coy mockery was infinitely preferable to open disgust.

“Maybe.” Jesper took the net out of Lucien’s hands, straightened it out, and cast it in the air. It soared out and landed on the water in a perfect circle. He hauled the hand line in, the motion effortless in his capable hands. With the last tug, he pulled the net onto the sand, full of wriggling silver fish. Lucien had no choice but to be impressed.

“What are they?” he asked, taking one out of the net. It was larger than his palm and metallic as a silver coin.

“Surfperch. They’re small, but tasty. If I do a couple more casts there will be plenty for everyone to eat, including you. If you wanted to stay.” For the first time since they had met, Jesper seemed unsure of himself. He wouldn’t look at Lucien, and instead busied himself with picking the fish out of the net.

“I’d love to stay.” Lucien bent down to help Jesper with the net. Jesper met his gaze and smiled. He had a shiny fish scale stuck to his cheek, and another in his eyelashes. Lucien’s stomach flipped, and he had an unshakeable feeling that his life with Jesper was only just beginning.

Chapter Text

Being with Jesper was like coming back to life. A life that had once been dull and gray was now full of color. In spite of the tragedy that befell them, Lucien wouldn’t have traded his years with Jesper for anything.

After his first meeting with the Anosian, Lucien’s aimless horseback rides gained a purpose. Every day he would ride to the coast. At the first whiff of sea salt in the air, his heart would fill with light. He liked the Anosians. They lived in small family groups, and communally subsided off what they could glean from the ocean and the surrounding countryside. They were kind and open-minded. Children were treated well by their fathers. Older siblings cared for their younger siblings. It was an entirely different world than the one Lucien was accustomed to.

And then, there was Jesper.

Jesper liked to tease and argue. The Anosians had fast metabolisms, and he was always moving. It was like being swept up in a tidal wave, one that Lucien gladly succumbed to. Their time together was spent in the ocean, on the dunes, and up the nearby rolling hills. Jesper would leap and dance ahead, often taking flight, forgetting that Lucien was earthbound. His delicate wings weren’t strong enough to carry another person, which left Lucien scrambling on foot, always chasing his coveted quarry. Lucien finally caught him, 200 feet in the air, in the upper branches of a coastal redwood tree. Jesper was perched on a branch thinner than his wrist, breathing easily. Lucien was red-faced and hanging on for dear life.

“What are we doing up here again?” Lucien panted. He was by no means afraid of heights, but it was likely a fall from this height would be enough to kill even a High Fae.

“Nothing.” Jesper jumped down to the branch Lucien was clinging to, making it wobble in a terrifying manner.

“Nothing? What do you mean nothing? You said we were gathering pinecones or something.”

“I lied. We collect the pinecones from the ground.”

“Why would you do that?!” Lucien’s voice was high-pitched in dismay.

Jesper leaned forward, and Lucien disregarded his irritation. No matter how many times he saw it, Jesper’s face never failed to take his breath away. “I wanted to see if you would follow me.”

The air felt thin, and not just from the elevation. “I would follow you anywhere,” Lucien breathed.

Slender hands clasped the back of his neck. Slowly, as if he thought Lucien would change his mind, Jesper brought their mouths together. Lucien would no sooner pull away than he would leap from the branch they were rested on. The kiss was slow and sweet. It lasted for centuries, and yet was over way too soon.

“How did you know?” Lucien mumbled against the other male’s exquisite lips.

“You’re not very subtle,” Jesper smiled and kissed him again. And just like that, everything was different.

Lucien started spending several days at a time in the Anosian settlement. Jesper’s parents and sister were still in the village, but Jesper lived alone. His home (which Lucien was finally allowed inside of) was cozy and eclectic. Jesper was fond of picking up anything interesting he found and taking it home. Shells, bones, strange branches, pretty rocks. All of it was crammed together on shelves in and cabinets. Lucien was now in the same habit himself. Whenever he was home at the palace, he would gather seed pods and flowers and stones from the royal gardens to bring back to Jesper. The Anosian had never left the coastline, and would ask Lucien endless questions about the objects he brought with him.

If the days with Jesper were thrilling, the nights with him were pure bliss. Wrapped in his love’s arms, the furnace of his body heat was a welcome shield to keep the night chill at bay. Jesper dragged his fingers over Lucien’s face as if trying to memorize his features. He traced over Lucien’s eyebrows, his closed eyes, his cheeks, his nose. One fingertip settled on the dip between his nose and his mouth.

“My grandmother told me a story about where this comes from.” Even though it was just the two of them, they always whispered in bed. As though, if they were too loud, they would break through the peaceful bubble they were in and all the bad things in the world would invade. “She said that when each fae is growing in the womb, they are studying. They have piles of books to read and artwork to look at and music to listen to. It’s a school, and the teachers are all of our ancestors that have passed away. They teach us everything we will ever learn in our lives. And then, right before we’re born, one of them hits us right here—” Jesper tapped the divot above Lucien’s mouth. “—and we forget everything. And then we must spend the rest of our lives trying to relearn all that knowledge.”

Lucien considered that. He didn’t know any family members that had died. All of his grandparents had passed long before he had been born, and his remaining family was still alive. The idea that some long-gone ancestor that he would never even know about teaching him everything he needed to know was, in a way, comforting.

“Yours is smaller than mine,” he commented, putting his own fingertips on the dip above Jesper’s mouth. “That must mean that you never learned as much, and they didn’t have to hit you as hard.”

Jesper playfully snapped at Lucien’s fingers. “Or it means they didn’t hit me as hard and so I’ve forgotten less, and therefore I’ll always be smarter than you.”

Lucien chuckled. “Okay then, Wise One. Did you remember anything about me?”

“Oh yes.” Jesper curled around so he was laying on top of Lucien, their bare flesh still slick with sweat. “Why do you think I brought you here that first day I met you?”

“I thought it was my charming personality.”

“It’s because I knew, even then, that you would be everything to me.” Jesper replaced his finger with his mouth, kissing Lucien like he was the most important thing in the world. One of his arms worked its way between them, grazing its way downward across his torso.

Lucien hadn’t known it was possible to be wanted like this. “I love you,” he gasped as Jesper’s hand closed around him.

Jesper’s mouth had moved down his neck to his chest, and he murmured, “I love you,” against Lucien’s salty skin.

It was several years before Lucien could convince Jesper to visit him. He had never travelled that far from his home, and he had heard too many stories about how lesser fae were treated in the court. But Lucien was insistent, and despite his contrary nature, Jesper wanted to make Lucien happy.

Lucien wasn’t stupid enough to bring Jesper to the palace, of course. They went to a bar in the middle of the city, one he frequented with his friends. Not everyone had been able to make it, the most notable absence being Tamlin. By now, Lucien was able to recognize that he had had a crush on the Spring Court prince. His affections would never be returned, and he was deliriously happy with Jesper. He was content for them to be close friends. Tamlin was High Lord now, though, and not able to travel between courts for a single night of drinking and tomfoolery.

Jesper wouldn’t admit it, but Lucien could tell he was nervous. He clung to Lucien’s arm, his wings tightly clutched against his back. There was no need: Lucien had been talking about Jesper for years, and his friends knew how important this was. In fact, Lucien was far more likely to be embarrassed tonight. There had been many get togethers when he had waxed on and on about how much he loved the Anosian, to the point where he had been forbidden to speak.

Halfway through the evening, Jesper had visibly relaxed. His wings fluttered behind him, flashing between subdued brown on the outside and vibrant orange on the inside. Lucien got up to get more drinks from the bar, and Thana followed him.

“You know this isn’t going to work,” she said flatly.

Lucien didn’t bother pretending not to know what she was talking about. “It’ll be fine.”

“I can’t believe you even brought him here. What if your family finds out?”

“My family doesn’t give a shit about what I do or who I’m with,” Lucien scoffed. “I could tell them that I’m with a human and they wouldn’t care.” He reached out for the drinks only to have Thana halt him with a hand on his forearm.

“Lucien, you know I care about you. And I know how much you love him. But it’s not going to work.”

He tried to look away, but she grabbed his chin and forced him to make eye contact. He could see how serious she was, how badly she needed him to listen. But he was too lovesick and too stubborn to hear it.

“Yes, it will,” he snapped, jerking his head away from her. “We’re going to be together. I’m going to move to his village and we’re going to get married, and my family will forget I ever existed.”

Thana frowned, gazing at him sadly. He was suddenly aware that he didn’t know how old she was. Only that she was older than him, older than all of his brothers, older than Tamlin. Centuries of wisdom that he ignored with his youthful arrogance.

“I hope you’re right,” she murmured. She took the drinks from him, leaving him to follow her back to their table empty-handed. Lucien was grateful that she didn’t bring up the subject again, and neither did anyone else.

Beron summoning Lucien to the throne room was never a good sign. At this point, his father didn’t even bother reprimanding him for his uncouth behavior. Lucien’s presence was only requested when it would be considered odd to have a member of the royal family missing. He braced himself for a long, tedious evening with foreign dignitaries, trying not to fall asleep while standing up.

The tension in the throne room was so thick that Lucien could sense it before he even opened the door. Inside, he was troubled to find a small huddle of people in front of the throne, rather than a long procession of courtiers and nobles. He was even more alarmed by the figure curled up on the ground, tied together by their wrists and ankles. Atlas, the middle Vanserra and captain of the guard, had one foot braced on the figure’s shoulder, putting enough pressure to keep them held in place.

“What’s going on?” Lucien asked, apprehensive. Everyone’s head snapped up. It was only his parents, his six brothers, and a small contingent of guards. Far fewer people than he would expect for a royal assembly.

“Why don’t you tell us?” Beron demanded. He nodded at Atlas, who dug his fingers into the bound figure’s hair and jerked their head up. Lucien’s stomach dropped away. He had made a grave, fatal error, and he was going to pay for it. Jesper lay in front of him, in his cruelest brother’s hands, his beautiful wings pinned together with iron hooks.

Chapter Text

“Let him go,” Lucien demanded. He meant to sound authoritative, but his voice quivered in terror. His eyes were glued on Jesper, who was on his knees. The only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor was Atlas’s hold on his hair, which was clearly supporting most of Jesper’s body weight. So far, he seemed relatively unhurt, but his black eyes were wide in alarm.

“You must think us fools, to think you could get away with this…perversion unnoticed.” Beron’s lip curled in disgust. Lucien looked to his mother, pleading silently for mercy. Her mouth tightened, but she did nothing.

“I don’t, I swear I don’t. I just…” Lucien scrambled for the right words, the ones that would free both him and Jesper. But his mind was a static wall of panic that overwhelmed every thought.

“And yes, we let you play your little games for years,” his father continued. “You thought you were oh so clever, sneaking off to this creature’s slum day after day.”

“How did you—you followed me?” The stone floor dropped out from under Lucien’s feet and he fell into darkness. The years of confidence in his secret relationship were destroyed as easily as a hand can wipe away a spiderweb.

“I indulged in your childish fantasies, expecting you to grow up eventually. And then mere days ago, you had the gall to bring that thing—” Beron spat, jerking his chin toward the prone Anosian. “—here, to my city. You paraded your sick relationship around my people. And I came to understand that I had been far too lenient. You clearly aren’t mature enough to learn this lesson yourself. So I will have to teach it to you.”

Those words triggered a flurry of activity. Atlas drew a dagger from his belt and shoved Jesper onto the ground. Lucien cried out and tried to intervene, but a pair of strong hands clasped on either one of his arms. He writhed and wrenched, desperate to escape, but he was helpless. His two eldest brothers, Eris and Orion, flanked him, each holding one of his arms. He maybe could have overpowered one of them, but against both, he was outmatched. His remaining brothers stepped back, leaving Jesper alone with Atlas in a circle of foes.

“Please, Father, let him go,” Lucien pleaded. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way that his beloved Jesper was in the hands of his family, about to punished for his mistake. “I didn’t think, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t think?” Beron laughed an ugly laugh. “Don’t play coy with me, boy. I’ll tell you exactly what you thought. You thought that you could do whatever you want, regardless of how it would reflect on this family. I granted you more freedom than your worthless hide deserved, and you used that freedom to humiliate us. Did you really think I’d let my son be seen with a male? And a lesser fae at that? No.” He nodded to Atlas, who put a foot in the middle of Jesper’s back, between his wings, pressing him into the ground. “This is for your own good. Maybe now, you will learn a little thing about discretion, and family loyalty.”

Atlas mercilessly ripped the hooks out of Jesper’s wings, then grabbed one of them in his free hand, stretching it taut. Bracing himself against Jesper’s body with his foot, he used the dagger to begin sawing Jesper’s wing off at its base. Jesper, who until now had been stoic, began to scream.

Lucien wailed and begged until his throat was hoarse. He promised that he would never see Jesper again, that he would stay in the palace for the rest of his life. He promised that he would leave, disappear into the wilderness, and Beron could tell everyone that he had died. He promised to marry a female, a noble, a High Fae, and have children with her. Anything, if he would spare Jesper. Beron ignored him. The mingled sounds of Jesper’s cries of pain and Lucien’s pleading echoed through the throne room as Atlas cut off first one wing, then the other. He discarded the gorgeous wings, the orange now dulled and stained with blood. Lucien pulled against his brothers with all his might, but remained held fast. Orion leaned down to whisper in his ear, his breath hot and rancid against Lucien’s face, “This is your fault, you sick fuck.”

Finally, it was done. Jesper swayed back and forth, on the verge of unconsciousness from the blood loss. He managed to lift his head up to meet Lucien’s gaze. Incredibly, he smiled, the soft sweet smile that was reserved only for Lucien. “I love you,” he mouthed.

Beron frowned. “Enough of this. Finish it.” Atlas nodded and, without further delay, swiped the dagger across Jesper’s throat. Lucien saw his lover’s eyes dim and fade, and when Atlas stepped back and let go of him, he crumpled onto the floor.

Lucien had believed that watching Jesper tortured was the worst thing imaginable until he saw his lifeless body slump over. He screamed again, a wordless cry that tore at his throat and filled his mouth with blood. Unbelievably, his brothers still would not release him.

“Please, let me go,” he implored. “I just want to say goodbye. Please, just let me see him.”

Beron rose from his throne, flicking invisible dust motes from his shoulder. “Eris, Orion, keep him still until we get this taken care of.” The stone-faced guards in the room stepped forward as Beron swept out, followed by Petra, who didn’t spare her grieving son a backwards glance. Lucien was held in place until the guards rolled Jesper’s body up in a sheet and unceremoniously tossed him on a cart, which was taken away. They held on to him until servants scuttled in and gathered Jesper’s wings and cleaned the blood off the stone floor until it shone. Only then was Lucien released. He fell to his knees, weeping at his family’s cruelty. How, even to the end, Beron wouldn’t grant him the minute mercy of letting him hold Jesper’s body before it was taken away. To say he was heartbroken would be to call a hurricane a drizzle. He was body-broken, soul-broken, mind-broken. Everything in him died with Jesper.

Lucien left that very night. His grief had filled him, threatened to overwhelm him, and then drained away to leave an empty husk behind. It actually helped in his escape, to be able to act without thinking or feeling. He methodically packed his things and wrote a note that he would leave on his bed. The note was simple; he formally renounced his title as a prince of the Autumn Court and a son of High Lord Beron. After a quick trip to the palace kitchens to steal some supplies for his journey, he saddled up his horse and took off.

Without thinking about it, he went south. In the south was the Spring Court, and Tamlin. Tamlin’s father had been closely allied with Beron, but Tamlin was a different kind of High Lord altogether. He didn’t have a plan beyond crossing into the Spring Court, he just knew he needed to get out of Autumn as soon as possible. In Spring, the trees were always green and lush. Every branch that he passed laden with fiery orange and red leaves reminded him of Jesper’s bloodstained wings, laying cold on the barren stone.

He was within sight of the border when his horse screamed and stumbled beneath him. Lucien was thrown to the ground, but was back on his feet in an instant. His beloved mare, the one he had ridden almost every day for the past decade, lay dead. A spear had gone straight through her neck; it was a miracle Lucien hadn’t been hit.

“Nice shot, dumbass,” a sarcastic voice rang out from the trees. “You missed him.”

“I missed on purpose. It’s more fun this way.” Three figures materialized from the woods. They were Lucien’s brothers, the three youngest ones above him. Atlas, the one who had spoken and presumably thrown the spear, was now armed with a dagger. Though it was clean, Lucien recognized it as the one used to maim and kill Jesper.

“What are you doing here?” Lucien asked. He sounded hollow, even to himself.

Dorian, the one who had reprimanded Atlas and the second youngest, raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious? We can’t have our baby brother wandering the realm unsupervised.”

“And we especially can’t have him building up an army and taking the High Lord’s crown from us,” Zephyr, the third youngest, added.

Lucien barked out a guttural laugh. “You don’t need to worry about me. I renounced my title. I never was, and never will be, the High Lord.”

“Oh, we know.” Dorian loaded his bow with an arrow. Zephyr wielded two curved swords with deadly precision. They meant to kill him, Lucien realized. He should have known that his brothers would use this opportunity to take him out, once and for all.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Atlas inclined his head towards the dark woods in front of them. “We’ll give you a thirty second head start.”

Lucien ran.

Pure terror spurred him onward. He ran so fast that the trees around him were blurs, and he could only pray he wouldn’t trip on a root and break his neck. True to their word, he didn’t hear any sounds of pursuit for half a minute. After that there was the unmistakable sound of breaking branches and crunching leaves as they gave chase.

Even at this speed, Lucien could tell the moment he crossed into Spring territory. The frigid air grew warmer and more humid, and the blurs around him shifted from orange to green. But he was beginning to tire. No High Fae could run at top speed for very long, and he was still miles and miles from the heart of the Spring Court. His breathing grew ragged, his muscles began to burn. He was going to die. His only consolation was that he would soon be joined with Jesper.

Lucien risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately ran into something. A pair of hands gripped him on his biceps, halting his progress. The hold took him back to Jesper’s murder, being restrained by his brothers. He twisted and turned, frenzied, trying to free himself.

“Lucien, stop! It’s me!” Lucien’s eyes focused. It wasn’t his grinning red-haired brothers clutching him. It was Tamlin, his blonde hair shining silver in the moonlight. His grip was meant to steady, not to restrict. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Tamlin’s questions were answered by the Vanserra brothers crashing into view. They slowed to a halt, wary of this new variable. “Our sweet brother has run away from home,” Dorian jeered. “We’ve come to take him back.”

If Lucien were capable of feeling anything other than panic, he would be ashamed of how he trembled. Tamlin appraised his hunters, then slowly moved Lucien behind him. “You’re on my land now, and you are not welcome,” he declared. “I suggest you leave Lucien with me and return to your own territory.”

Peering over Tamlin’s shoulder, Lucien could practically see the gears in his brothers’ brains turning. They came to the conclusion that they had power in numbers, and made a point of lifting up their weapons to show they had no intention of backing down.

“Tam, it’s fine,” Lucien rasped. His throat was still torn up and it barely came out above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go.”

“No. You are in the Spring Court, and you’re under my protection.” Tamlin looked back, his green eyes glowing, brow furrowed. He was worried. Worried about Lucien.

“Listen, Tam,” Dorian drawled. “We can do this the easy way, where you hand little Luce over, or the hard way. What’s it gonna be?”

Tamlin growled, exposing his elongated fangs. “The hard way.” He leapt forward, and by the time he landed on the Vanserra brothers he was in his beast form. He fell upon them, slashing out with his claws and scattering them. Dorian and Zephyr circled Tamlin, forcing him to keep rotating to try to keep them in his sight. Atlas slipped away and came straight for Lucien. He barely had enough time to draw the short sword at his waist before Atlas was on him, driving down with his dagger. Lucien blocked him, barely, then shoved him away just long enough to get some distance between them.

Atlas smirked, weaving the dagger through the air in front of him, taunting. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. Carving up your little pet will be nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you.”

Wrath the likes of which he had never experienced rushed through Lucien, practically setting him aflame. He longed to charge his brother, to sweep and slash with his sword until Atlas was a pile of bloody flesh. To do so would be a foolish waste of his energy. Although Atlas was the smallest of his brothers, he was by far the most dangerous. He could defeat armies of beings twice his size, and he would do so gleefully. Atlas didn’t fight for honor or glory. He fought to cause pain.

A flicker of movement was Lucien’s only warning that Atlas was attacking. Blow for blow, he was barely able to block his brother’s strikes. When Atlas retreated to survey the damage, Lucien had sustained a deep cut on his side, and several shallow cuts to his face and arms. Atlas was unscathed. Lucien watched his blood drip down the dagger, and suddenly it wasn’t his own blood, but Jesper’s. The love of his life, screaming in pain, while Atlas tore him to pieces with a sick grin.

With a wild roar, Lucien rushed forward. He was filled with fire, and now actual flames were licking along the side of his blade. For the first time in his life, he saw real fear on Atlas’s face. He was on the defensive now, struggling to hold back against Lucien’s fury.

Even with the feral strength of his grief propelling him forward, Atlas was the better swordsman. One second, Lucien was thrusting his sword at his brother’s gut, and the next, his weapon had flown out of his hand. His wrist was bleeding now, having been carelessly sliced by Atlas’ dagger when he was disarmed. Atlas was bleeding now, but he was still arrogant enough to sneer. “That was almost impressive, baby brother. Goodbye.”

He surged forward, and Lucien put up his hands and howled. A wave of fire leapt forward and caught Atlas head-on. Atlas shrieked as he began to burn, and the distinctive smell of charred flesh filled Lucien’s nose. He turned his head to cough and caught sight of the dagger that Atlas had dropped. In a flash, Lucien picked up the dagger and drove it into his brother’s heart. “Goodbye,” he snarled, his voice ragged from the smoke. Atlas died with his eyes fixed on his killer’s, the lifetime of hatred carrying him through to the bitter end.

Exhaustion rolled through Lucien in a wave, threatening to overwhelm him. He looked around and saw that Dorian was also dead, a row of five claw marks having disemboweled him from his neck down to his groin. Tamlin was still in his beast form, prowling towards Zephyr. Lucien’s surviving brother was clearly injured, limping away as fast as he could, but lashing out with the single curved sword he still held in his grasp.

“Let him go,” Lucien found himself ordering. Tamlin’s head shot around, his wolf-like face pulled back in a grimace that showed every one of his pure white teeth. “Please Tam, let him go.”

Tamlin huffed, but he turned his back on Zephyr. He surveyed the damage, the two dead brothers that lay in the wood, and he pointed his weapon at Lucien. “You’ll pay for this.” Before Lucien could respond, Zephyr had disappeared, hopefully limping his way back into Autumn Court territory.

With all enemies defeated, the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. Lucien fell to his knees. His hands uncurled, and the dagger that had ended his lover’s life and then avenged him slipped to the ground. Tamlin approached him, now in human form. Without a word, he hooked one toe under the dagger and flicked it, sending it flying through the trees to be lost forever.

“You should have let me kill him,” Tamlin said. He was looking north, in the direction that Zephyr had fled. “He’s going to tell your father what happened.”

“I know.”

A pair of hands fell on his shoulders. When Lucien looked up, he found that Tamlin was also on his knees, eye-to-eye. “Can you walk?” Lucien nodded. “Okay.” Tamlin’s hands slid down Lucien’s arms until they gripped his own hands, then he pulled them both to their feet. “Let’s go home. You can wash up and tell me what happened.”

“I don’t have a home.”

Tamlin tightened his grip on Lucien’s hands so hard that it hurt. “Yes you do. Let’s go.” His tone brooked no room for argument. He led Lucien through the forest without a word. They reached Tamlin’s estate at sunrise. Lucien beheld the manor, glowing in the golden and pink light of the emerging sun, and he wept. Tamlin gathered him up in his arms and carried him the rest of the way, laying him down in an impossibly soft bed.

“Sleep,” Tamlin murmured, stroking Lucien’s hair away from his face. The distinctive tang of magic filled the air, and his eyelids grew heavy. He gratefully slipped away from the waking world.

Chapter Text

Through a combination of physical exhaustion and Tamlin’s magic, Lucien slept for 36 hours. He woke up in the afternoon two days after his world had ended. Groaning, he hauled himself to a sitting position, taking in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a plainly adorned guest bedroom. There were no decorations on the walls, and the room was barren aside from a bed, a chair, and a dresser. Sometime while he had been passed out, he had been cleaned up and changed into a pair of soft sleep pants. The clothes he had worn when he left Autumn were neatly folded on the chair, presumably cleaned as well.

He jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. The wounds inflicted by Atlas had been magically healed, leaving his skin smooth and unbroken. Events of the last few days pressed on his mind, but he refused to think about them. Right now, his only priority was getting something in his stomach.

A sharp knock on the door heralded the presence of a maid. “My lord sent me to escort you to the dining hall,” she announced as she curtsied. Lucien didn’t bother asking how Tamlin had known he was awake. Here, in his home, Tamlin was probably aware of every mouse scurrying behind the walls. Lucien’s awareness had shrunk down to his roaring gut, which was so empty it felt like it had turned inside out and was consuming him. He paid little attention to the hallways that the maid led him through, intent only on reaching food as soon as possible.

The dining hall was empty aside from Tamlin, who sat at the head of a laden table. He looked up at Lucien’s entrance and smiled in relief. “Come sit down! You must be starving.”

Lucien slid into a chair next to Tamlin and began loading up an empty plate. “I am. You practically put me in a coma.”

Tamlin frowned. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll admit, my grasp on healing magic isn’t the best. And…I was worried about you.” Lucien paused, one hand outstretched to grab a bread roll. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now,” Tamlin continued. “But I would like to hear it at some point. Especially if I’ve just started a war with the Autumn Court.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Lucien replied bitterly. “My father is too cowardly to start a war.”

Tamlin hummed, his mouth drawn in a tight line. But, true to his word, he didn’t ask any more questions while Lucien ate. When he was sated, he began to talk. He explained everything that had happened in a cold monotone. Talking about Jesper reminded Lucien of what he had lost, and he shoved those feelings down to deal with them later. The only way he could get through this was to detach himself from it completely. Tamlin, to his relief, didn’t interrupt once or ask for clarification. Though he had never (and now would never) met Jesper, he did know about him. Lucien had been unable to keep his love to himself. Which had been part of the problem, he supposed.

When Lucien finished his tale, he felt oddly drained. Tamlin was looking at him with such pity, it made him sick. “I am so sorry, Lucien. I never would have imagined Beron capable of such cruelty.”

Lucien swallowed thickly. He could imagine; he had grown up with the man. “Thank you. If you can spare some supplies and a horse, I can be out of here by dawn tomorrow.”

Tamlin started. “You want to leave? Why?”

“Don’t you want me to leave?” Lucien had assumed that his presence would be unwelcome for long. He was a disgraced ex-prince whose brothers were likely to invade and try to kill him again. Staying in the Spring Court would send a message to Beron, one that would affect Tamlin’s reputation as well as Lucien’s.

“No, of course not!” Tamlin replied, impassioned. “If you leave Spring, I won’t be able to protect you. Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. But if I stay, my father will interpret it as you conspiring against him and the interests of the Autumn Court. Killing Dorian while he was trespassing on your land is one thing. Intentionally harboring his exiled son is another.” The grisly reality of Fae court politics was sometimes comical in its contradictions. Lucien killing Atlas in self-defense and Tamlin killing Dorian were excusable under the laws that governed the land. But if Tamlin were to shelter Lucien for too long and word got out, it would be seen as an act of defiance against the Autumn Court.

“As if I’ve ever cared about pissing off your father.” Tamlin gripped one of Lucien’s hands in his own, squeezing it tight. “You’re my friend, and you’ve just gone through something horrible. I want you to be safe. Please, will you stay?”

Though Lucien had somehow managed to tell the entire story of Jesper’s capture and execution without a hint of emotion, Tamlin’s sincere gesture of friendship brought him near tears. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Good!” Tamlin rose to his feet. “I can show you around the manor, if you want. Or I can leave you alone. I kept going back and forth on if you would like company or not.” The awkward but earnest fumbling was sweet, and so much like the Tamlin that Lucien remembered, before he had been made High Lord.

“A tour would be nice. I can’t even recall the last time that I was here.”

They walked through the manor, Tamlin pointing out each room as they passed it. The armory, the study, the library, the gallery. He revealed that the room he had placed Lucien in had been his old room, and it was right down the hall from his current sleeping quarters. On the way outside to see the stables, Tamlin asked a question that Lucien was sure he had been dying to ask since they’re meeting in the woods. “How long have you been able to shoot fire out of your hands?”

“That was the first time.” The High Lord’s royal line was known for its fire-harnessing abilities, but Beron intentionally hadn’t taught it to any of his sons. He claimed that it was because he wanted them to connect to that inner flame themselves, but the Vanserra brood knew it was because he was a stingy, paranoid king who wanted to wield his own abilities over his sons. So far, only Eris and Orion had been able to access those powers. And now, Lucien.

“Well, it was incredible!” Tamlin sounded suitably impressed.

Lucien didn’t want to talk about his fire powers anymore. He didn’t want to talk about how he had used them to slay his brother. “What were you doing that far in the woods at night anyway?”

“We’ve had some nasty creatures sniffing around our borders for a while now. Mostly harmless ones, but last month my sentries were attacked by a gryphon. I was building up our magical defenses.”

By then they had reached the stables, which were large and comfortable. Tamlin pointed out a few horses that Lucien could choose from, if he wanted one horse to himself. They ambled along towards the gardens, Tamlin having correctly deduced that Lucien didn’t want to talk anymore about the night he had been found. He chattered about weapons training, war games, the boring political meetings he would have to attend. Lucien felt a little more like his old self, and he added sarcastic comments where appropriate. He even had Tamlin laughing at his impersonation of one of the snooty Winter Court emissaries.

The rose garden was breathtaking. Flowers of every hue burst from the earth, celebrating the endless spring. It was peaceful, the air buzzing with pollinating insects and the squabbling of birds. A singular butterfly drifted past, almost alighting on Lucien’s shoulder. It was a monarch, all vivid oranges and deep blacks.

Jesper’s murder came crashing back to him all at once. He was flood with guilt that he had forgotten, even for a few hours. That he had been strolling through the grounds, sharing light conversation, enjoying himself, when the love of his life was dead because of him. Lucien didn’t even know what had been done with his body. The Anosians wrapped their dead up in linen and put them out to sea to return to the ocean that provided so much for them in life. Jesper wouldn’t have gotten that. He was probably buried in a shallow grave, or tossed in a dungeon to rot.

“I have to go,” he blurted.

“Is everything okay?” Concern was etched on Tamlin’s face, but Lucien couldn’t even look at him anymore.

“I’m fine,” Lucien lied, brushing past Tamlin and running inside. He made it to his room before he started sobbing.

Lucien didn’t know how much time had passed before Tamlin came for him. It could have been a few days, or a few months. He spent all that time in his room, curled up in bed, wishing that he were dead. The reality that this was it, that Jesper was gone forever, crushed him. A maid regularly brought meals and drew baths that Lucien ignored.

Tamlin entered the room without knocking and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “Get up.”

“Go away.”

“This isn’t healthy. You need to eat.” Tamlin wrinkled his nose. “And bathe.”

“I’m fine. I’m not hungry.”

With a sigh, Tamlin sat down on the edge of Lucien’s bed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this. I’m not good at the whole…comforting thing.” He paused, giving Lucien a chance to interject. When he didn’t, he continued. “I know what it’s like to lose the ones that you love the most. And I know that the only way that I got myself back together was knowing that they wouldn’t want me to waste away in grief over them.”

Tamlin’s mother had been slaughtered here, in their home. His father and brothers as well, but Lucien knew that Tamlin was talking about his mother. Lucien sat upright in bed. His eyes were red and puffy, his face gaunt with hunger. “I don’t know how to live without him.”

“You have to. He loved you. He wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life mourning him.”

It was the truth. Jesper had been life itself. He was fire and passion incarnate. And he had delighted in bringing that vivacity out in Lucien. The concept of a life inside, deteriorating in a bed, would be abhorrent to him.

“Fine.”

The relieved grin on Tamlin did more to heal him than any amount of words could have. The fact that he was here, alive, with someone who cared about him, meant that there was hope for the future. Tamlin produced an apple from his pocket, which Lucien devoured in a few bites. Tamlin chuckled, saying, “I’ll have the kitchen prepare a meal. It’ll be ready by the time you’ve washed up and changed.”

Multiple comments about his hygiene aside, Lucien was grateful. He struggled to find the words to express his appreciation, but before he could, Tamlin was gone. Lucien took the hint and retreated to his private washroom, where the tub was already full of scalding hot water. Sinking into the blistering heat, Lucien felt himself come alive again.

True to his word, Tamlin was waiting for him in the dining hall, the table already set with enough food to feed an army. Lucien served himself and began to eat. Outside of his bed, he felt fragile, a delicate thing that could be broken with a careless wave of a hand.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Tamlin said once Lucien had finished his meal. Lucien nodded, waiting for him to continue. “I want you to be my emissary.”

“What?!” Lucien choked on the mouthful of wine he had drunk at exactly the wrong moment. “Are you crazy?”

“No, I am very sane, thank you.” Tamlin’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I’ve been searching for one for some time now. You know that I never was supposed to be High Lord. And that most of my father’s court left when I became one. Since then, I have struggled with the more delicate aspects of political negotiation.”

That was an understatement. As a friend, Tamlin was gentle, wry, and filled with good humor. As a warrior, he was quick-witted and courageous. As a politician, he swung between taciturn and volatile, either not saying enough or saying too much of the wrong thing.

“Why do you think I’d be any good at it?”

“Don’t be modest, it doesn’t suit you. You’re good at talking to people. You already have friends in almost every court. Everybody likes you.”

Lucien flushed, ducking his head down to look at his plate. “What would that mean for me?”

“You would be an official part of the Spring Court. I would claim you as one of my subjects. You would live here, with me. Any slight against you would be a slight against me, and I would respond appropriately.”

Ah, so that was it. Tamlin wanted to protect him. As an official member of the court, Lucien would be exempt from any backlash from his father or his remaining brothers. At least, not without them starting a full-on war with Spring. As emissary, Lucien would inevitably have to return to the Autumn Court and deal with his family. However, he would have to be treated with the basic respect that an emissary is due.

Tamlin was staring at him, waiting for his answer. He had always been terrible at hiding his emotions, and his sincerity shone from him. Lucien’s heart swelled, threatening to choke him. Who was he to deny help from a friend? Especially when he had nobody else in his life that wanted to keep him from harm.

“I’m in.”

Tamlin smiled, bright enough to challenge the sun. “I’m thrilled! We can meet tonight, to go over the details.”

They stood from the table, and Tamlin embraced him. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he murmured against Lucien’s ear.

Lucien swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Life in the Spring Court was different from anything Lucien had experienced before. He had never realized how heavily his father’s oppressive reign had weighed on his spirit until it was lifted away. The Autumn Court had been cold and quiet. Spring was loud, vivacious, jovial. Tamlin’s manor bustled with the activity of lesser fae who chattered freely as they did their chores and maintained the estate. The sentries and courtiers that came through the manor joked and quarreled without fear of repercussion.

Aside from Lucien, there were a dozen permanent residents of the manor. They were exclusively warriors who patrolled the grounds and protected their High Lord. All of Tamlin’s advisors lived in villages surrounding the manor, and they only appeared when Tamlin summoned them to make decisions. It was a sharp contrast to the Autumn Court. The palace Lucien had grown up in had been full of conniving politicians, and every word was spoken with the knowledge that the wrong ears might hear it and use it against you. Lucien had asked about it, and Tamlin had waved off the question. He was more comfortable in the company of fighters, and his counselors were perfectly happy not to live in a raucous frat house.

Any fears Lucien might have had about not fitting in among Tamlin’s staff were quickly dissipated. Before they were sentries, guards, and soldiers, they were friends, and they welcomed Lucien with open arms. Slowly but surely, Lucien began to heal. The gaping hole in his heart where Jesper had once resided never filled in, but it did scab over, and he was once again capable of feeling joy.

None of this would have been possible without Tamlin.

Tamlin was there, every waking moment. He ate every meal with Lucien, accompanied him on hunts, and trained with him on the grounds. Anybody else might have found his constant presence suffocating, but Lucien welcomed it. Every second that Tamlin was there to care for him was a second that Lucien knew that life was worth living.

Lucien’s first actual mission as Tamlin’s emissary was to the Summer Court. Nostrus, the High Lord of Summer, had vehemently disliked Tamlin’s father, and thus was wary of dealing with Spring. When probed, Tamlin admitted that he had put his foot in his mouth the few times he had gotten to speak to Nostrus as High Lord, which did not improve the Summer Lord’s opinion of Spring. It was Lucien’s job to smooth things over, to convince Nostrus that Tamlin was a different leader altogether than High Lord Theon. Although Tamlin had assured him that it wasn’t a huge deal, Lucien was a bundle of nerves up until they were in the Summer Court throne room.

Nostrus was elegance itself, perched with his back ramrod straight on his throne. Lucien’s eyes wandered across the line of nobles and advisors who were also in attendance and started at a familiar face. The last time that Lucien had seen Ione, she had been a simple messenger, one of the lowest level positions in the court. Rather than sulk in shame because of her menial role, she used it to grant herself greater freedom to wander through the courts and form alliances. The last time she had been in Autumn Court, she had challenged Lucien to a drinking contest, and had soundly beaten him. She was exuberant, but shrewd; clearly her methods had worked, and she was now one of the highest-ranking members of the Summer Court.

Ione caught him staring at her, and her whole face lit up. All at once, Lucien’s confidence came rushing back. He was well liked among the courts, far more than his father or any of his brothers. Even after the shame of his relationship and the forfeiture of his royal status, he could still navigate the courts with ease. He began to speak, words flowing easily, with no hint of a stutter.

“High Lord Nostrus, we are honored to have you receive us in your illustrious court.”

Nostrus tilted his head ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement. “It is an honor to have the Spring Lord and his emissary as guests,” he responded coolly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“To be frank, my lord wishes to repair the relationship between Spring and Summer. He understands that there was tension between High Lord Theon and yourself, and that the hostility originated from the Spring Court. Lord Tamlin has no interest in maintaining his father’s grudges, and would like to start anew.”

The court waited with bated breath for the Summer Lord to reply. Nostrus narrowed his eyes, appraising Lucien with a perceptive gaze that missed nothing. Finally, he spoke.

“Very well. I will hear what the Spring Lord has to say.”

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. If pressed to recount it, Lucien didn’t think he’d be able to recall most of what he had said. But by the end, Nostrus and Tamlin were shaking hands, and Nostrus had invited them to an informal lunch. As everybody filed out of the throne room, Tamlin stepped behind Lucien, placing a hand in the small of his back. “Well done,” he murmured in Lucien’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Lucien would probably have remained there, frozen, if Ione hadn’t grabbed him and steered him towards the meal room, excitedly jabbering about how well the meeting had gone.

For the meal itself, Lucien encouraged Tamlin to sit with Nostrus, somewhat isolated from the rest of the court. He protested; he was never one to encourage segregation based on rank in his court, and he would rather eat with Lucien. But Lucien reminded him that their alliance with Summer was new and fragile, and it would behoove him to spend a little more time with Nostrus in a more casual setting.

After the meal, the High Fae milled around in small groups, drinking from delicate glasses filled with an aromatic but bitter liquor native to the Summer Court. Ione tried to goad Lucien into downing multiple glasses of the ouzo, but Lucien declined. Things were already going so well, he didn’t want to embarrass Tamlin.

Lucien had introduced Tamlin and Ione, and the two were exchanging pleasantries when Lucien heard his own name being spoken. A group of courtiers behind him, unaware that he was within hearing range, were whispering about him.

“It’s Beron’s youngest, Lucien, I’m sure of it,” a male hissed. “He was banished for consorting with a male, and an Anosian at that.”

“Really?” a female gasped, equal parts disgusted and intrigued. “Beron must be humiliated, having one of his brood turn out like that.”

“He deserves it, that shit starts with the parents. You’d never catch a son of mine rooting around with a male, I tell you that.”

“What is Tamlin thinking, hiring him as emissary? It reflects poorly on Spring to have someone like that involved in politics.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Lucien’s entire body burned, threatening to burst into literal flames. His good mood had evaporated, leaving him empty. The Summer courtiers were right. He was an embarrassment. He was shameful. He should leave Spring Court, leave Tamlin, before he ruined his reputation like he had ruined his own.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Tamlin growled. He had dropped the glamour that shielded his power as a High Lord, and was now a towering, glimmering, god-like figure. His green eyes glowed, and his claws were fully extended. His upper lip curled back into a snarl, revealing sharpened fangs.

The nobles who had been speaking froze, knowing immediately that they were the Spring Lord’s target. Tamlin gave them several seconds to defend themselves, but they were stunned in silence.

“Lucien is a valued member of my court,” Tamlin continued when it was clear that nobody else was going to speak up. “And as my emissary, he outranks all of you. Any filthy gossip you spread about him, every insult against his character, is a direct attack on me and the rest of Spring Court. Do you intend to invoke conflict between our courts now, so soon after we have made peace?”

Nobody in the entire room made a sound.

Tamlin huffed angrily, the sound more beast than human. “I asked you a question.”

The male who had initiated the conversation about Lucien gulped. “No, my lord.”

“Very well.” With an exhale, Tamlin returned to normal, his glow dissipating as he restored his glamour to full strength. He turned to Nostrus, who had belatedly approached the confrontation. “Lord Nostrus, we will be heading home now,” he said pleasantly, as though nothing had happened. “And I suggest you teach the members of your court when to keep their mouths shut.” A strong hand gripped Lucien’s arm, and Tamlin steered them out of the Summer palace. The next thing he knew, Tamlin had winnowed them back to the Spring manor, back to what Lucien already considered his home. His tongue loosened, finally.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Lucien cringed at the pathetic note in his voice.

“Yes I did.” Tamlin sighed. His anger had drained away, his tone now soft. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made such a scene. I just couldn’t stand that they thought they could talk about you like that.”

“Oh.” No one had cared about what others had to say about Lucien for a long time. He didn’t know how to react, in the wake of such unconditional devotion. And his head was still spinning with the self-hating thoughts that threatened to plague him every moment since Jesper had been killed.

“You know that they’re wrong, right?”

“What?”

“What they said. About you being an embarrassment. To your father, or to me.”

“Tam, it’s fine,” Lucien brushed past him, wanting more than anything to have a drink and then go to bed.

“It’s not fine!” Tamlin grabbed Lucien’s hand and spun him around. His face was earnest, his brow furrowed as he desperately tried to come up with the right words. “They’re wrong, okay? There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re amazing. You’re funny, and smart, and you’re braver than any fae I’ve ever met. Sometimes I feel guilty because I’m so glad that you’re here, even though you went through hell to get here.”

He had no right, to be so kind. It was too much, threatening to overflow and burst and destroy Lucien from the inside out. Unable to speak, he embraced Tamlin, who held him like he was the most important thing in the world.

“I feel the same way,” Lucien mumbled against Tamlin’s hair. “Guilty, because of how happy I am here.” With you, he wanted to say, but it was too much. Even in the wake of Tamlin pouring his heart out, Lucien couldn’t say those last two words. They were too raw, too personal.

“Good.” Tamlin pulled back, grinning broadly. “I mean. Not good that you feel guilty. But good that you’re happy.”

Lucien took a deep breath in, then out. The cataclysm of emotions had taken its toll, Lucien was exhausted. “Fuck. I need a drink.”

“Me too. Let’s go find Andras, he has a hidden stash of liquor in his quarters.” Tamlin led the way to the manor, to warmth and safety, to the laughter and joy of friends.

Chapter Text

It was the first Autumn Equinox since Lucien had left home. Of course, in Spring, the equinox was not the major ceremonial occasion that it had been in Autumn. It was merely an excuse to invite the court to come together and feast. Here, Lucien didn’t have to slink away from the main event to drink in private with a few friends. Everyone danced and ate together in a huge field, regardless of their social status.

Lucien sat around one of the bonfires with some of the other sentries that lived at the manor with Tamlin. Upon his assimilation into Spring he had almost immediately befriended Andras, a gentle giant that served as the captain of the guard. Andras had brought a blanket to lay on the grass, and he sat upright, steady as a statue, enough that Lucien could comfortable lean against him as he drank. Also around the fire were two more males, Veer and Dion, and a female, Zahra. There weren’t many females that worked as guards for Tamlin, but Zahra was formidable enough that Lucien never questioned it. She had a similar height and build to Andras, with none of his mellow attitude.

“Thank the Cauldron that Tamlin was able to patch things up with Summer,” Veer commented, popping one of the small brown fruits on Dion’s plate into his mouth. “I’ve missed these figs.”

“You mean that I was able to patch things up,” Lucien corrected. At the mention of Tamlin, he glanced around, noting that the High Lord was absent. “Where is our fearless leader anyway?”

“Probably with the band,” Andras answered without looking up.

A quick scan of the musicians currently playing a lively tune confirmed Andras’s suspicion. Tamlin was right in the middle of them, stamping his foot in time with the music, his arm a blur as he drew the bow across the strings of his fiddle. His hair had been tied back to keep it out of his face, but a few wispy strands had escaped and were now stuck to his forehead with sweat. To say he looked happy was to say that the sun was just a little warm. Tamlin glowed with joy, infecting the other musicians and the dancing fae.

“Typical,” Zahra snorted. “He loves to pretend that nobody knows he’s the High Lord, and the rest of us have to go along with it.” Despite her scornful words, a fond grin played across her features. The other sentries were good-naturedly shaking their heads and laughing as well. It was obvious that they were amused by Tamlin’s antics. Even now, after being in the Spring Court almost a year, Lucien was struck by how different Tamlin was as a High Lord than his father. Beron would never be caught dead fraternizing with a traveling band. And he certainly never beamed the way that Tamlin did, surrounded by his subjects.

“I think it’s nice. He’s always been good at the fiddle,” Lucien said. He remembered another autumn equinox, many years ago, when Tamlin had played for him and his friends.

“How do you know?” Veer asked, eyebrows raised.

“He probably knows a lot about Tam that we don’t,” Andras waved off the question. “He’s Tamlin’s favorite.”

Lucien, who had been taking a bite out of a cookie, choked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know.” Andras shrugged, dislodging Lucien in the process. “He’s been glued to your side since you got here. The only time he sends you out alone is when you’re doing emissary stuff. Whenever he assigns you to patrol or hunt, he goes with you. He’s never done that for anyone else.”

Lucien’s head spun. He hadn’t realized that he had been given such special treatment. Sure, he noticed that Tamlin spent a lot of time with him, but he hadn’t put together that he was the only one that Tamlin did that for. Now that Andras mentioned it, Tamlin never accompanied any of the other sentries when they went out. Lucien had always taken for granted that Tamlin would come with him, even though he no longer needed guidance.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Andras added hastily. “I was just teasing you. Honestly, it’s kind of cute. He’s been different since you got here. Happier.”

It was obvious, but not something that Lucien had ever considered before. That he would be able to make Tamlin’s life better, in the way that Tamlin made his life better. He looked back at Tamlin on the stage, now chatting with another one of the musicians while they both played. He so clearly loved his people, it seemed impossible that Lucien could be the favorite.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said without conviction as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to dance.” He swept over to a group of giggling naiads and offered his hand. The boldest among them, a female with pale blue skin and delicate webbing between her fingers and toes, took it. Lucien whirled her over to the flattened grassy area where more than a hundred fae were now dancing. He lost himself in the music, his body moving in time to the beat. Every sensation was brightened: the burn of his muscles, the soft grass under his bare feet, the naiad’s cool skin under his hands. When he glanced up at the band, he found that Tamlin was already looking at him. He smiled, and for a second Lucien could believe that that smile was just for him.

The party continued well into the night. At sundown, Tamlin had finally retired from the band and joined his sentries in eating and drinking. Lucien kept a watch out for any favoritism towards him, but it seemed that Tamlin joked with and teased all of his fellow warriors equally. That was until midnight, when Tamlin rose unsteadily to his feet and pulled Lucien’s arm, beckoning him to follow. They walked in silence for a while, Tamlin’s stumbling gait betraying that he had had far more to drink than Lucien.

“Where are we going?” Lucien finally asked when they had gone far enough that the sounds of the party had been swallowed up by the night.

“I want to show you something,” Tamlin answered.

“And you couldn’t wait to show me tomorrow?”

“No. I want you to see it now.”

Lucien pried a little longer, but Tamlin both refused to tell him where they were going, and refused to turn back. Finally they reached a clearing that glowed with silver light. At first, Lucien thought it was moonlight. But the moon was a mere sliver tonight, not nearly bright enough to case such a brilliant glow. They moved closer, and Lucien gasped. The light was coming from a pond, one that put out a fierce white light that shimmered with every color of the rainbow along the edges.

“Is that starlight?” Lucien whispered, awed. He had heard that it was possible to harness light into a physical form, but he had never seen it done before. And he especially didn’t think it was possible to just naturally exist in a liquid pool.

“Yes. I don’t know how it works, but yes.” Tamlin led him down to the water’s edge, then unceremoniously began stripping out of his clothing. “Let’s go swim.”

“Are we allowed to?” Lucien asked. The starlight pool was so pure, it seemed disrespectful to sully it by touching it.

Tamlin laughed. “Of course we are. I’m the High Lord, and I say it’s okay.” He finished shucking off his tunic and his pants, leaving him in just his undergarments. Lucien’s eyes widened as Tamlin reached up to free his hair from its ponytail. The muscles in his arms and torso shifted under his golden skin in a mouthwatering display. Not that he hadn’t seen Tamlin’s body before, when training or changing. It wasn’t a big deal. But it also usually wasn’t just the two of them, alone, at night, with their minds buzzing with faerie wine.

He didn’t wait for Lucien to find his tongue. Without a hint of hesitation, he slipped into the starlight pool, gliding to the center which was deep enough that he had to tread water. Lucien raced to catch up, throwing off his own clothes to join Tamlin in the water. With both of them neck deep, their near nudity didn’t feel quite so intimate. Lucien marveled at how the starlight felt moving against his skin: more viscous than water, but somehow lighter. He cupped his hands to take a sip of it, and instantly he was filled with euphoria. Delighted giggling from Tamlin told Lucien that he had taken a drink as well, and the two splashed and frolicked like children.

Eventually they tired. Buoyed by the warm, dense liquid starlight, they floated on their backs alongside each other. Occasionally they bumped together, shoulders and arms brushing against the other. The actual stars glimmered overhead.

“Why did you bring me out here?” Lucien asked, speaking barely above a murmur so as not to disturb the quiet night.

Tamlin didn’t answer for a moment. “I wanted you to see it.”

“Have you shown it to any of the others?”

“No.”

Lucien was grateful to have started this line of questioning now. It meant that they couldn’t look at each other without getting a mouthful of star water. It meant that Tamlin couldn’t see Lucien’s soft, tentative smile. “They said I was your favorite.”

“Who said that?”

“Some of the other sentries. Because you never send me out alone, and we’re always together.”

Silence, again. “Does that bother you?”

“No!” Lucien jerked, sending ripples through the pond. “I like it. I like being with you.”

“Good.” Tamlin’s fingers brushed against Lucien’s wrist. Lucien couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. “Maybe you are my favorite.”

The silence between them stretched on for far too long this time. Lucien wanted to say many things, but none of them came out. At some point, Tamlin noted that they should be heading back to the manor. The party would be winding down, and they had a long walk ahead of them. They traveled side by side, just barely far enough apart that their swinging arms wouldn’t touch.

Chapter Text

“Concentrate.”

“I am.”

“No, you aren’t. I can tell.”

“Fuck you,” Lucien spat without any real fire, which was exactly the problem.

Tamlin merely raised an eyebrow. He stared at Lucien, green gaze unwavering, until Lucien sighed and got into position to try again. It was those quiet, intense moments that reminded Lucien that Tamlin was a powerful High Lord, one to be respected.

The two fae were standing alone in the middle of the training grounds. It was dusk, and the ground was washed pink in the light of the setting sun. Lucien straightened his back, cupped his hands in front of him, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Tamlin’s voice came to him, soft but commanding.

“Concentrate. Focus on the fire. Breathe it to life.”

Since the horrible incident in the forest, when Lucien’s hands had burst into flames and he had burned his brother alive, he had not used his gift. He hadn’t even tried, until Tamlin had asked about it. He didn’t want it, the unforgiving and brutal power that came from his unforgiving and brutal father. Beron had used his fire recklessly. One of his favorite punishments was to grab a troublesome soldier, son, or wife around the forearm and slowly heat up his palm, delighting as his victim writhed and screamed for mercy. Fire was dangerous. It would be better if he never called upon it again.

Tamlin disagreed. If Lucien didn’t master this power and learn how to control it, it would consume him. The fire was there, waiting to be unleashed. Better to do so under Lucien’s command, rather than in fits of rage or fear.

The thought of accidentally hurting somebody due to his own cowardice was enough to change Lucien’s mind. He had begun training with Tamlin, insisting they do it alone and without spectators. They had met up a few times already, and Lucien had yet to produce even a single puff of smoke.

“Focus.”

Lucien exhaled; his face scrunched up in concentration. He willed the fire into existence, if only to keep from disappointing Tamlin. But his palms stayed cold.

“Open your eyes.”

Lucien obeyed, expecting Tamlin’s expression to be one of frustration. Instead, his High Lord smiled. “You know I can tell that you aren’t really trying.”

“How?” The second the word was out of his mouth, Lucien wished he could take it back. It proved that he really wasn’t actually seeking to create a flame. That there was a block in his mind, one that put too much distance between him and his inner fire to reach it.

“Other than you confirming it for me just now?” Tamlin chuckled. “I don’t really know. I can almost see the fire within you. Here.” He put a hand over Lucien’s heart, which immediately began beating at triple its normal pace. “And I can tell you aren’t reaching for it properly.” Tamlin removed his hand and shook his head. “I guess it’s a High Lord thing.”

Privately, Lucien thought that it was a Tamlin thing. Anyone else working with him would be pulling out their hair over Lucien being so stubborn. And maybe if it had been someone else that Tamlin was working with, he would have expressed his irritation. But with him, Tamlin was patient. Lucien didn’t really know what that meant, but he finally worked up the nerve to articulate what had been holding him back.

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of hurting someone.”

Understanding lit up in Tamlin’s eyes. Why Lucien wanted to practice alone, when everybody else would be safely inside the manor or off the grounds.

“I get it,” Tamlin said softly. “Even with everything Atlas did to you, you didn’t want to hurt him like that.”

It was true, and Lucien hated himself for it. He hated that he felt guilty for burning his brother, the one who had never shown him a moment of kindness. Who had slain the love of his life, and done so gleefully. It should have been cathartic, that Atlas would fall by his own hand with the family power that he had never been able to summon. Instead, bile rose in his throat every time he thought about it. It replayed in his head, every sense as sharp as it had been in real life. The hatred in Atlas’s eyes, the smell of his charred flesh, the sound of his agonized screams.

He was weak. He should be reveling in his power, honing it to protect himself and his new home. Instead he cowered from it.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re surrounded by stone. There’s nobody else here. And I’m warded against anything you can throw at me.” Tamlin spoke in a soothing tone, the way one would speak to a nervous horse. “You can’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” That fear, that he would lose control and burn Tamlin, loosened its grip around his heart.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m the High Lord, and we’re in the heart of my court. Unless you think you’re stronger than me here?” Tamlin’s mouth quirked, betraying that he was teasing.

Lucien snorted. “We’ll see about that.” But oddly enough, he did feel better. And so, for the hundredth time, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This time, he fully relaxed. He reached for his inner flame, the one that warmed his core day and night. Gently, carefully, he coaxed it out, breathing it to life. Fed with trust instead of rage, it didn’t feel uncontrollable. It flowed through his body, his limbs, to the tips of his fingers and toes, suffusing him in a reassuring heat.

He opened his eyes to flames licking along his arms, up his neck and around his head. He could feel the heat radiating off of them, but it didn’t hurt. Wide-eyed, he looked up at Tamlin, who was beaming with pride. Lucien’s heart stuttered, and the flames flickered out.

“Well done!” Tamlin stepped forward and clapped him on the back. He tilted his head, squinting at Lucien in the low light of the almost-set sun. “You have some soot on your face.” He brushed his thumb under Lucien’s nose, the pad of it settling perfectly into the divot.

“Jesper told me a story once.” Lucien’s voice sounded faint to him, as if he were hearing it from far away. “That while we’re in the womb, our ancestors teach us everything we’ll ever learn in our life. Then right before we’re born, they hit us here,” Lucien brushed his own fingertips across the dip over his mouth. “And we forget everything.”

Tamlin’s gaze turned sad. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry that you’re suffering. I’m sorry that the people that were supposed to care about you were able to do something like that. Hurt someone that you loved.” Tamlin hesitated, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. “I know you’re still in mourning, and maybe it isn’t my place to say anything. But while you’re in my court, you’re safe.”

Lucien grinned at Tamlin’s fumbled words. “I know that.”

“No, I mean—” Tamlin sighed, but didn’t avert his gaze. Even in the dim light, Lucien could tell how intently the other male was staring at him. “If there was another male lucky enough to have you fall in love with him. You would be safe. You both would be. I would never let that happen to you again.”

A rush went through Lucien, leaving him light-headed. “Thank you,” he whispered, because he had nothing else to say. Tamlin smiled, bashful as always in the aftermath of verbalizing his affection. He always said he wasn’t good at talking, but Lucien had never met anyone who could sweep him off his feet with words alone.

He hadn’t just been swept off his feet though. He had fully been swept away, dizzy from the heady rush of Tamlin’s selfless attention. Tamlin seemed to know, without being told, that Lucien craved his constant presence. That he needed the reassurance that he was wanted. The High Lord of Spring, one of the most powerful fae in Prythian, always had time for Lucien and never made him feel like a burden. He had created a home for Lucien, gave him purpose and friends and a life when he had thought there was nothing left to live for.

Tamlin was talking, something about setting up a schedule for them to keep working on his fire magic, but Lucien was no longer listening. Although it was now dark, Lucien could see every little detail of the male in front of him like there was a spotlight shining on him. The smile lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, the faint scar that ran across his lower lip, the tunic unbuttoned at the neck, exposing sharp collar bones and golden skin. Tamlin was beautiful, but Lucien had always known that. Now, he realized that Tamlin was an ideal, one that Lucien measured all other males against and found them wanting. He was perfect in his imperfections, exceptional in his humility.

If there was another male lucky enough to have you fall in love with him. Lucien hadn’t thought he would ever fall in love again, not the way he had fallen for Jesper. And yet he had, without even noticing that it was happening so he could come to his senses and stop himself. He wanted Tamlin. Not just as an employer, friend, and leader, but as a partner. He wanted to touch, kiss, bite, and mark Tamlin as his own. For Tamlin to look at him and see him, in all his flaws, and still love him unconditionally.

He was a fucking idiot.

Chapter Text

The Calanmai bonfires flickered over the gathered faeries, casting them in shifting orange shadows. Tamlin prowled down the line of females, all eager to be picked to complete the ceremony. He was fully in his humanoid form, which made his animalistic movements even more chilling. Blood from the sacrificial stag was splattered up his arms, mixing with the blue paint that whorled across his body.

His head rose, nostrils flared, upper lip curling back to reveal pointed white fangs. Lucien waited in the sidelines for the Rite to begin. He had no desire to see Tamlin disappear into the cave with his chosen female, but his preferences were well known among the fae. There was always at least one male who would find him, and he could get lost in the ecstasy of the ritual.

Something was different this time. Instead of choosing his Maiden, Tamlin stood frozen. The gathering of fae waited with bated breath for the Hunter to make his decision. Tamlin stalked forward, slowly, deliberately. The fairies in the crowd parted around him, creating a clear path.

A path to Lucien.

“What are you doing?” Lucien whispered. His throat was unbearably dry.

“I’ve made my choice.” Tamlin’s voice was deeper, and it echoed as though it were coming through a large cavern. His eyes were pure gold and crackling with power. Though he was several inches shorter, he seemed to tower over Lucien. One hand wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his auburn hair. The fingers tightened and pulled, and Lucien couldn’t prevent the low moan that came out of his mouth. Tamlin yanked him closer by his hair and kissed him, swallowing any further sounds. The kiss was wild, unhinged, and Lucien quickly lost himself in the sweet agony of it. Fangs sank into his lower lip, and the metallic tang of blood filled Lucien’s mouth.

Lucien jerked awake, gasping for air. A sheen of sweat covered his body. He burned with a mixture of desire and humiliation, the memory of Tamlin’s touch combatting the knowledge that it was only a dream. He licked his lips and tasted blood. Touching his hand to his mouth, he realized that he had bitten his own lip while he slept, puncturing the skin. It was all him, alone. However much Tamlin cared for him, it was strictly platonic. Tamlin didn’t share Lucien’s degenerate tendencies: he liked females, not males. He would never see Lucien as anything more than a friend.

Fingers still pressing against his split lip, Lucien quickly healed the injury. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked it clean, erasing all evidence of the dream.

Breakfast was a joyous affair in the Spring Court manor. All the sentries and servants ate together, starting the day with friendly banter before dispersing across the land for their various tasks. Usually, Lucien sat next to Tamlin at the head of the table. Today, unsettled by his vivid fantasy, he settled midway down the table with some of the other soldiers. His subdued attitude was not lost on his colleagues.

“What crawled up your butt this morning?” Crass as ever, Veer flicked a grape seed at him.

“You’re hilarious.” Lucien wiped the sticky seed off his cheek, rubbing at the spot to get all the fruit juice off. “Just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

“Bad dreams?” Dion asked, concerned.

There wasn’t a word for the kind of dreams Lucien had, and he didn’t feel like sharing them with the others. “No, just couldn’t get to sleep.” Accepting that he wasn’t in the mood to talk, the others wisely left him alone. Grateful for the peace, he picked at his food and let his gaze wander across the table. As always, his eyes were drawn to Tamlin, who beamed with golden light even this early in the morning.

He should have looked away. He knew that watching would break his heart. But, as always, he was an idiot.

Tamlin was happy. Giddy, even. The source of that happiness sat on his right, her chair so close to his that she was practically spilling into his lap. Karyme was the daughter of one of Tamlin’s counselors who had recently begun shadowing political meetings to learn a little more about her future career. Even Lucien had to admit that she was stunningly beautiful: coal black eyes with dark lashes set against umber skin. But of course, that wasn’t the only thing that attracted Tamlin to her. She was quick-witted and intelligent. Polite enough not to offend but with a sharp tongue that brooked no room for disrespect. Tamlin was besotted.

Lucien wanted to be happy for him. Instead, his cruel mind plagued him with visions that would never be actualized, leaving him hollow.

“You’re staring,” a voice murmured in his ear.

Lucien averted his gaze, far too late. “No I’m not.”

Andras’s expression softened in sympathy. “I know they’re all over each other now, but it’s just because it’s new. They’ll cool off over time.”

“I don’t care,” Lucien lied, viciously stabbing his fork into the scrambled eggs on his plate. “He can do whatever he wants. And whoever he wants.”

Moving so smoothly that nobody else caught the subtle shift, Andras clasped one of Lucien’s knees under the dining table. He squeezed comfortingly, rubbing the thumb of his large hand in soothing circles. “Do you want to come to my room tonight?”

Warmed as always by Andras’s kind presence, Lucien covered his hand with his own and smiled. “Yes, that’d be great.”

The problem with Andras was that he was too smart for his own good. He had noticed Lucien’s affections for Tamlin as soon as Lucien did, maybe even sooner. Luckily, Andras wasn’t one for gossiping or cruel taunting. In fact, he was one of the only reasons that Lucien hadn’t gone fully insane over his romantic quandary. He was supportive and kept Lucien’s secret. At first he had encouraged Lucien to tell Tamlin the truth, but had quickly dropped it when Lucien asked him to.

More recently, he had served as another form of comfort. Lucien had had dalliances with other males here and there. Especially here in Spring, where it was more common and accepted. Those flings were fun and scratched an itch that had plagued Lucien for decades, but ever since he had come to accept his feelings for Tamlin, they left him feeling unsatisfied. Then Andras, in all his heroic glory, swooped in to save the day. It was fully understood by them both that they were only friends, and only would ever be friends. But Lucien had craved a deeper, more intimate kind of sex, and Andras was happy to take care of him.

Knowing it was a mistake, Lucien looked back at the head of the table. Tamlin and Karyme were talking, their heads so close together that their lips almost touched. Sickened, Lucien abruptly rose to his feet. “Do you mind if I patrol with you today?”

Andras stood up as well. “Of course not. Come on, let’s get our horses ready.”

On the way out of the dining hall, Lucien chanced one last look over his shoulder. Tamlin hadn’t even noticed that he had left.

Chapter Text

“Why don’t you go back to the shithole you crawled out of?”

In those last few seconds before Amarantha released him, Lucien was sure he was going to die. Amarantha held his limp body by his neck, her razor sharp fingernails digging into his flesh, separating the skin from muscle. The last thing he had seen before she had ripped out his eye and his vision filled with blood was the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth. The childlike display of concentration would have been funny, if what she was concentrating on wasn’t ripping him apart face-first. There was something on the edge of her nail—poison, or even ash wood—that caused the wounds to burn and bubble.

As his vision faded from red to gray to black, Amarantha released him all at once. He crumpled to the ground in a heap. “Tell Tamlin not to send anymore pretty emissaries to sweet talk me,” she hissed. “Next time, he speaks to me himself.”

His broken mind tried to drum up one last smart-ass response. The next thing he knew, he went from the cold stone ground under the mountain to the warm fields of Spring. She had winnowed him back home to die on Tamlin’s front lawn. He rested his throbbing face against the soft grass and mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.

When Lucien blinked his eyes open, all he saw was red. For a moment, he panicked, thinking he was back in Amarantha’s grasp. He took a deep shuddering breath to yell and found that he couldn’t. His throat was torn to shreds, already pushed past its limit when he had screamed and struggled to escape from the wicked queen. His sight cleared, and he recognized that he was in his bedroom at the manor. The red sharpened into the crimson and orange hangings and wallpaper that he had stubbornly held onto, his only reminder that he was originally from the Autumn Court.

He shifted and only then realized that there was an arm wrapped around him. With agonizing slowness, Lucien turned his head, willing his eyesight to focus properly on who the fuck was in bed with him. When they did, he was sure that he had either died or was near death and hallucinating. It was the only explanation for why Tamlin was curled up next to him in bed.

Even though he could barely see (what was wrong with his eyes?), there was no mistaking the silky blond hair and muscular build of the High Lord. His eyes had been closed, but as Lucien moved they fluttered open.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice still thick with sleep. He sat up, pulling his arm away from where it had been cradling Lucien and leaving him cold in its wake. “How are you feeling?”

“Great,” Lucien croaked. An attempt to struggle upright was halted by a hand on his chest.

“Liar,” Tamlin murmured. Something was different with him. He looked at Lucien with the kind of warmth and affection that Lucien had only ever dreamed of. The hand on his chest moved to cup his face, thumbs carefully skirting where Amarantha had slashed into him. Lucien was helpless to do anything but watch as Tamlin bent his head to press his lips to Lucien’s forehead, his right eyelid, the tip of his nose.

“Careful.” Lucien didn’t know how he could even speak right now. His heart was pounding so hard it choked him, cutting off air. “Could give someone the wrong impression.”

“It’s not.” One of his hands began stroking his hair, the movement so soothing it could easily have lulled Lucien back to sleep.

“It’s not what?”

“The wrong impression.” He was so close. Lucien’s skin still buzzed where Tamlin had kissed him. “I’ve known how you felt about me for a while.”

Oh fuck. “You did?”

Tamlin chuckled. “Yes. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

Oh fuck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Tamlin smoothed over Lucien’s stammering. “I’ve felt something for you too. I didn’t know if it was real, or if I should say something and mess with our friendship. And then…” He swallowed audibly. “When you came back, I thought you were dead. I thought you died, and it was my fault, and I never told you…”

Lucien’s head swam. This couldn’t be real. He must be dead and in some kind of afterlife. He blinked to clear his eyes, but it didn’t work. Black shadows crowded at the edges of his vision.

“You’re still pretty out of it.” Tamlin guided his head back down to the pillow. “Go back to sleep, we’ll talk later. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

What if you’re not? Lucien wondered. He fought sleep as long as he could, but before long he slipped away again.

The next time Lucien woke up, he felt a million times better. He could actually see, for one. And when he pushed himself to sit up he was able to do so with minimal effort. The change was so drastic that he truly believed that his last period of consciousness was a dream. Except that when he glanced to the side, Tamlin was still next to him in bed. He had clearly been sitting there reading, and was now watching Lucien carefully. The book he had been reading slipped off the bed to the ground.

“Hi,” Lucien said, suddenly shy.

A soft smile brightened Tamlin’s face. “Hey.”

Lucien rolled his neck, wincing at the stiffness. “What’s the word? Am I going to live?”

“Yes,” Tamlin answered, amused. “The healer promised a full recovery. Once she stopped yelling at me to leave you alone and got to work.” His smile faded, ever so slightly. “You up for telling me what happened?”

Lucien sighed. “There’s not much to tell. I brought your offer of peace to Amarantha. She refused.”

Tamlin’s eyebrows rose, skeptical that Lucien was telling the whole truth.

“She started talking about you,” Lucien continued. “The things she was going to do to you. She thinks she loves you, but nobody could do the things she threatened to somebody they loved. I couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

“And?”

“I told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of.”

Tamlin barked a laugh, shocked by Lucien’s foul mouth. “Of course you did.”

“And then she…” Lucien looked away. He was suddenly aware of the way his face was stinging. He couldn’t remember everything that had happened under the mountain, but he knew it was bad. Bad enough to still hurt this long after the healing process had started.

He had to know. “Get me a mirror.”

Tamlin hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. You’re still recovering, and the healers aren’t finished. It looks worse than it is right now.”

“I said, get me a mirror.”

Tamlin didn’t look happy about it, but he got up and retrieved a hand mirror from Lucien’s bathroom. Lucien practically snatched it out of his hands. The face that peered back at him from it was barely recognizable as his own. Red welts marred the left side of his face, from his forehead down to his chin. Some of them were thin, barely red scratches. Most were thicker, about the width of his finger. His eye socket was covered in gauze. He didn’t have to lift up the bandage to know that the eye was completely gone.

Lucien had always been vain. He knew that he was attractive, and he used his good looks in conjunction with his natural charm to make friends and connections. It was why Tamlin had chosen him to be his emissary in the first place. He set the mirror down on the bed with the reflective side down, feeling sick. No healer in the world would ever be able to fix what had been done.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Lucien snapped.

“Whatever horrible things you’re telling yourself.” Tamlin’s fingertips touched Lucien along the left side of his jaw, delicately avoiding the cuts. He tilted Lucien’s head until he was forced to look at Tamlin head on. The High Lord was unbearably perfect, especially after what Lucien had seen that he had become. “You’re the bravest fae I’ve ever met. Nobody has ever cared about me the way you do. All of this—” A thumb brushed over his lips and Lucien shivered, both from pain and pleasure. “—is because you were defending me.”

“I’d do anything for you.” He had said something similar to Jesper, his first love, many years before. Was this to be his life? Doomed to give himself fully to males only to have them taken away?

“I know.” Lucien could feel Tamlin’s breath on his face, and he inhaled deeply. “And I you.” His other hand came up to cradle Lucien’s face. Warmth spread through him like a wildfire. “For the record, I think you look perfect.”

“Liar,” Lucien whispered hoarsely. Tamlin grinned, and then he was kissing Lucien with the hunger of a starving man. In that moment, Lucien forgot all about his disfigured face and his missing eye. He forgot about the political ramifications that his careless taunting of Amarantha would have for the Spring Court. The world narrowed down to his bed, and the male in it that Lucien had loved for longer that even he could comprehend.

Chapter Text

”The animals from miles around came to drink from the little pools, and the wild sheep and the deer, the pumas and raccoons, and the mice—all came to drink. Beside this tiny stream, wherever enough earth collected for root-hold, colonies of plants grew. Everything that loved water came to these few shallow places. The cats took their prey there, and strewed feathers and lapped water through their bloody teeth. The little pools were places of life because of the water, and places of killing because of the water, too.

The lowest step, where the stream collected—”

Unable to bear the burning any longer, Lucien closed his eye against the letters that had begun to blur and throb. He had never been much of a reader, but he hated how difficult it was for him now. His remaining eye overworked itself to focus on the small type. It didn’t help that his head just fucking hurt, all the time, even a month after his encounter with Amarantha. The damage on the surface was largely healed. His wounds had scabbed up and no longer cracked and bled, and the gauze in his eye socket no longer came away soaked in blood. But he could still feel the pinpricks of Amarantha’s nail, deep in the muscle and bone, that never seemed to fully go away.

Frustrated, Lucien tossed the book away. It skittered across the library floor and disappeared into the stacks. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, breathing deeply. It was all a process, he reminded himself. Day by day, he was getting better, even if it didn’t feel like it.

It helped to have someone remind him.

“What are you doing creeping around back there?” Lucien asked the empty room. A chuckle, and Tamlin emerged from between two of the bookshelves.

“I didn’t want to bother you when you’re reading.” Tamlin swept Lucien’s hair away from his face and bent down to kiss his forehead. He never flinched when his fingers touched the scars. Even Lucien hated touching his own face now, the ropy texture of his wounds made his skin crawl. But Tamlin didn’t care.

“So you think I wouldn’t notice you lurking over my shoulder?” Lucien teased. “I’m half blind, not half deaf.”

Tamlin laughed and allowed himself to be pulled down, half on the chair and half in Lucien’s lap. He was heavy and solid and warm. His arms fell naturally around Lucien’s shoulders as Lucien’s came down to circle his waist. With him so close and available, Lucien couldn’t help but kiss Tamlin senseless.

“You’re distracting me,” Tamlin breathed when Lucien finally allowed them to come up for air.

“I’m distracting you? You’re the one who interrupted my reading,” Lucien retorted. Not that he cared even a little bit. He’d rather kiss Tamlin than ever try to concentrate on reading another stupid book.

“I came here for something.” For all his protestations, Tamlin kissed Lucien again, sucking on his bottom lip so hard it was sure to bruise. “I wanted to cheer you up.”

“Mission accomplished.” And Lucien really did feel better. Having Tamlin around had always had that effect. Doubly so now that Lucien could touch and kiss him to his heart’s content.

In a display of godlike determination, Tamlin stood up. “Come on, you’ve been spending too much time inside. Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s raining,” Lucien argued, somewhat sulkily. True, he hadn’t been going outside quite as much as he had before. He felt too weak. Too vulnerable. Too ugly. But that didn’t mean he appreciated being called out on it.

“That never stopped you before.” Tamlin’s persistence was both a blessing and a curse. Knowing that any further discussion would end the same way, Lucien climbed to his feet and followed Tamlin outside.

Although it was always spring in the Spring Court, there were still cyclical changes in the climate. They were in the middle of the gloomiest season of the year, where every day would be rainy, or windy, or both. Right now, the rain fell in a steady pitter-patter that felt good against Lucien’s feverish skin. He hadn’t been outside in over a week, he was realizing. The rain refreshed him, washing away the suffocating dust that had settled over his soul without him even noticing. Tamlin walked next to him, one hand a light but solid presence on his lower back. The High Lord was scanning the treeline, which meant he missed the adoring look Lucien threw his way. Over and over again, Tamlin saved him.

Tamlin guided them on a meandering path through the woods, with no real destination in mind. Lucien was still unsteady on his feet, a combination of his loss of depth perception and a chronic head fog from the poison that lingered in his veins. Unconsciously, Tamlin’s hold on Lucien tightened when they approached exposed roots or fallen branches, providing the much needed support for Lucien to walk without tripping.

They were so focused on the path below their feet that the attack took both of them by surprise. An unearthly screech rang out as a large shape slammed into Tamlin, ripping him away from Lucien and sending him tumbling to the ground. Before Lucien could react, another figure dropped out of the tree in front of him, blocking his way to Tamlin. The creature looked like a huge bat with an insectoid head. Bulbous compound eyes regard him, and the thing’s mouthparts clicked and chittered together. Lucien recognized them as crokrus, aggressive and dangerous animals who injected their prey with paralyzing venom. As far as Lucien knew, they were cave dwellers that frequented the isolated mountains of the Night Court. And yet, here they were, aboveground in Spring.

There wasn’t enough time to ponder the oddity of the crokru’s appearance. The one menacing Lucien hissed and leapt forward, clearly aiming for his throat. With a wild cry, Lucien brought a flaming fist on the crokru’s head. The helmet-like exoskeleton cracked but didn’t break, at least not until Lucien hit it with his other fist. The second strike caved in the repulsive beast’s head. Lucien sent a wave of fire into the opening, filling the crokru with crackling flame. It hunched over, dead, its organs popping and sizzling as raindrops put out the fire that had engulfed them.

Lucien didn’t take even a second to assess his own injuries or recover from the shock. He barrelled towards Tamlin, who was locked in battle with the other crokru. His hands were around the creature’s neck, straining to keep the snapping jaws dripping with venom away from his face. Lucien recklessly threw himself forward, bowling over the crokru, beating at it with searing hot hands. It howled in pain and rage as Lucien got a hold of one of its wings and pulled. With a mighty heave, it wrenched itself free and took off into the underbrush. Lucien considered chasing after it, but a groan reminded him of his priorities.

Kneeling in the damp loam, Lucien’s gaze raked over Tamlin. His hands, now back to their normal temperature, skimmed across Tamlin’s arms and legs, searching for any broken bones. Miraculously, they were both unscathed aside from a few cuts and bruises.

“Are you okay?” Tamlin asked, accepting the hand from Lucien to help him sit upright.

“Am I okay? Are you okay?” If Lucien weren’t so scared he would laugh. Of course the first thing Tamin wanted to know was if he had gotten hurt.

“I’m fine, just confused. What the fuck are crokrus doing here?”

Lucien had an inkling of who would be powerful and vengeful enough to send monsters to attack Tamlin. “I’d bet my other eye it’s Amarantha. She’s sending a message: join her or die.”

Warm hands cupped his face, distracting him. Tamlin’s hair was plastered to his head from the rain, but it still shone bright and golden. A few strands were stuck to his forehead and cheeks, which glowed pink from exertion. “Good thing I have you to protect me.”

The idea that Tamlin would need protection was laughable. He was a High Lord, and one of the most powerful High Lords in recent history at that. But he was right, in a way. Lucien would fight to keep Tamlin safe to his last, miserable breath. Tamlin pulled him down and licked the rainwater from his lips before covering Lucien’s mouth with his own, stealing that breath away from him.

Chapter Text

The mask was uncomfortable. The slender fox snout was a hair too narrow for his actual nose, and the heavily jeweled ears pressed uncomfortably against his temples. At least it didn’t restrict his vision. Ever since Tamlin had gifted him the golden eye that restored his natural sight, Lucien was very particular about things interfering with his eyes.

Truth be told, the fox mask being uncomfortable was the least of Lucien’s worries right now. Every nerve in his body was aflame, every muscle fully tensed. He had hoped to never return to Amarantha’s throne room under the mountain. And yet, here he was. And everyone he knew and cared about was here with him. That knowledge that he wasn’t alone should have reassured him, but it didn’t. He wanted the people he loved as far from the mad general as possible.

Neither he nor Tamlin had been able to definitively prove that the increased attacks by magical creatures in the Spring Court was Amarantha’s doing. And when she had sent word that she wanted to make peace, Tamlin had been unable to refuse. Lucien had argued, warning him against trusting her. Especially since she had insisted that the entirety of the Spring Court attend the ball. More than that, it felt like a betrayal: that Tamlin was willing to put his entire court at risk to parlay with the demon who had disfigured him and stolen his eye.

“It’s a bad idea.” Lucien fought to keep his voice low, to keep himself from shouting. “We have no idea what she’s planning, but peace is the last thing on her mind.” He was flooded with memories from his last disastrous meeting with Amarantha. Not just the pain of her ripping him apart, but the disgusting things she had said about Tamlin. The things she wanted to do to him, to make him do to her.

But Tamlin, sweet Tamlin, was unable to turn down the offer of a treaty. He had already lost one of his sentries to the beasts that plagued his court, and he wanted the conflict to end. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured, cradling Lucien’s face between his warm palms. “I’ll be right there with you. She’s strong, but I’m stronger. I’ll keep you safe.”

Lucien tried to ignore how his insides melted. “It’s not just me you’re putting at risk,” he argued stubbornly. “She wants everybody there. The courtiers, the sentries, even the servants.”

“I’ll keep them safe too,” Tamlin promised. “You have to trust me.” He had kissed Lucien, long and slow, to forestall any other complaints.

The problem, Lucien mused as he scanned the elaborate costumes of the others at the ball, wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tamlin. It was that he didn’t trust Amarantha. He caught sight of the odious female herself, perched on a throne on a dais that had her towering above all. It was disrespectful, to say the least, considering that all seven of the High Lords were in attendance. She was confident, and that made him nervous.

The only thing stronger than his sense of self-preservation was his determination, and right now he was determined not to let anyone besides Tamlin know how anxious he was. Especially considering the saccharine wording of Amarantha’s invitation, absolutely dripping with malicious glee.

My deepest and sincerest apologies for what transpired with your dear emissary. To show my remorse for my hasty actions, the event will be a masquerade, so that he may attend without fear of mockery for his regrettable features. I encourage your entire court to attend in masks, so as not to make him stand out.

Bullshit. Amarantha didn’t feel guilt, and she certainly didn’t care about Lucien’s feelings regarding his face. But if she wanted him to skulk at the edges of the party, she had another thing coming. Lucien made sure to be as boisterous as possible, drinking freely and chatting with fae from all seven courts. Even the mask he had chosen was a form of rebellion. Instead of finding one that would cover his entire face, he picked one with large eye holes that stopped at his cheeks, exposing both his artificial eye and the majority of the scars that remained from Amarantha’s punishment. By now, everybody had heard about what had happened to him, but they seemed content to pretend that all was well, deliberately avoiding the subject of his face.

Every time Lucien’s gaze wandered, it found its way to Tamlin. He was achingly beautiful in a delicate gold mask studded with emeralds that complemented his complexion perfectly. Tamlin saw him looking and smiled. Lucien longed to be near him, especially here. But it made more sense for them to mingle separately, to give the impression that neither of them were concerned.

He was watching when Amarantha approached Tamlin, personally offering him a glass of wine in a silver chalice.

Everything had gone terribly wrong terribly quickly. One moment it was an ordinary party. The next, the seven High Lords were keeled over. Time seemed to slow as Tamlin’s face paled and slackened. Lucien tried to rush to his side, only to find that he couldn’t move. Everybody aside from the High Lords was frozen in place, leaving them to collapse and writhe alone. Lucien tore his gaze from Tamlin long enough to seek out Amarantha, who was lounging on her throne, grinning so wide it almost split her face in half. Lucien would happily have sacrificed his other eye and any other limbs for a chance to wipe that smirk off her face forever.

“You poor, trusting fools,” Amarantha crooned. “Luring you all here was so much easier than I was expecting.” She slithered from her throne to join the stationary revelers, idly shoving them aside with magic as she strode through them. The first High Lord she approached was Nostrus, of the Summer Court. He had the wherewithal to bare his teeth and snarl, but little else. Amarantha ignored him and dove her hand directly into his chest. Nostrus’s features twisted in pain as she pulled a glowing, aquamarine sphere from his body. She took only a moment to admire it, the soft light playing across her pale skin, before she pressed it into her own abdomen. With an aborted yelp, she hunched over and began to shake. For a moment, Lucien desperately hoped that the magic had killed her. To his great disappointment, she straightened up, looking stronger than ever.

“This power…” she breathed. “It’s more than I ever imagined.” With a scornful glance downward, she kicked Nostrus in the ribs. “And absolutely wasted on the lot of you.”

One by one, she knelt beside each High Lord and stole their power. With each theft, she seemed to grow taller, her hair more lustrous, her eyes more blazing. It shouldn’t even have been possible for one fae to handle all that magic, and yet, here she was.

Tamlin was last. With a flick of Amarantha’s fingers she magically dragged him to his feet. “This is all your fault, you know,” she cooed, slowly dragging one hand down the front of his chest. He squirmed, unable to move even an inch. “If you had come to me right away, if you hadn’t sown doubt about my intentions, this all could have been handled peacefully.” The hand on his chest sank through his flesh, far slower than it had been for the other lords. Tamlin’s jaw tightened, the only expression of pain that he allowed. The magic that Amarantha pulled from him was a brilliant green, and one of the most beautiful things Lucien had ever seen. If he could have, he would have cried aloud at the loss when Amarantha consumed it and it disappeared from sight.

Still under the thrall of whatever poison Amarantha had given him, Tamlin was helpless as she manipulated his limbs with her stolen magic, until he was on his knees before her. “I’m not completely unreasonable, my love.” One hand reached out to caress his cheek, and he flinched away from it. For a brief moment, Amarantha’s smile slipped. She roughly grabbed Tamlin’s chin, forcing him to look up at her. “I will return some of your magic and open negotiations for a peaceful transfer of power. If—” she paused, fingernails digging into Tamlin’s cheek. “—you remain here, as my consort.”

Tamlin’s eyes blazed with unrestrained hatred. “Fuck you,” he spat. “How could you imagine I’d ever consider sharing your bed after everything you’ve done? Attacking my territory? Blinding my emissary? You’re insane.”

Amarantha’s perfect red lips pulled into a pout. “You’re still mad about that?”

“Of course I am. You almost killed him.”

“No great loss,” she shrugged. Tamlin lurched forward, growling, clearly trying to push through his weakness and shift into a beast. Amarantha laughed at the display. “Pathetic. You really won’t be with me because I played a little too rough with your disowned Autumn prince?”

“Yes. And a thousand more reasons besides that.”

“You’re so dramatic, darling.” Amarantha reached for Tamlin’s face again, but he had recovered enough to duck out of the way. Her eyes darkened. “I tire of your games. Join me, or the rivers of Prythian will run red with fae blood for the next thousand years.”

“Never.” The poison and loss of his magic still wore on Tamlin, but he struggled to his feet all the same. “There is no threat you could make that would convince me to fuck you. I’d sooner fuck a human, marry one even, than spend a single night with you.”

Amarantha recoiled as if from a physical blow. “How dare you?!”

“Although this isn’t the first time a faerie you wanted chose a human’s company over you, is it? Your sister made the same choice, she—”

Tamlin was cut off by a blow to the face that knocked him to the ground. Amarantha stood before him, panting with rage. Lucien strained to break free of the spell that held him in place, sure that Amarantha was going to kill his High Lord. There was little Lucien would be able to do, not now that she held the power of all the lords. But he intended to die trying.

Instead, Amarantha chuckled. She took a deep breath and smoothed back her impeccable hair. “You really do have the most foul mouth,” she tutted, as though admonishing a naughty child. “And I do so want to put it to use. But very well. I will keep your power, and the powers of the other High Lords. I will rule over Prythian as its High Queen, from my stronghold here in your sacred mountain.” Muffled cries and gasps erupted from the crowd. Lucien too found that he could now move his mouth and speak, not that doing so would do any good right now.

“However, I am in a generous mood, so I will give you a chance to break the curse that allowed me to absorb your magic. For all of you,” she turned, addressing the remaining High Lords.

Tamlin spat a mouthful of blood onto the stone floor. “I’m not interested.”

“You should be. And please relax, it has nothing to do with me. All you have to do is marry a human.” Amarantha’s eyes roved across the crowd and found Lucien, sending a jolt down his spine. “A human woman,” Amarantha emphasized.

Lucien had thought he was afraid before, but it was nothing compared to the ice cold wave that swept over him. He and Tamlin had been so careful, both in agreement that their relationship be a secret. They honestly had no clue how the other High Lords would react to Tamlin being with a male, but they didn’t intend to find out. But somehow, Amarantha knew. Why else would she highlight that the human be a female?

While Lucien panicked, Amarantha continued outlining the terms of the curse. That the human (woman) must hate the fae, must kill one of Tamlin’s own men, must grow to love him despite that. And they only had 49 years, or all of the Spring Court would be sentenced to live forever under Amarantha’s mountain. His mind was running, racing to find a loophole they could exploit. He almost missed Amarantha proclaiming that the masquerade masks that the denizens of the Spring Court were wearing right now would be unremovable. But he couldn’t miss the tang of magic when the edges of the mask melded into his skin.

This was too much. It was all too much. So much had changed in such a short time, Lucien felt like he was losing his mind. All he knew was that he needed to get to Tamlin and take him home. Finally, finally, Amarantha disappeared in a cloud of smoke, releasing everybody from her spell. Lucien didn’t care about what the other courts would think. He sprinted to Tamlin’s side and fell to the ground. He wrapped his arms around Tamlin and crushed him against his chest. His hands combed through Tamlin’s hair, desperate to reassure himself that after all of that, Tamlin was okay.

“I’m fine,” Tamlin whispered in his ear. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

But even with Tamlin’s chest pressed flush against his, Lucien couldn’t feel his heartbeat.

Chapter Text

The denizens of the Spring Court made their way back home. Those who were able to winnow did so, presumably to amble to their houses in shock. Many of the lesser fae were incapable of winnowing. Tamlin had used the magic that he no longer had to bring them under the mountain with him. Lucien and the emissaries from the other courts worked for hours to herd their citizens into the dark and miserable tunnels that connected the mountain to each court. Most of the High Lords winnowed home. Tamlin stayed until the very last member of his court was safely back within its boundaries. When Tamlin and Lucien finally tumbled into bed, it was late afternoon the next day. Having been up all night and morning, they slept, too exhausted to be kept awake even by the uncomfortable masks that were now impossible to remove.

Lucien woke up with a harsh reminder of what had happened the previous evening. The cold metal of Tamlin’s mask pressed into his neck, the decorative emeralds digging into the sensitive skin of his throat. He futilely tugged on his own mask, a habit that would stick with him when he woke up every morning until the curse was broken. There was a lot to say, and no time to say it. Lucien dressed quickly and returned to his own room. It now seemed more important than ever that they keep their relationship a secret.

Breakfast was a cold, quiet affair. The sound of silverware clinking against dishes echoed in the otherwise silent dining hall. Masks glittered around the room, reflecting sunlight off of jewels and polished metal surfaces until the space was unbearably bright. Tamlin sat at the head of the table. His back was straight and his emotion carefully shielded. Even with that damn mask, Lucien felt better seeing him there.

The first order of the day was for Tamlin to address his sentries. They met him in the courtyard, a loose gaggle of burly fae in green armor.

“I’ve never been good with words, so I’m going to keep this simple.” Tamlin spoke quietly, but his voice rang across the courtyard. “In order to regain our power and freedom from Amarantha, you will have to go over the wall and be killed by a human woman. The human lands are dangerous, and I cannot protect you. There is no guarantee that a single death will be enough to break this curse.” Despite himself, his voice began to waver. Lucien longed to squeeze his hand, but remained obediently just behind Tamlin, hands clasped behind his back.

Tamlin cleared his throat and continued. “I would never order any of you to sacrifice yourselves. If any of you do not want to go over the wall, I will not force you. You are the bravest among the people of the Spring Court, and this usurper queen asks too much of you. If anyone would like to step down from their role as one of my sentries, now is the time.”

As Lucien expected, not a single one of the soldiers moved. Tamlin scanned across the crowd, meeting only determined expressions. The soldiers knew, as well as Lucien knew, that their lord would gladly throw himself on the sword for them. They welcomed the opportunity to return the favor.

“We are with you, Lord Tamlin, until the end,” Andras spoke up, breaking the silence. The other sentries nodded in agreement. For the first time that day, Tamlin smiled.

There was more work to be done. Tamlin and Lucien left the soldiers in charge of organizing a schedule for them to send people across the wall as well as maintain the borders of Spring. The rest of the day was spent making plans in Tamlin’s office. Tamlin wanted to communicate with the rest of his court to bring them false assurance that everything was going to be okay. He also wanted to try to get in touch with members of the other courts who were allowed to remain above ground, not imprisoned under the mountain. Lucien wrote so much that his hand was stained black with ink and badly cramped. The work felt pointless. They knew in their hearts that they had lost. The only hope for salvation was this ridiculous plan to have one of the sentries killed and for Tamlin to somehow seduce the killer.

Finally, finally, finally, they could rest. Tamlin lit a fire by hand and reclined in a large chair in front of it. Lucien shucked off his tunic and clambered into his lap. Tamlin’s arms circled him, providing the comfort he had desperately been craving. He pressed his head against Tamlin’s broad chest and listened.

“Where is your heart?” He hated how small his voice sounded, like a child’s.

“It’s still there,” Tamlin reassured him. “I suspect it’s turned to stone.”

“Why?”

“A side effect of her taking my magic.”

“Does it feel different?”

Fingers curled under his chin and raised his head. The mask was beginning to shock him less and less each time he saw it. Tamlin tilted his face down until his lips brushed against Lucien’s. “Not when you’re here.”

Tamlin kissed him like a man starving. Lucien braced himself against Tamlin’s shoulders and struggled to keep up. Tamlin’s hands gripped Lucien’s hips and ground him against him, making Lucien wish he had thought to remove his pants before sitting down. But no, there was still one more thing they needed to discuss.

“Wait,” Lucien gasped when Tamlin finally took a breath.

“Why?” Tamlin stubbornly kissed him again, and it took every ounce of willpower for Lucien to pull away.

“We need to talk about the curse.”

Tamlin’s hands, which had begun unlacing Lucien’s pants, froze. “Oh.”

“What are we going to do? You’re supposed to fall in love with a human. A woman.” Lucien turned his head away, embarrassed of the tears that threatened to fall. It was stupid. He was stupid. After everything that had happened, the thing he was most upset about was that Tamlin was going to fall in love with someone else.

“I don’t know.”

They didn’t speak for a while. Lucien lay with his ear over Tamlin’s heart, praying that if he listened for long enough a faint heartbeat would come through. Tamlin ran his fingers through Lucien’s hair in a motion so soothing Lucien could have fallen asleep. Finally, Tamlin spoke.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

“Of course we do,” Lucien scoffed. “I can’t distract you like this. I should go.” Decision made, Lucien made to push himself away. He was stopped by Tamlin’s iron grip around his waist. “Tamlin, please.”

“Listen. I know we’ll have to stop at some point. But not right now.” Tamlin spoke quickly, urgently, pleading for Lucien to stay. “We don’t know how long it will take for a human to fulfill the terms of the curse. It could take weeks. Months. Years, even. In the meantime, we can try to find another way to break the curse.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please.” Tamlin’s voice cracked, breaking Lucien’s heart. Lucien had never heard his High Lord beg before. “I can’t do this without you.”

It was a bad idea. The more time they spent together, the more it would hurt when they would inevitably have to separate to make room for this human woman. More than anything, it was selfish to compromise Tamlin’s odds of genuinely falling for this human woman. Selfish to jeopardize the Spring Court, and all of Prythian, for a few more weeks, months, years together.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

Chapter Text

5 weeks after the curse

In no time at all, the soldiers of Spring established a schedule. Every day, one of them would cross the Wall and roam the human lands. Andras had the idea that they should be turned into a beast that humans feared and hated almost as much as the fae, to entice them towards violence. They were instructed to growl and behave aggressively, but not to harm anybody. At dawn, Tamlin would meet them in the courtyard. He’d place a hand on their forehead, a blessing as well as a thank you, and transform them into a wolf. Although it was long before most of them had to be awake, Lucien and the other sentries were always present. The grief in Tamlin’s gaze as he sent the transfigured fae into the woods compelled them all to be there, lending whatever support they were able.

Tamlin hated sending his sentries out as bait, but he grew extra surly whenever it was Lucien’s turn. Every time, he asked if Lucien could skip it, and every time, Lucien declined.

“There’s no point in you going out anyway,” Tamlin complained. He was braiding Lucien’s hair before his transformation, which made it easier to manage post-wolf.

“What do you mean?”

“I could never love somebody that killed you.” Stated as an obvious, immutable fact. He finished tying the end of Lucien’s braid and resorted to smoothing his hands across his forehead, sweeping around his ears to the back of his neck.

Lucien, throat clogged with emotion, couldn’t speak. He leaned back against Tamlin and closed his eyes, savoring what could be their last few moments together. The soothing brush of Tamlin’s fingers in his hair grounded him.

In the courtyard, in front of everybody, Lucien received no special treatment. He kneeled before his High Lord, and the hand that Tamlin placed on his head was devoid of his earlier warmth. The transformation was painless, and Lucien did his duty as well as anyone else. He sniffed out the nearest human settlements, he chased their children and he slaughtered their sheep. He prowled around the women, snarling furiously, hoping that one of them would be brave enough to strike against him. Despite what Tamlin said, Lucien knew that if he were gone, the curse would be broken far more easily.

Each time Lucien returned, Tamlin embraced him and fucked him like it was their first time. Whatever affection he withheld in the morning was returned tenfold in the evening, when they were alone and together again.

2 months after the curse

Tamlin rolled one of the innocent-looking red berries between his fingers. “Have you tried them before?”

“A few times.” Witchberries were potent, and usually caused a wicked hangover. Lucien had indulged with Andras and some of the other warriors, and had mixed results. It had come up that Tamlin had never had them, and so Lucien had dragged him outside immediately to pick some. He did have an ulterior motive: everything was going terribly. Fae were pouring out of Spring Court, seeking refuge in other courts or retreating to under the mountain to curry favor with Amarantha. There had been no luck with the sentries so far; all the women they encountered as wolves screamed and ran away. Tamlin was barely sleeping, dark circles marring his beautiful eyes. He needed a distraction.

“How many should I take?”

“Start with one, then see how you feel.” Before either of them could chicken out, Lucien popped one of the berries in his mouth. His tongue was flooded with a deceptively sweet taste; any fool who didn’t know the effect of the fruit could eat a huge quantity before realizing what a mistake they had made. Never one to be outpaced, Tamlin followed suit.

Half an hour later, they were both giggling on the ground. The berries made one euphoric, light-headed, and unsteady. The ground had rolled under Lucien’s feet in a very disagreeable manner, sending him to his knees. As he prepared to attempt to stand up again, Tamlin had fallen against him, sending them both tumbling into the grass. Lucien laughed until his sides ached and tears spilled out of his eyes. He looked over at Tamlin, who was glowing. Either the hallucinogenic properties of the berries were giving him a golden aura, or Tamlin had let his glamour slip. Either way, Tamlin shone, even in the bright midday sun.

“Golden prince,” Lucien murmured. He reached out on hand to brush the back of his fingers against Tamlin’s cheek.

“What’s that?” Tamlin caught his fingers in his own hand and kissed them.

“The first time I saw you, that’s what I thought.” To Lucien, his own voice sounded very far away. “You visited Autumn when I was a child. I thought you were so handsome, and you were so kind to me. A golden prince.”

Tamlin hummed thoughtfully against Lucien’s hand. “I don’t remember that.”

“I never forgot.” Lucien rolled over on top of Tamlin, laying against his chest. As he kissed his High Lord, the grass around them turned to rolling waves. They were in the middle of the ocean, completely alone.

4 months after the curse

Lucien could see the moment that Veer was killed. Him and Tamlin were eating in Tamlin’s office, taking a quick break from the endless mountain of work that they had to do. The apple that Tamlin had been preparing to take a bite out of dropped from his hand and fell to the floor with an ominous thud. His eyes widened and his skin paled.

“What’s wrong?” Lucien was scared, plain and simple. He had never seen Tamlin react like this before.

“Veer is gone.”

The words hit Lucien like a punch to the gut. After months of sending soldiers to the human realm daily with no change, they had grown lax. Lucien had joked with Veer as he was transformed into a wolf, never dreaming that it would be the last time he would see him.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it.” Tamlin’s gaze was empty, his green eyes clouded over. “He was trying to provoke a young woman to attack him. A man surprised him, came out of nowhere. He was looking for her. He had an axe.”

There was no need for him to continue. Lucien could see it playing out in his own imagination. Veer, focused on his goal, missing the human man creeping up behind him. The man rising up and swinging the axe before Veer even knew he was there. Only the most brutal wound would be enough to kill a High Fae. It was likely that Veer had been beheaded, then butchered and consumed.

Lucien felt sick, but he had to ask. “And you’re sure it was a man that killed him?”

“Yes.” Tamlin’s mouth tightened in a line. “I’m sure.”

Veer had been funny. Foul-mouthed, but good-humored. He had been one of the first sentries that welcomed Lucien to Spring Court. He entertained them with ridiculously exaggerated stories that made them all forget the hardships of being a soldier. And now he was gone.

Lucien rose to his feet. “I’ll tell the others. You should eat.” He pushed a plate of food towards Tamlin.

“I’m not hungry.” Tamlin ignored the food and hunched over his desk. He picked up a pen to continue writing, but his claws shot out and sliced it into three pieces. He growled in frustration, and Lucien worried that all of their paperwork was about to be shredded to pieces. Instead, Tamlin shoved his chair away from his desk and strode past Lucien. “I’m going out to patrol. I’ll be back at sundown.” Lucien had no choice but to watch his love walk away from him, helpless to fix what had been irreparably broken.

Chapter Text

2 years after the curse

“I’m worried about him,” Andras said with a frown.

Lucien knew who he was talking about. “I know. I am too.”

They were the first two in the dining hall. Slowly, as the dinner hour approached, the other sentries and servants would trickle in. The table, which in the past would be filled to the point of bursting, would now seat a little over a dozen warriors. The meals that had once been boisterous and joyful were now somber. The empty chairs in between clusters of fae produced a silence so loud that they found themselves whispering. Tamlin could make the table smaller, but Lucien suspected that he didn’t to punish himself. To remind himself of what he had sacrificed, and how little they had accomplished.

After Veer’s death, many more followed, like wheat before a scythe. Once a week, the wolf sentires in the human lands were slain. Tamlin felt each and every death, and knew each one was in vain. Most of them were killed by men, others by their own bravery or foolishness. Zahra, one of the first sentries that Lucien had befriended, had gotten entangled in an abandoned tripwire and suffocated when the wire had wrapped around her neck. Lucien had hoped that the constant bad news would dull him to the pain. Instead, he felt each report of another friend lost as heartbreaking as the first.

If the sentries were dispirited, Tamlin was devastated. He barely spoke anymore, not even to Lucien. He spent all his time in his office, doing Cauldron knows what, because he refused to let anybody else in there. Lucien spent every night in Tamlin’s bed, alone, hoping that his High Lord would snap out of it and come back to him. The flowers around the manor were brown, the ivy that crossed over the walls wilted away to nothing. Spring Court was dying, along with its High Lord.

“Can’t you talk to him?”

“I’ve tried. He won’t listen. I barely see him.” Lucien folded his arms on the table and laid his head on them. Although their relationship was a secret from the rest of Prythian, all of the sentries knew about it. Andras was supportive, even if it meant that Lucien didn’t share his bed anymore. It was overwhelming, though, having all of them turn to him in Tamlin’s absence. As if his closeness to Tamlin meant he held the ability to counteract his martyr complex.

“Make him listen. When the rest of us are gone, he won’t have anyone looking out for him, aside from you.”

Lucien lifted his head with a frown. “Don’t talk like that.”

Andras shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

The other sentries began to trickle in, stalling any further conspiring. Tamlin entered the hall, gaunt and haggard. He sat at the head of the table, to the left of Lucien. He met Lucien’s gaze and smiled, and that hadn’t changed. Lucien smiled back. His hand reached out under the table, and Tamlin met it with his own. His grip was strong and sure, however much else about him had faded away.

Their evening meal began each night just after sunset, when the warrior serving as bait for the curse would leave the human realm and begin the journey home. If they survived. If not, Tamlin would inform the remaining guards, and they would bow their heads in mourning before the meal. That day’s sentry had lived, and was on his way back to the manor. He would arrive within the hour, greeted by the meager remains of the noble guard he had once served.

The meal appeared, just as decadent as ever. Alis and the others in the kitchen coped with the constant losses by continuing to make elaborate dishes that could have fed Tamlin’s full contingent. Both Tamlin and Lucien had spoken to them, gently reminding them that they didn’t need to make so much food. Nothing changed, and they figured it wasn’t hurting anybody, so they let it continue.

“A moment.” Tamlin laboriously rose to his feet. His movements were stiff, and Lucien could practically hear his joints creaking. The sentries froze, alarmed by the change in routine. Tamlin tried to give them a reassuring smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Andras shot Lucien a questioning look, and Lucien shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea what this was about.

“The past few years have been hard on us,” Tamlin said. “We have lost many good warriors in a vain attempt to meet the terms of the curse. It’s hard not to blame myself, to see their deaths as futile. I’ve come to realize that we have been given an impossible task. The curse was never meant to be broken.” Tamlin closed his eyes, the admission a physical blow.

“Tamlin…” Lucien started. He didn’t even know what he could say to make things better, but he had to say something. He was silenced by a hand on his shoulder.

“With this in mind, I have made a decision,” Tamlin continued, his voice growing stronger. “I will no longer send you over the wall.”

Incredulous muttering broke out at the table. Lucien was too stunned to speak. Andras was the first to make his voice heard above the crowd.

“You can’t do this,” he demanded. “If we stop, Amarantha wins. Prythian will belong to her.” You will belong to her, was unsaid, but clear in Andras’s stricken expression.

“I’m not giving up. I’m just refusing to play by her rules.” An edge of authority, a reminder that Tamlin was their High Lord, silenced the murmurs. “We will continue to fight, and work to find a way to break the curse on our own. I have made my decision.” He sat down and began to eat, wordlessly declaring the matter closed.

“You could have talked to me about it.” Lucien tried hard not to sound accusatory. He was sure he had failed. He stood in Tamlin’s rooms, arms crossed over his midsection, feeling strangely fragile.

“You would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“Yeah, because it’s a terrible plan. It’s not even a plan. It’s the opposite of a plan.”

“Lucien…”

“So what now? We sit and wait for forty years until she takes you away? Takes all of us away?”

“Lucien—”

“There’s still a chance of breaking the curse. We still want to do it. Why—”

“Lucien, enough!” Tamlin snarled, loud enough that the paintings on the walls shook. He whirled around, eyes wide and claws out. Lucien flinched; Tamlin’s fury had never been turned on him like this. “It’s not going to work! It was never going to work! I can’t keep sending you out there to die for nothing!” With an animalistic roar he slashed at the wall, tearing the wallpaper to ribbons. His chest heaved as he grappled with the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Tam, please,” Lucien spoke softly as he reached out and took one of Tamlin’s clawed hands in his own. The High Lord didn’t resist when Lucien pulled him in, cradling him in his arms and resting Tamlin’s head on his shoulder.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Tamlin sobbed, his voice muffled from his face being buried in Lucien’s neck. “They’re my family, and I’m sending them away to die. With them gone, I’ll have nothing. I might as well surrender to Amarantha now.”

Lucien ran one hand in calming circles on Tamlin’s back, desperately wishing there was a way to fix this. “It’s okay,” he lied. “We’ll figure something else out. We’ll break the curse another way.”

Nonsense words of comfort. Still, when Tamlin tilted his face up for Lucien to press gentle kisses against his nose and eyelids, he could almost believe it.

Chapter Text

18 years after the curse

Branches and leaves rushed by on either side of Lucien’s field of view. His paws pounded against the ground, sending up a spray of earth when he made a sharp turn. As a High Fae he was faster, but there was nothing like running as a wolf. His body flexed and loosened, responding instinctively before he even made a conscious decision. At the speed he was going, tripping on a root would send him flying through the air. Luckily, wolves didn’t trip.

He had lost his pursuers after a few switchbacks and wading through the river. His pointed ears flickered, rotating to catch every whisper of the forest. He risked slowing down to a trot, red tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting. His breath steamed up in front of him in the cool morning air. Padding along, he put his nose to the ground and inhaled. He caught the scent of his quarry and took off in that direction. The scent was strong; he was close.

Suddenly, a shape barreled out of the trees from his left and slammed into him. With a yelp, Lucien tumbled head over heels, losing all sense of direction. Before he could come to his senses, his attacker slammed him in the chest with a pair of enormous black paws and howled triumphantly.

“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shaking himself free.

“C’mon Luce, don’t be a sore loser,” the other wolf grinned, displaying wickedly sharp teeth. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

The creature that Lucien had been seeking, a glorious golden wolf with elk antlers, emerged from the brush. “Did we win?” he asked as he sat down and began scratching under his chin with a hind foot.

“Not yet.” With a bound, Lucien leapt onto Tamlin, sending them both to the ground in a heap. Andras, the large black wolf, whooped with delight and joined the fray. Tamlin managed to wriggle free and take off running, and the chase began again.

Now that they no longer were sending fae across the Wall to fulfill Amarantha’s terms, the Spring Court had fallen into an uneasy limbo. The sentries patrolled the borders as usual, the citizens attempting to get back to their normal life. More and more dark beasts were making their way into the forest, and constant vigilance was required. Tamlin and Lucien spent hours every day poring over old manuscripts and sending messages to other enchanters, desperately searching for another way to break the curse. Still, more often than not, things felt right. Like nothing had ever happened.

34 years after the curse

When things were good, they were really good. Isolated from the other High Lords and usual Prythian politics and surrounded by those who knew what they were to each other, Tamlin and Lucien were in a blissful bubble. They held hands, they kissed, they drew each other into abandoned closets and hallways when the heat between them grew unbearable. Tamlin’s sentries loved him, and they had grown to love Lucien as well. When they were together, it was easy to forget how the rest of the world had fallen apart.

Unfortunately, Amarantha’s presence hovered over the land like a poisonous cloud, pressing in on their happiness. Whenever news came through of some new atrocity she had committed, Tamlin became withdrawn and surly. The monsters that she sent were attacking and killing his soldiers. Whenever it seemed things couldn’t get worse, they did. Just this morning, they had received a missive that three of the six High Lords being held captive had been executed, along with their families. Amarantha claimed that they had been conspiring against her. Who knew if that was even the case, or if she had concocted an imaginary plot in order to slake her thirst for violence.

Tamlin was inconsolable. He sprawled in his armchair, staring listlessly at the fire that Lucien had started with a wave of his hand. The only movement he made was to bring the glass of whiskey clutched in his hand up to his mouth. It wouldn’t be long before he discarded the glass in favor of the bottle. In this mood, there was nothing Lucien could do to comfort him. He thought that he needed to be miserable, that it was what he deserved.

Of course, that couldn’t stop Lucien from trying. He paced back and forth between Tamlin’s bedroom and sitting room, casting about for something, anything, that could drag his High Lord out of the darkness. On his fiftieth lap, his gaze landed on something that he had never dared try before.

“What are you doing?” Tamlin asked, too depressed to be suspicious when Lucien settled himself on the footstool next to him. His glazed expression sharpened when he realized what Lucien had in his hands.

“Cheering you up.” In all their time together, Lucien had never picked up Tamlin’s fiddle. It was something so personal, so deeply intertwined with the Spring Lord, that touching it would be tantamount to reaching into his chest and pulling out his heart. The instrument was heavier than he had expected, and it took some awkward finagling to get it braced under his chin. With his other hand, he drew the bow across the strings of the fiddle. Even he was surprised by the discordant wail that he produced—it was nothing like the light, elegant music that Tamlin was able to create. He struggled gamely onward, peering up at Tamlin through his eyelashes. At first, Tamlin merely looked confused. That quickly morphed into annoyance. He was clenching his jaw, the muscle in his cheek twitching every time Lucien played a particularly ear-splitting shriek.

“Give me that!” Tamlin lunged forward and snatched his precious instrument away, saving both it and their ears from Lucien’s offensive attempt at music.

“You didn’t like it?” Lucien asked, all innocent wide eyes.

“You’re a menace.” With a grumble, Tamlin settled the fiddle in its rightful place in the curve of his neck. He closed his eyes and began to play, a mournful dirge that made Lucien’s heart swell for reasons he couldn’t explain. Tamlin continued the song, which was not really a song but a melancholy story that rambled and swirled through the air like dandelion fluff. Lucien slid from his seat onto the floor, resting his chin on his folded arms that in turn rested on Tamlin’s thigh. He stared up at the High Lord, drinking in the flush on his cheeks and the soft smile that had emerged. Tamlin’s eyes were still closed, his blonde lashes laying prettily against his tanned skin.

The final notes of the song reverberated through the air. Tamlin laid his fiddle and bow down on the carpet next to his chair, alongside the abandoned whiskey bottle. “Come here,” he beckoned Lucien with a crooked finger. Lucien obeyed, crawling up Tamlin’s body and settling on his lap. It was his favorite place to be, curled up like a cat in Tamlin’s arms.

“You’re too good to me,” Tamlin murmured against his hair.

“Nothing’s too good for you.”

Chapter Text

48 years after the curse

Lucien never truly grew used to Tamlin’s beauty. Especially when it was just the two of them and he let his glamour fall. He was radiant, a godlike being plucked out of the most reverential myths. It was a sacrilegious miracle that he, deformed as he was, had permission to touch him, let alone everything else they did together.

Tamlin’s eyes were closed, making it easier for Lucien to admire him. His head lolled back, braced against one of Lucien’s thighs. They had just finished a bath, dirty and exhausted from their work patrolling the borders of Spring. At Lucien’s insistence, Tamlin rested himself between Lucien’s legs, the Autumn male sitting on the edge of the bath with the High Lord sitting on a low shelf in the water. It was the perfect position for Lucien to groom Tamlin’s wild mane. Tamlin never did more than wash it with harsh soap and brush it out, which Lucien considered a travesty. Tamlin grumbled over the long minutes Lucien spent in meticulous care of vanity, but he allowed the indulgence all the same.

At the end of the routine, Lucien was massaging oil into Tamlin’s scalp. His fingernails scraped behind one of Tamlin’s ears, which got the High Lord purring contently. Lucien bit back a laugh; if Tamlin thought that he was being made fun of, he would stop. And Lucien so loved the delighted rumble that reverberated through Tamlin’s chest, making the water around him ripple with the vibrations.

“All done,” Lucien finally announced. Tamlin turned and hoisted himself out of the pool, practically spilling into Lucien’s lap. Before Lucien could complain about being splashed with bath water, Tamlin was kissing him. His mind completely emptied as Tamlin pressed his back against the cool marble of the bathroom floor. Their lovemaking was slow and lazy, a deep sensual push and pull. Hours, days, or even weeks might have passed by and Lucien would be none the wiser. He would gladly spend eternity here.

Afterwards, Tamlin pressed a series of chaste kisses along the column of Lucien’s neck and down his shoulder. “I love you,” he mumbled against Lucien’s sweat-slick skin.

Despite the heat, Lucien froze, ice cold water drenching his soul and shocking his senses. Neither of them had ever said those words to each other. Despite their past fifty years together, Amarantha’s curse had hung over them, tainting everything they had together. It had been an unspoken rule not to say it, knowing that any moment, Tamlin would have to give his heart to another. Even as the terms of the curse drew to an end, they hadn’t said it. To say it would be a harsh reminder that they were running out of time. That they could never truly belong to each other.

Too late, Lucien realized he had been staring blankly up at Tamlin. Something in those green eyes shattered, and he looked away. “Shit, I’m sorry, I—”

Lucien forestalled any unwanted apology by pulling Tamlin down to him, kissing him fiercely. “I love you,” he whispered against Tamlin’s teeth. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The next day, Tamlin began sending out his sentries across the wall. They were confused but elated, pleased to be doing something as the deadline of their destruction drew nearer. Only Lucien knew. That heated exchange on the marble floor had ignited something in Tamlin. He had to fight, now that he had something worth saving. It was terrifying to know that all of this was for Lucien. Even as his comrades were slain one by one, he couldn’t help but selfishly be glad that Tamlin was trying again.

The dam had broken and the flood rushed forth. They said “I love you” a hundred times a day. Tamlin fucked him as if he thought Lucien would dissolve under his fingertips. Soon enough, all of their bedding was torn to shreds from Tamlin’s claws sinking into the mattress as he came, groaning “I love you” into Lucien’s throat. This too was terrifying; Tamlin seemed to be saying goodbye, intent on leaving his mark on Lucien so that when they were inevitably separated, Lucien wouldn’t forget him.

As if he ever could.

Eventually, there were three: Tamlin, Lucien, and Andras. Brave fool that he was, Andras went out every day across the wall. He refused to let Lucien be the sacrificial lamb. “You’re basically the only thing keeping this court running. I’m a dumb grunt. I’m replaceable,” he laughed whenever Lucien pleaded with him to stop. Empty words; they all knew the real reason. Andras loved Tamlin, and knew that he’d be devastated if Lucien were killed.

Against all odds, Andras lasted a full month. Every morning, he would kneel before Tamlin, the general of an extinct army. Tamlin would solemnly lay his hand on his forehead, infusing him with shapeshifting magic until the fae was replaced by a wolf. Lucien thought there should be more ceremony to the whole thing, but Andras refused. He didn’t want them to act like it was their last moments together.

They were in Tamlin’s office when it happened. Even with the world in ruins, there was still bullshit paperwork to go over. Lucien was going over a proposal for some agricultural reform, fingers kneading against his temples as he tried to decipher the dry, complicated prose. He glanced up to ask Tamlin a question, only for the words to die in his throat. Tamlin was staring off in the middle distance, face slack with shock. It could only mean one thing.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Lucien asked pointlessly. Grief overwhelmed him. After all he had experienced, he hadn’t known that he could still hurt like this. He really hadn’t ever expected Andras to die. Andras was strong and dependable as a redwood tree, growing straight and true for centuries. He had been the first friend that Lucien had made in Spring. When Lucien’s heart was broken, pining over Tamlin, he had shared his bed to ease the pain. Lucien could still feel the touch of chapped lips and beard stubble against his cheek, warm calloused hands holding him tight. And now he was dead.

“He’s gone,” Tamlin echoed. “He was killed by a woman.”

Lucien’s heart stopped. Almost every other sentry had been killed by humans who didn’t fulfill the terms of the curse. He had already assumed the same had happened for Andras, and was preparing himself to begin going across the wall. It seems he didn’t need to. “A woman?”

“A young, human woman. With hatred in her heart.” Tamlin’s gaze was still unfocused, still with Andras, in that connection that only the High Lord could have with his subjects. Unbeknownst to him, tears began to fall.

This was happening. Lucien rose to his feet, speaking in a steady voice that didn’t betray the tumult of emotions in his heart. “I’ll have Alis prepare a room.”

Chapter Text

There was silence in the dining hall following Feyre’s departure. Tamlin slowly swirled his wine around in the goblet in front of him.

Lucien cleared his throat. “She seems…nice.”

“No she doesn’t.” Tamlin’s claws shot out, puncturing the cup. Blood red wine spilled across the tablecloth and his clothing. The following silence was heavy, the air between them clouded.

“Tam.”

His High Lord ignored him.

“Tamlin.”

“What?” Tamlin snarled, flinging the ruined goblet away from him.

The next words were the hardest that Lucien had ever had to say. “We have to use the Lethe.”

Tamlin’s flabbergasted expression was almost comical. His response was just about what Lucien expected. “Absolutely not.”

“Tam—”

“I said no!” Tamlin rose to his feet, eyes blazing. Every claw was fully extended, and ethereal antlers flickered above his head. He stormed out of the dining room, leaving an upturned chair and a wine stain in his wake.

Lucien found Tamlin in his bedroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched the other male pace back and forth.

“I can’t do this,” he moaned. “I can’t keep her here. She hates me. And she should. You should have seen that awful place I pulled her from. They were all so scared of me. I felt like my father.”

As much as he wanted to, Lucien didn’t interrupt Tamlin to placate him. He let him rant and rave, listing all the reasons that the scrawny human girl would never be able to break the curse. Lucien couldn’t say he was much of a fan of the human. She had killed Andras, and she didn’t even care. Andras wasn’t worth mourning to her, because of what he was. What they all were. For the past five decades, Lucien had thought that simply getting one of the sentries killed by a young human woman would be the hardest part. Now he could see how foolish that was. With her here, quivering in disgust and distrust, it was impossible to imagine that she could ever grow to love Tamlin. Or that Tamlin could ever love her.

The human’s cruelty was only one of the obstacles facing them. The other was Lucien himself. He had known, this whole time, that it would come to this if they ever managed to make it this far. Tamlin had claimed that he knew that their relationship was temporary, but Lucien could see how it tore at him to even consider trying to love someone else. And he wasn’t immune either; the thought of his beloved Tamlin even looking at that human ripped his heart to shreds. There was only one way that they would be clear-headed enough to make this work.

“We have to use the Lethe.”

The artifact that Lucien spoke of was a book, one that had been in the High Lord’s study for thousands of years. Legend claimed that it was taken from a holy temple in the forest by one of Tamlin’s ancestors, who had burned the city to the ground for some trivial slight. The name of the city and the temple were lost, and only the Lethe remained. It contained ancient power, unlike anything that existed in Prythian today. With it, one had the ability to remove memories and replace them. Modern memory charms were clunky and inelegant, crude patches that could wipe out chunks of time and left a gaping hole in their wake. The Lethe was different. It could alter the past, replacing one memory with a false one so seamlessly that one would never even know that such a modification had taken place. And the changes were permanent; the only way to reverse the magic was to read the Lethe again. But with no knowledge of the magic used, one would have no reason to even glance at the book.

“No.” Tamlin continued pacing. “There has to be another way.”

Lucien caught him, gripping him by the shoulders to keep him in place. “There isn’t. You can’t break the curse like this. I’ll ruin it, and then all of Prythian will fall.”

Tamlin glared at him, rage and grief battling for dominance. “So, what? You’ll leave? I’ll forget I ever met you?”

“No! I’ll be here to help you. I’ll be your emissary. We’ll just be…” the word was poison on his tongue as he spat it out. “Friends.”

The fight left Tamlin’s body. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead against Lucien’s. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” he rasped. “I’ll send her home. We’ll figure something else out.”

One word from Lucien, and it would happen. The human girl would leave, and he’d have Tamlin to himself again. “We can’t. Then Andras will have died for nothing.”

Tamlin’s eyes closed, his mouth tightened. Finally, he nodded.

They spent their last night together at the starlight pool. To get away from Feyre, from the staff, from the manor where Tamlin would begin his new life with someone else. Tamlin shed his clothing and slipped into water. Lucien followed suit. He dipped his head below the surface and drank, allowing the euphoria to infuse his body with warmth and light. When he surfaced, shaking starlight out of his hair, he caught Tamlin staring at him.

“What?”

Tamlin swam over and cradled his face in his hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, kissing the cheek of his mask right over his scars. Lucien’s heart shattered. He wondered if anybody else would ever find him beautiful again. If he would even want them to. The enormity of what they were about to do crashed over him and set him trembling.

“You’re shaking.” Tamlin’s hands ran down Lucien’s shoulders, along his arms and to his hands. “Are you cold?”

“Yes,” Lucien lied. “Warm me up.”

Obligingly, Tamlin kissed him with enough fire to burn any chill away. He backed Lucien to the shallows of the pool until they both stumbled against the grassy edge. Tamlin took him like that, half in and half out of the liquid starlight. Lucien clung to every detail: the rough earth against his back, the power of Tamlin moving against him, the stark outline of the tree leaves against the starry sky over his head. Even if he wouldn’t remember it by the following morning, it felt important to take in as much now. While he still could.

“I love you,” Tamlin whispered after he had dried off and dressed himself. He kissed Lucien sweetly on the lips one last time before he winnowed back to the manor. Slowly, Lucien dragged himself into his own clothing. He made his way to the nearby meadow. In his office, Tamlin would be reading the spell in the Lethe that would erase all of this. Lucien laid back in the grass, the sweet smell of wildflowers and the chirp of the crickets lulling him into a peace he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He sat up with a start. Somehow, he had managed to doze off outside. Lucien had come out to the meadow to think. Tamlin’s flirtation with the human had been pathetic, and Lucien took it upon himself to strategize and figure out how to get her to fall in love with him. He stood up and brushed off his pants, allowing a small glimmer of hope to wiggle its way through. They finally had a chance to break the curse, and to free his friend from Amarantha’s claws. Things were looking up.

Chapter Text

50 years later

Lucien sprawled like a cat in the sun. He had just come from a month-long outreach trip to Winter, and the cold still lingered in his bones. Living in Spring for centuries had taken its toll on his tolerance; even the slight chill in the air in his home court of Autumn had him shivering. The late afternoon sun pressed down on him, making him drowsy. He wondered how long he could get away with a nap, out here in the garden, before Tamlin realized he was missing.

It was remarkable, how the Spring Court had recovered after Amarantha’s curse had broken. The land quickly filled with displaced refugees who had either been forced under the Mountain or hidden themselves away in other courts. The bustle of life was startling, after 49 years of isolation. It could be overwhelming, even to someone as extroverted as Lucien. Feyre hadn’t lasted very long. Traumatized by her transformation and what she had endured under the Mountain, the influx of fae life into Spring had been too much for her. She had retreated to the other side of the Wall to rejoin the humans, including her family. Lucien found that he missed her, even decades later.

A piece of grass tickled Lucien’s cheek. He wrinkled his nose and swiped it away, eyes still closed. The grass persisted and he opened his eyes. Tamlin was sitting next to him, so eerily quiet that Lucien hadn’t even noticed his presence. He held a long stalk of grass in his hands and was flicking it against Lucien’s face. It brushed against his lips and he snapped at it, attempting to catch it between his teeth. Tamlin laughed and tossed the grass aside. “That’s what you get for sleeping the day away,” he teased.

“I wasn’t asleep. Merely resting my eyes. I’ve far too much work to sleep.” Lucien pulled himself upright. His tone was irritable, but he couldn’t hide his fond smile. While all of Spring’s citizens had worked to restore the court to its former glory, it had been Tamlin and Lucien at the helm. They had worked day and night to make it happen, and Lucien couldn’t be more proud of his friend.

“Interesting how someone who claims to have so much work took a five minute break that has somehow stretched into two hours.”

Lucien chuckled, but the mirth died in his throat as he looked closer. “What’s wrong?”

Tamlin’s eyes widened. “What? Nothing’s wrong,” he stuttered, but it was too late. Everything was slightly off with him. His gaze was too serious, studying Lucien with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. His body was rigid, thrumming with tension. Lucien was pretty sure if he so much as touched him, he would explode.

“Tam, come on. I’ve been gone for a couple of hours, what could possibly have gone wrong in that time?” Lucien tried for an encouraging smile, which didn’t seem to help.

After a few seconds of chewing on his lower lip, Tamlin sighed. “Fine. Follow me.”

Intrigued, Lucien followed Tamlin’s hunched shoulders inside the manor, into his office. He had never been particularly talkative, but Lucien had never seen Tamlin like this before.

“While you were outside, I started going through some of the loose papers in my desk drawer.” Unable to release his nervous energy any other way, Tamlin began to pace back and forth. “I found this.” He stopped his manic movement just long enough to pick up a slip of paper off his desk and hand it to Lucien. The paper was crinkled, having clearly been crushed in Tamlin’s hands multiple times. Written on it were three words.

Read the Lethe.

Lucien frowned. “This is your handwriting.”

“I know. I don’t remember writing it.”

“It’s clearly a trap, then. Some kind of manipulation from Rhysand. Maybe he’s found a way to curse the Lethe. You definitely shouldn’t read it.”

Silence. Tamlin kept pacing, only this time with a guilty look on his face. Lucien groaned. “You already read it, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

Lucien buried his face in his hands, resisting the urge to scream. He lifted his head, dragging his hands down his cheeks and pulling his face into a ghoulish grimace. “Well, was it cursed?”

“No. In fact, I’ve used it.” Tamlin paused, clearly debating whether to keep speaking. “We both did.”

That stopped Lucien short. He had no recollection of ever having used the Lethe. But then again, he wouldn’t. “Why would we do that?”

“You’ll see. I mean, maybe. I didn’t want to tell you right away, I needed more time to think. I don’t know if you even should read it. It could ruin everything. And maybe—”

“Tamlin, stop!” Lucien cut off his babbling and held out a hand. “Give it to me.”

Tamlin hesitated, and for a moment Lucien thought he really would refuse to let him read it. With a disgruntled huff, he picked up the unassuming leather-bound book off his desk and handed it to Lucien. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the stable, you can find me when you’re done. If you even want to talk to me still.” With that cryptic message, Tamlin disappeared. As unencouraging as Tamlin’s attitude was, Lucien was overcome with curiosity. He settled in his large comfy armchair in Tamlin’s office and opened the Lethe to its first page.

In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him…

When Lucien went to the stables, Tamlin was brushing his favorite mare. He ran his large hands, strong but gentle, down the horse’s side. Hands that Lucien now remembered touched him in the same manner. He cleared his throat to get Tamlin’s attention.

His High Lord turned, surprised to see him there. “Lucien? Did you—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Lucien took two steps forward and leaped, throwing himself into Tamlin’s arms. He crashed their lips together, the kiss an inelegant mess of teeth and tongue. Tamlin’s arms circled around him, slotting perfectly into place as though it had been only hours and not decades since they had last been there.

“I love you,” Lucien said. The words came easily, as if they had always been lingering there, just begging to be articulated. “I love you, Tamlin. I love you.”

“My Lucien,” Tamlin murmured. His fingertips dug into Lucien’s waist, hard enough to bruise. “I love you. I’ll love you forever.”

There was still so much to do. So much to rebuild. But there wasn’t anyone else that Lucien could ever want by his side.