Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lorcan liked to watch her when she didn’t know.

He had always liked that, liked resting his eyes on Elide without her realizing. It had started when he tracked her through the woods that time. He’d never looked at her when he shouldn’t be, of course, had no interest in her undressing or bathing, had absolutely no interest in her beyond his own mission. But he had kept an eye on her, because hell it couldn’t hurt, could it.

Later, when they had stayed with the carnival, he’d continued to keep his eyes on her. He’d done it because he was supposed to act her husband, goddammit – only to realize, a bit late, that he could probably have gone to bed ages ago and nobody cared. Sometimes he’d found himself resting his eyes on her sleeping face when he kept guard at night. He’d liked that, liked how it made him feel, watching that face relax into peace. It had smoothed and softened some part in him he’d forgotten about, a feeling of something long time buried inside him. She was so young.

Sometimes she hummed quietly to herself when she washed the dishes. He’d liked that too, though never admitted it to himself.

When he had learned her true identity, her real name, and had learned that she had tricked him, he’d told himself that it was necessary to keep a lookout for that cunning face, the liar behind those unreadable dark eyes, this girl who could fool anyone she’d put her clever mind to fool. Because behind that innocent, young face, he’d realized Elide was sharp as a razor.

It did not take long, however, before he was not as much looking out for her clever mind as he was watching her in fascination of that mind. He’d liked to study her face when she talked to strangers, liked to watch her expression figuring out some puzzle or unwrapping a carefully hidden insult. She was good at catching the lie in other peoples voices, and was excellent at reading people. He’d liked the small dent between her brows when she frowned and calculated. And lied - she was good at lying.

At the boat as they floated down stream he had watched her even more. At the boat, his mind had gone blank and his thoughts had quieted completely, and he had simply watched her. It had no longer been a choice of his to do so, no longer a carefully controlled pastime or precaution. He simply had not been able to help himself from it. He’d watched her as she curled up in a tight ball in her sleep, in pains from her cycle. He’d watched her mortification the day after, her chin held high and spine straight like iron, daring him to comment when his nose filled with the scent of her blood.

He’d watched her throw that axe into the ilken and nearly die. He’d watched when she’d cried and trembled on that crate of apples. He’d watched her bruises and her blazing eyes when he’d cleaned up her face. He’d right out stared when she’d kissed his rough, hardened face with lips as soft as morning dew on a flower petal, and when she had promised him that she would always find him, too. Because if he, death incarnate, could make her a promise, what was stopping her from promising him the same right back? Absolutely nothing, it turned out.

It had been her promise that came through in the end. She had saved him from dying on that battlefield. She had found him and saved his poor excuse of a life, not for the first time, and she had picked him up and brought him to the safety of the castle all on her own.

After waking up in his bed in the dark room in Anielle and finding Elide watching over him - after she held his hand and told him she loved him too, after kissing her and watching her smile at him for the first time in months - Lorcan had slept for another day. When he woke the next time, he was alone, and his body felt like shit. Perhaps it was to be expected, as his guts had been put back into his body less than two days ago. Though he’d been through worse, and wouldn’t complain.

When he’d woken, his eyes had gone straight to that empty chair by his bedside, before he’d hauled himself up and out of bed. The room had smelled of her. The bed, too. He’d wondered if she had come back to him while he slept without him waking. He’d eased himself into pants and a shirt, and pushed out of the room to find some place to piss.

It was evening, and the hallway was dim. The remnants of Anielle after the flood and the battle made a miserable backdrop through the castle windows. The halls were bustling with people, yelling and laughing and crying and talking, people still scrambling to recover. Chaos, but calmer. After relieving himself, he had stumbled around the halls for less than two minutes before he’d heard a bark behind him. He had nearly doubled over when Fenrys had clasped his back in greeting, before realizing why that was a bad idea for someone nearly cleaved in two. Lorcan had to hold himself up by the wall, and snarled back at Fenrys' grimace.

“Elide?” Lorcan finally pressed out, not hearing a word of what he had been saying.

Fenrys' expression softened.

“Helping with the food, last I saw her,” he said. And realizing Lorcan had absolutely no interest in talking to him, he walked away, repeating over his shoulder his words from before with a flash of teeth. “You are one lucky bastard.”

The room designated as dining hall was filled with people. He spotted her immediately. She was bustling back and forth, carrying stew and bread to soldiers with their heads in bandages or legs in braces. She was limping heavily again, and his magic must have left her in his sleep or in her distance from him. He thought her leg had worsened since last time he saw her. He instantly braced her foot with his magic. He let it curl tenderly up her leg, relishing in the feel of her and that he was allowed.

She froze, one bowl of stew in each hand. When she turned, her eyes went straight to him in the doorway. Without putting down the stew or finishing what she was doing, she went straight for him, her eyes on his.

“You’re up,” she said, stopping just inches in front of him, her eyes roaming over his body before she craned her neck back to meet his gaze.

She looked healthy, but tired – there were purple shadows under her eyes. Her eyes shone though, twinkling up towards him as she watched him. Her previous words to him drifted into his head. I love you, she’d said. It was almost impossible to believe. As their watched each other, he heard her heartbeats increase, and he thought he could scent her oncoming blush as if she too remembered. A part of him liked that very much.

“Your leg is worse,” he said. As if she didn’t already know. She ignored that.

“Come, sit,” she nodded towards the nearest bench. “Eat.”

He followed her, and sat where she indicated. She placed both bowls on the table in front of him before she sat down on the bench opposite him.

He eyed the bowl of food. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes. Eat.” she repeated.

And he did, listening while she briefly filled him in on what had happened while he’d slept. He wondered if she had slept at all. He thought not. He wondered how long he had been out, if she had come back to him while he was out or not. When he’d finished the first bowl, she pushed the second towards him as well.

“I should go help them,” she looked over her shoulder while he started eating the second bowl. “So they all get something while it’s hot.”

“Go,” was all he said. He understood.

As she stood from the bench and turned to leave, he sensed her hesitation more than he saw it.

“Come see me later?” he asked her quietly, not quite meeting her eyes, and unable to stop the urge to halt her, keep her close. To make sure she came back to him.

When he looked up, her gaze was already on him, her expression soft.

“I will,” she said, before walking away.

So Lorcan stayed behind, eating the second bowl of stew and bread, and he was watching her again. Her eyes would rest on him too sometimes, a soft smile on her lips, before she would look away from him. He looked away from her too, sometimes, he tried to contain it, tried control himself. But he couldn't keep his eyes off her for long.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And she loved him.

When he returned to his dark room, what little energy he’d found had left him. He lit a new candle on the table by the bed, and shredded off his shirt and shoes and pants before he collapsed on the bed and dragged the heavy woolen blanket over his naked body. His body ached.

Belly full and body warm he must have dosed off, because it felt distinctly like night when he heard the door to the room open and close. Outside was quiet, only distant murmurs and muted sounds. Soft feet padded across the floor. When he opened his eyes, Elide was already sitting down on the bed and was watching him in the candle light.

“Were you sleeping?” she asked.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Something tugged in his stomach when she smiled down at him. He’d missed that smile. He’d missed the soft curve of her lips, her eyes resting on him. She was allowing him to see her, allowing him into her space, her presence, her light. She was so beautiful he could barely breathe.

“How are you?” she asked.

Her hair was wet, and she smelled of soap and nerves.

“Better,” he said, barely aware of his own words. “How is your leg?”

“Better,” she said.

In his mind, her earlier words again flowed back to him. She’d said she loved him. He’d known on some level, she had told him in anger before, but this... This was different. After she’d saved him and he’d emptied his soul to her, all was different somehow. Like the dam had broken somewhere else, somewhere in him. She forgave him, and it was such a precious gift it left him numb, not knowing quite what to do with it. They only gazed at each other, and he wondered if she could feel his thoughts in the air between them. He wanted to stroke his hand down her cheek, but didn’t.

“Will you stay here tonight?” he whispered instead.

Her eyes were unreadable, like they so often were, but she nodded and he felt his pulse quicken. When she looked down at herself he was surprised to see her cheeks blush slightly.

He frowned. “What?”

There was a slight tint of embarrassment in the air.

“I didn’t bring any night clothes,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze.

Lorcan felt his lips twitch. Sweet had never been a word in his vocabulary, but here it was, pressing up and into his thoughts again. She was sweet.

It was both an attempt to find her a proper, genuine, solid solution to her dilemma and an equal part of male possessiveness and arrogance that prompted him say his next words.

“You can sleep in my shirt over there if you want.”

It would be massive on her – she wouldn't feel exposed. She would be comfortable.

Her eyebrows perked up. “I can?”

His lips twitched again at the joy in her voice, so out of proportion with his meager offering.

“I’ll leave you to change.” He made his way to get up from the bed, holding the blanket to his waist. She put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him, careful to avoid his wounds.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she told him sternly. “You’re hurt. I’ll just...I’ll change over there.”

He let her gently push him back down as she rose from the bed, but turned his head away from her to face the wall as she walked over to his shirt by the door. He closed his eyes, tried not to listen or think, and gave her privacy. Not until he heard her walk back over to the bed, when she was right there next to him, did he open his eyes and turn his head back to her-

Not for the first time, he was glad he was laying down. His heart burst into sprint. He had not prepared for how it would feel to see her in his shirt, and only in his shirt. Her hair, still damp and clinging to her head, was draped over one shoulder and slipping under the neckline. The shirt fell to her knees and revealed nothing but innocent legs – but it was his shirt. Her pale, beautiful skin glowed in the candle light, her feet bare, and she was completely covered in his scent. He didn’t have words to express how it made him feel to look at her like that. Did this make him an arrogant, territorial fae bastard? Elide was smiling down at him though, clearly content with his offering.

“I like this,” she whispered, gesturing down to the arms covering her hands. “A bit big though,” she grinned. The arms were enormous on her, falling down her sides and hiding her hands.

“It looks good on you,” he murmured. His voice was rough.

He tried not to let his eyes roam over her, but somehow still found himself eyeing those long sleeves as she held up her arms to try free her hands. When she managed, and his eyes found hers again, she was already looking at him. Her lips were slightly parted. It took him a few seconds to understand why she was now staring at him as if in awe, and finally realized that it was because he was smiling.

He had not realized his own smile was so rare of an occurrence it would make her movements halt. Snapping out of it, Lorcan scooted to the side of the bed, giving her space to crawl in next to him. He realized, a bit late perhaps, that he was very naked under the woolen blanket they were now supposed to share – but Elide didn’t notice, only laid down on her side next to him and slid her legs under the blanket. He kept still, resting on his back, not sure if his guts and spine would appreciate sleeping on his side quite yet.

His heart was hammering in his chest. Her body was so small next to his. Her exhales brushed over his shoulder, making goosebumps appear on his skin, and he knew he was being completely ridiculous. He knew perfectly well that nothing was about to happen, that he’d allow nothing to happen between them, not yet, not with his current state and certainly not with her being, well, her… because she deserved better than that.

She deserved everything. And he would very much like to give her everything, absolutely everything, including time. He needed her to feel comfortable. He needed her to feel safe. To feel safe with him. Still, his heart thundered in his chest and blood roared in his ears and her breaths were warm on his skin and he struggled to keep his own breathing under control.

He could not explain why his body reacted like this. He’d easily killed with lower pulse than this. He’d probably fucked with lower pulse than this. But when he turned his head to face Elide, her eyes unreadable, all thoughts fell from his mind. She was watching him calmly in the candle light, and he couldn’t stand to think about any of it – because this was her, watching him, resting beside him and allowing him to share her space. Just like he had hoped and longed for all those weeks she had shut him out. Was she his? He felt so. Had he ever truly wanted to call someone his? Not like this. He knew he didn’t deserve her at all.

The impact of her forgiveness made it hard to breathe for a moment. A glimpse of the last time they had laid like this flashed before his eyes, gently swinging in their hammocks, his hand tracing hers. All he ever wanted was for her to be content and happy. He’d give her anything. Anything at all. Nothing else mattered. Certainly not his own thundering heart. He knew very well he did not deserve any of it.

“I didn’t mean it,” she blurted into the space between them. Her voice was quiet. “What I said to you. Before the battle.”

He only watched her, completely unable to respond. He knew what words she meant. She had called him a monster, had said she didn’t care whether he died or not.

She held his gaze. “I said horrible things to you,” she whispered.

He could see that it gnawed on her, even if everything that had happened after had erased that. Had changed everything.

“I’ve said horrible things too,” he said back softly.

Done horrible things. He didn’t want to think about the things he had done, didn’t allow himself to remember any of them. She had said nothing he did not deserve.

“Do you think you can sleep?” he asked her, trying to divert her thoughts. She looked so tired.

She nodded, and his heart exploded again when she curled together in a tight ball next to him, scooted closer to his side and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. Her soft, small hand curled around his arm and she looked as if content to go to sleep right there, right that moment.

Lorcan couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Could just lay there, stare down at her, and let her move into him like an iron thread wrapping around his spine. Just by existing, she had slipped behind all of his defenses and moved into his soul. She had stolen his heart for her own and he knew it was futile to ever get it back. And he knew he was completely, utterly at her mercy.

It took him a whole minute before he managed to calm enough to carefully press his lips down to the top of her head. He breathed her in, just for a moment, before pulling back. She peeked up at him. And, as if it wasn’t already enough, she smiled, a soft, beautiful expression on her face. Her face was only inches from his. His chest ached at that smile, at her allowing him into her space. He watched as a few strands of stray hair danced over her cheek. She had not smiled like that, at him, for months. He had gotten so used to her dismissal, and now here she was, curling into him and smiling. As if she was happy to be here with him. As if he was worth smiling at.

She turned her head to the side, watching him. His heart was still wreaking havoc in him as she slowly trailed her hand across his chest. She placed her palm directly over his heart, pressing it down, and he realized she’d noticed his heartbeat.

“Your heart is racing,” she whispered.

He could only watch her, all thoughts ebbing out. When she reached up to press her lips to his, he thought he might burst. It was a sweet kiss, her lips brushing against his once, twice, three times. She pulled back slightly, before tracing her finger along his bottom lip just where hers had just been. Lorcan forced himself to be still.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His heart stumbled at her words. Her hand traced back over his chest, right over his heart, resting there. He carefully moved his hand over hers, engulfing her small hand with his own. She laid her head back down on the pillow, curling back into that tight ball. She watched him for a long time, until her focus started to drift and her eyes eventually fell shut.

“I love you,” he whispered back to her as she fell asleep. And it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen, her curled up next to him like a damn kitten, nuzzled into his side and her hand resting on his chest beneath his own.

Sweet. There it was again, that word. Chaste kisses and holding. That was now his jam. And he wanted to change absolutely nothing.

Chapter Text

He never should have snarled at her.

Not at her, not really. It had been at Fenrys. Still, Lorcan knew he was a fool. He never should’ve done it, wished he’d never made a sound. He had already spent months of his life in agony over losing Elide’s trust, purely of his own making, and he was well aware of the short road between hope and hell.

Those months after realizing he’d fucked up, that he’d lost her... Elide had shun him like the plague. He’d seen the hatred in her eyes when she beheld him, felt the venom behind the words she’d spat at him. There had been no more hope, no more of that light she had planted within him once. In the span of a few months he had gone from having desperate hope of a life, a life with her, unrealistic as it was, to absolutely nothing. It shouldn’t have crushed him like it did, the words of a human female less than twenty years old. But it had.

Her anger at him had been just. But he had always hoped, deep down, that getting Aelin back, doing it right, would get Elide to warm to him again, that it would cool her anger. It hadn’t. Not even when he took the blood oath, not when he apologized. He had been shocked when she’d told him that she loved him, even if she’d called him a monster in that same breath of air. Nobody ever had. He wasn’t a person inspiring love in others. Only death. It had only ever been death and him.

She had told him to die. He had realized, then, that he had broken her trust irrevocably. There was no undoing it. And, promises being his sole trading value, he could understand. Understand that some things could not be repaired. Her trust. Her hope for him, for them, for the future. Her home. Her life. When her trust in him broke, it had all shattered. Lorcan had not been able to repair it. He wasn’t sure how to continue when she’d snatched it all right back from between his hands.

When the situation had presented itself, he didn’t reject death. He had been tired of being the monster, and perhaps being nothing at all would be a relief. But she had saved him, and all the cards were on the table as he’d bled it all out to her there on the back of that horse. And now here it was again, presented to him. The most precious gift there ever was. Hope. Trust. Her. Lorcan knew how fragile life could be. He knew what she offered now – herself – was more precious than anything. He wouldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t. He would with his life make sure he didn’t ruin this. He would spend the rest of her days in this world earning that trust. And he would spend the rest of his days in this world loving her. Which was why he never should have snarled.

He absolutely blamed Fenrys, that bastard. He’d seen them together that day, talking, laughing together, and he knew very well that the twist of jealousy in his gut had been completely uncalled for. He knew very well Elide didn’t blush when she looked at Fenrys. She did not have that soft expression on her face, the one that crossed her face whenever her eyes rested on Lorcan. He knew very well she hadn’t told Fenrys that she loved him. Knew Elide and Fenrys were just being friendly. But it had irked him, in his arrogant male bastard body, when Fenrys had instantly been permitted to be friendly towards her when Lorcan himself so often had been denied it.

It irked him when Fenrys teased her in a friendly manner and Elide laughed back effortlessly, all so effortlessly. It was a laugh Lorcan knew he could never give her. Whatever was between them had been many things, but effortless laughter had never been one of them. Lorcan had heard Fenrys’ earlier words in the back of his brains – you lucky bastard – and he knew that it had not only referred to his survival on the battlefield, but to this woman. Her bravery, her love, and her trust. Her forgiveness.

So after dinner that next day, when they were still gathered around the fireplace outside sitting scattered on the ground, Elide had unwittingly commented on something to be “thrown to the wolves.” And that bastard had swooped down behind her, fished a piece of meat from her plate, smacked a loud kiss on her cheek, and murmured “Thank you my darling” in her ear with a flash of teeth. And a snarl had ripped from Lorcan where he’d sat across from them by the fire, a snarl that had reverberated in the courtyard and stilled conversations, a snarl both a warning, a claiming and a promise of death at the same time.

Elide had jumped at the sound, her eyes wide with shock. She had stared at him, and Lorcan had regretted it immediately. Fenrys, that piece of shit, had only raised one eyebrow as if saying Oh please. Still, he had backed away, clearly acknowledging where that warning came from. From one fae male to another, there was no doubt - Mine, it said - and Fenrys had no quarrel with that, as Lorcan well knew. Lorcan knew. He was a fool.

But Elide had stared at him, completely unaware of Aelins mumbled snort for the gods to save them all from these Fae pricks. Elide only stared, and Lorcan had started to feel the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of shame filling his body.

“Sorry,” he said to her quietly, looking down and away from her burning gaze.

He could feel it more than he saw it, the lifted brows of Rowan, Fenrys and Gavriel. Could imagine their faces. Knew he’d prided himself, before, in never apologizing for anything. He wasn’t sure when he last had. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to doing.

Lorcans life, he realized, could from this day on be divided in two. There was before, and there was after. Before, when he never apologized for anything. After, apparently, he did.

Life before had been easier. Life before was… Maeve. Oh yes, he’d had plenty of time to contemplate that. He’d thought himself in love once. When he had learned that Maeve was Valg, it had made him question himself in ways he’d never done before. He had willingly, proudly, served a monster. Had served her loyally and had prided himself on that loyalty. He had even longed for her. What did that say about him? He had called for Maeve when he’d thought Elide in a danger he couldn’t protect her from. And Maeve had severed his blood oath with dishonor and stolen Aelin, had done unspeakable, sadistic things to her and it had all been his fault. Something had ripped open inside him when she had broken that blood oath, but it had been nothing to his realization that he had lost Elide in the process. He’d meant it when he told her he didn’t care about the oath breaking. Had become glad to be free of it. Because the freer he became, the more he had realized it had been a prison. A prison he had willingly and proudly put himself in. He’d been a fool.

While he lived freely now, life after Maeve had also been lonelier. Which was strange, considering he’d rarely been more surrounded by people than he had been these few weeks. He had always prided himself on his independence, and had never wanted much to do with anyone. He’d prided himself on a lot of things he was no longer sure if he even liked about himself.

In the end, Elide had saved him. Again. And Lorcan knew – of course he knew – that his life was not about before and after Maeve or blood oaths or queens. Life truly was before and after Elide. He knew he should probably be embarrassed for allowing himself to be so completely whip-lashed by this young human. But he didn’t care, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was her. All he ever wanted was for her to look at him with that soft smile and dark eyes, and for her to be happy. To hell with the rest.

One pair of familiar, soft leather shoes stepped in front of him where he’d kept his gaze on the ground. Lorcan looked up at her only when Elide knelt down on the ground in front of him, right there in between his raised knees. He was dimly aware of the rest of their small group watching them.

Only when he saw her face did he realize he had been brazing for her disgust – disgust for the arrogant prick he was, snarling at her like he owned her. But it was not disgust that shone in her eyes at all. It was kindness, and patience, and steel. Elide put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him. Right there in the middle of their group around the fire. Someone made a whooping sound, and there was muffled laughter. People started to talk between themselves again.

Lorcan felt himself go slack as tension he wasn’t aware he’d been carrying drained from his body. When she pulled back, Lorcan drank in her expression. He knew what she meant to say, that it was fine that he had snarled. She forgave it. At the same time, there was a dominance in her gaze, telling him sternly that she would do and talk to who the hell she wanted to, thank you very much, and no amount of snarling would change that. She was putting him back in his place without a word, not an ounce of fear in her heart.

Elide held his gaze for a moment, before she turned back around towards the fire and sat down. She perched there on the ground, right there in front of him with his knees resting on either side of her. Just like that. Something clenched in his chest, and for a few seconds Lorcan struggled to draw breath. He knew he was a lucky bastard. He had known that for a long time before Fenrys told him so. Her words from months ago drifted back to him. I choose this. She chose him. Over and over again, she chose him.

She sat with him for a while, sitting right there in between his knees as if this was nothing, and he cherished it. He dared not move, dared not speak, could barely keep his eyes off her. Lorcan sat quite still and breathed, his eyes resting on her hair as it shone with the light from the fire. Watched her neck go red occasionally, as if she was blushing by her own forwardness. She only left when Yrene came over to ask for her help, and the two women left to go inside. He could hear her laughter all the way from inside, effortless and light, and his chest ached again.

By the time the fire had turned to ember, Rowan had joined him. For a long while they sat side by side watching the fire in silence. Lorcan half expected one of his earlier digs at Rowan for being on leash to be thrown back at him, but Rowan said nothing, and they only watched as the fire burned down to the ground. When he rose to leave, he pressed a fist to Lorcan's shoulder.

“Life change,” was all he said, before turning to go find his mate and his bed.

For the first time in a long time Lorcan wondered if he hadn’t quite lost his oldest comrade and friend after all. Maybe they had both just needed to… change. And Rowan was right. This life, this existence, was a different one. It was as if Lorcan’s life before was from another world, a distant dream made of killing, bedding women, drinking and dominating. A dream of death and power and numbness. The memory gave Lorcan no joy.

He went to bed shortly after. He ran into Fenrys on the way back, who grinned at him and slammed his hand into his back and completely ignored the snarl that ripped out of Lorcan in return from the painful zing to his wounds. But clearly, they were good, unless Lorcan killed him for spite. He just might.

He didn’t tell Elide goodnight. He went to his small room, threw away his clothes. The scar on his abdomen ached painfully when he moved, but he knew he would soon be back to his normal state. Lorcan fell into bed, feeling both content and miserable at the same time and not sure why.

He woke by someone curling up behind him in bed, and his senses went on high alert. But he also felt the tip of a nose as it pressed against his shoulder blade, and it was Elides scent that washed gently over him. She must have put on his shirt again, because he could smell his own scent mingled with hers. She had joined him, then, and something eased in his chest, as if a tight coil he didn’t know he had in there had eased. Her heartbeats were steady, calm, and he felt the ghost of a smile on his face.

“You left,” she whispered, her breaths washing over his back.

A silent question lingering there between them. He’d made no sound, but she must have guessed he’d be awake.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he explained.

Elide went quiet for a little while. Lorcan counted her breaths against his back. For some reason he didn’t quite feel like facing her.

“You know that I’m just trying to get to know your friends,” she finally said.

A statement and a question, telling him and asking him alike. Her voice was gentle. He closed his eyes for a moment, before slowly turning around on the bed to face her, making sure to keep some distance between their bodies.

She had crawled under the blanket, too. Her cheeks were red from the cold or from the heat of a fireplace, he couldn’t tell. She indeed wore his shirt, her hair now braided back over her shoulder. And her eyes, those sharp eyes, were watching him intently. He felt her gaze pierce him completely, and the feeling of being bared before her had nothing to do with his clothing.

He forced himself to nod. “I know.” I didn’t mean to snarl at you.

He hoped she could see it there in his eyes. Perhaps she did, because she smiled then, that soft one, the smile he liked to think was his. The smile he had not seen for so long, the one he had not realized how much he had missed. It floored him completely, that smile. And he could breathe again, his chest easing up a little. He wanted to lean over and kiss her, wanted to drag her body closer, press her close to him, wanted it so bad it almost hurt. But he didn’t, only watched her smile, and breathed.

He knew it was new for her. Them, but also just being here, making friends. Being herself. Being free. He had not even considered what her thoughts were on getting to know his...friends, as she’d put it. Lorcan honestly had not considered any of the people here to be his friends - Whitethorn perhaps the only exception. He’d meant it that time, long ago now, when he’d told her he had none. And certainly not Fenrys, that bastard. Friendship had not been a currency he’d ever put any value to. But, perhaps, things were changing. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind it. Life change.

As if Elide could see every little thought passing through his mind, she smiled and put her palm on his cheek. Her hand was cold. Lorcan's heart faltered again by the soft hand caressing him, and before he knew it she had scooted closer to him, right into his embrace, and kissed him.

He breathed her in, and let her, his body and mind both frozen in time. His chest ached again, and his arms wrapped around her waist completely on their own. However, he soon wished they hadn’t. She kissed him intently this time, more urgently than she had kissed him before. He quickly had to remind himself there was only a woollen blanket and not a lot of space separating them. And after today… they better not push this fine new line they were now threading.

His hands were trembling when he removed them from her and pulled back from her kiss. He let one hand ghost over the back of her head instead.

“Sleep, Elide,” he said, stroking his thumb over her hair and her beautifully round ear.

He shouldn’t touch her, should restrain himself, he knew that, knew very well his rough, calloused hands had no right caressing her face. But his hands ached to feel her soft skin and he watched his fingertips as they brushed against her cheek all on their own, his hand large against her face.

She didn’t respond, only leaned closer to press her lips to his again. He held quite still, and let her explore him. He wasn’t even sure that she’d heard him. Her kiss was eager. When she opened her mouth to stroke her tongue against his own, he could not quite hold back the sound from the back of his throat. Her tongue brushed against the tip of his canine.

“Elide,” he whispered against her, unable not to.

Again he made to pull back - but she now grinned, for the love of the gods, into his mouth and kissed him again. So he let her, not able to resist her.

It was as if she wanted him. As if she liked him whispering her name, liked the evidence of how she affected him, liked his large hands on her face, and he could almost believe it was true when her arms wove around his neck and her breaths became uneven. He could not hold back the rumble that escaped from deep in his chest when her arms around his neck pulled her closer to him.

His mind went back to that first kiss, that night in the sump where she had kissed him and felt so lovely under his touch, and where he had lost himself in her so completely, burying his hips in between hers and breathing her up and ghosting his lips all over her. His own heartbeats were now racing loudly in his chest. He did not for anything want to make her uncomfortable, but he was only wearing that woollen blanket, and resisting her was all but impossible.

He sensed it before quite realizing what it was. Perhaps he was in denial at first. When he did realize, he couldn’t hold back the rumbling sound that escaped him, swallowed down by her mouth on his. Because he could scent her, then, her arousal. He knew she had no idea, it was only for him to know, but stopping her, pulling away… it became a whole lot harder.

He was dimly aware of his hands trembling again, holding her to him and trying to resist her all at once. He loved the scent of her. He loved it. He wanted to bathe in it. And it did things to him, things he had promised himself would wait. When he managed to pull away from her, her eyes were hazy and her lips parted. Her breaths were hot against his face, her eyes not quite able to find his in the dark room. He ghosted his thumb over her cheek.

“Sleep,” he said to her once more. His voice was rough.

She responded by putting a finger in his mouth. Slowly, she touched his canine, stroking over it then down to the tip and pressing her finger lightly to it as if considering whether or not to break the skin. He growled at her at that– couldn’t help it. She retreated her finger, her eyes dancing over his face, an unruly expression on her face that did strange things to him. Before she could pull away that finger completely, before he could stop himself, he snatched it back in between his lips and bit gently at it, careful not to break the skin. A breath escaped her, washing over his face. He released her finger.

“Careful,” he warned her. “Now sleep”.

That unruly expression again. But she listened this time, stroking her palm over his face once more before laying down on the pillow. He tried to not be obvious about taking deep breaths and filling his lungs with her scent.

They lay facing each other in the dark. Lorcan watched her as she fell asleep, and for a long time after, until he too started to drift.

Chapter Text

Lorcan woke in the middle of the night by the scent of Elide’s blood.

He knew it well, that scent. Knew it as well as he knew the scent of her skin and hair, even if the scent of her blood made his brain go extra alert. Danger, it called. It did things to him. He knew very well it was biology, knew the scent of blood did that to all fae males, particularly when it was the blood of a partner. Protect, it screamed at him. Protect. Danger. And he knew, to other males and strangers, that same scent whispered something else, whispered vulnerable. Which made his own instincts roar at him even louder to protect. Protect, and to take, and taste and mark her and to mingle her scent with his own. Mine.

When Lorcan woke by the scent of her blood, his mind already in full alarm, it took him a moment to realize there was, in fact, no danger at all. The room was dark, it was still night, and Elide was sleeping heavily next to him in bed. She slept on her stomach, wearing his shirt, her breaths heavy and her braid trailing down her back. She had kicked away the blanket in the night.

She had collapsed in bed after dinner that night, and had been asleep before he even came to their room to join her. He knew she had been helping Yrene and the healers in the Great Hall all day, and had worked from early morning until nightfall. He had barely seen her, as he had been busy with Whitethorn, and had only kissed her lightly on the lips this morning when they woke and left the room together. He had made sure to support her ankle throughout the day, but had not seen her again until after dinner when she had brushed past him in the hallway and sent him a soft smile, only for him. A smile that made the world alter and his heart stop. Later he had found her here, already asleep and wearing his used shirt. He had wrapped the woollen blanket around her, pinched the candle with his fingers, and carefully laid down next to her without undressing.

The scent of her blood was not from a wound or from danger, but from her cycle. He told his brain to quiet down, and spent a few minutes wondering if he should wake her or not. She needed to rest, and perhaps it could wait. But, surely, she would need something to stall the bleeding with. Especially now that her cycles were heavier than before.

Back in the beginning when they had travelled together, she had barely acknowledged her cycle at all. They had both ignored it. When she had told him that she assumed her cycles were becoming heavier because her body had finally started to feel safe, it had made him both angry and strangely proud. Her body was returning to a state of normal, no longer in constant stress. It could only mean she was feeling safe, safe with him. She never said so, but he knew it. Something had warmed in him at the thought, even back then.

This realisation however also implied that she had spent her life so far without proper cycles, indicating her whole youth and adult life was spent in what he must assume was malnourishment and terror. That her body for the first time deemed it safe when she was tracking across country in wartime while being hunted by monsters, accompanied by a stranger who’d originally hunted her too, told him enough. It filled him with white hot fury to think what this implied about her life.

It hit him again, like it did occasionally, how very young she was. Too young. Just barely into womanhood. Just barely getting to know her own body. She was right smack in the middle of war, and was feeling safe for the first time in her adult life. Just barely starting to know herself in a state that was not constant fight or flight.

Lorcan put a hand on the small of her back.

“Elide.”

No response. He started stroking her back over the shirt.

“Elide, wake up.”

She did, slowly. Sighing and stretching, and after burrowing her face into the mattress, she turned towards him. She stifled a yawn.

“Lorcan?”

He liked when she said his name like that. Something tugged in his stomach at the sound of it. Her voice was sleepy, eyes hazy, and there was no alarm in her voice or fear in her scent when she squinted up at him in the dark. She felt safe. She knew he would be there, knew he would come to her, knew he would sleep next to her and watch over her. She trusted him. The confirmation on her face did strange things to him.

“You should wake,” he murmured.

She opened her eyes more. “What happened? It’s not morning yet.”

Her eyes found his face in the dark, frowning now.

“No,” he said. “It’s still night. But you are bleeding.”

Her eyes roamed his face now, clearly not able to see him that well in the dark room. She rubbed her eyes, her mind still murky with sleep.

“What?”

“You’re bleeding,” he repeated softly.

It took her a moment before she realized his meaning. And like a blade, humiliation and mortification slashed through her peaceful and contented scent, and it was horror that washed over her face.

“Oh.”

She scrambled back from him in the bed, peering down at herself. He saw the blush creep rapidly up her neck as her face turned bright crimson and her temperature rose.

“Sorry.” It was a whisper from her lips, soft like a breath of air, but it was still there.

He frowned at this massive overreaction as she continued to move away from him.

“Don’t-” he started.

But she was already out of bed, stumbling backward in the dark room, her breaths shallow.

“Elide,” he said, sitting up too.

“Sorry,” she breathed again, not hearing him, fumbling for the door. “I’ll go fix it.”

Her hands found the door behind her.

“Wait,” he asked, wishing she wouldn’t leave like this, but she had already opened it. “Take my bag, at least.”
The bag that still held the clean strips of linen shirt he’d prepared for her last time. It seemed a long time ago now, when he had forced the linen into Gavriel’s bewildered hands and threatened him on his life to pass them on without telling her who they were truly from. Perhaps she realized what he meant, because she did, grabbing his bag and slipping out of the room before he could say another word.

She was gone for a long while. At least it felt like that, as Lorcan laid back down and waited. He didn’t understand her reaction – the fervour of it. It wasn’t as if they had awoken in a puddle of her blood. It wasn’t as if he had never scented her blood before or as if this was something new between them. On the contrary. He’d provided her with strips of linen for months goddammit, and she’d never before let her embarrassment win.

When she returned, slipping the bag down on the floor and returning to him, her face and neck were still flustered. She held her chin high in spite of her reddened cheeks and slid back in under the blanket. She laid on her side on the farthest edge of the bed from him. He only stared at her.

“Elide,” he said her name, wishing for her to speak.

“Thank you,” she said.

She didn’t meet his gaze – though to be fair, she probably could not see him very well in the dark. He assumed she had found the strips of linen. He couldn’t read her expression, but the air was thick with the scent of embarrassment. He carefully reached across the bed, putting one finger under her chin to make her look up at him.

“Why are you embarrassed?” he asked her plainly.

Her pupils were big in the dark. They stared at each other.

“You could smell it,” she whispered back, just as plainly.

“That’s not new,” he retorted.

“You once told me I reeked of blood,” she countered.

He frowned. Had he said that? It must have been at the boat that time. And it had been a crude comment, he’d been angry, had perhaps even tried to hurt her.

“That was a different time,” he said. Before this, before them.

She only gazed up at the contours of his face.

“We didn’t share a bed then,” she whispered.

Oh. She had expected him to mind, then, had perhaps expected him to be bothered by it. She probably had expected to find herself laying in a puddle of blood. He realized perhaps this was the first time in her life this wasn’t solely happening within her own private space, but so very close to someone else's space too. He stroked his thumb down her cheek, listening to her irregular heartbeats.

“Do you truly think that I mind?” he asked her, not releasing her chin.

He felt her melt under his thumb as if giving in, relaxing into his touch. Her eyes closed. He stroke his thumb over her cheek again, cherishing the feel of her soft skin under his calloused fingers.

“No,” she whispered.

He relaxed a bit by her answer – that was good. Even if in spite of her words, her body was still rigid. She was still resting as far away from him as possible, as if not sure if she was wanted any closer. As if it mattered. As if her scent was anything other than arousing to him. He would never tell her that though, or at least not yet.

“Elide,” he said her name again, hoping for her to understand, to relax, to sleep. Wishing away the sting of embarrassment still lingering in her scent.

He could see in her eyes she understood his meaning, but still she made no move to relax further. It was as if her body still feared his rejection – which was absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

He had held back. He had been adamant. He had laid still, held back and let her do with him as she would like, but he had held himself and his own hands in check all the way. He’d been certain it was not his place, not his turn, not his anything, not yet. Until- Unless- If she truly thought she was not wanted-

Lorcan sighed, as his self imposed restraints evaporated.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice ending in a question without him meaning to - because it would always be a question.

He nudged her towards him with the fingertips still on her jaw – and it was both a question, a plea, and a wish.

She followed his nudge, just a little bit, inching closer to him. Still, she was too far, still uncertain, and he could not bear it. And for the first time since they had started sharing this bed, he slowly reached out for her. He wrapped his hand gingerly around her waist, and slowly pulled her closer to him as he closed the distance between their bodies.

Her heart burst into a frantic beat against his chest, but it was only pleasant feelings tainting her scent and only the ghost of a smile on her face. He held her gaze, assessing. No fear, no uneasiness, not a lick of it. Only then did he let his arms wrap more comfortably around her waist. He was massively aware of how small and fragile her body felt in his arms, how tiny she was against his body, how soft she was and just how perfectly she fit into his embrace. Slowly, all the while gauging her reaction, he rested one arm over her waist to trail up her back and let his other arm slide under her to pillow her head. And he held her, close to his chest, held her in his arms like the most precious thing.

They were too close, far too close, and there was not nearly enough separating them, but if the alternative was her thinking he minded her scent… Gradually, she relaxed into his side. Her warm breaths were now washing over his throat where she rested her head on his arm. Cold hands pressed against his chest, and she sighed. He felt her melt into him, and he listened to her heartbeats as they gradually slowed. He slowly let his fingers trail circles by the nape of her neck. His fingers caught in her braid, and he started to weave out the braid without thinking, working his fingers through her hair and trying to make her relax.

“I love your scent,” he heard himself murmur, eyes on her hair, not planning to say it at all but it had slipped from his mouth like a whisper in the night into her ear.

She said nothing, but she sighed when his fingers reached her scalp and when he dragged his fingertips across it. He focused only on that, on that small breath of air escaping her, and tried to get her to relax. He kept his own breathing steady and tried to keep quite still and ignored his own thumping heart. And he realized he could give her this, if this gave her comfort, if she would allow him to, he would give her this always. This was safety. This was comfort. This was trust.

“Sleep,” he told her.

It took her only a few minutes before she did, breaths even and deep. Her cheek was so soft against his arm, her breaths hot against his throat. Lorcan fell asleep too after a while, his hands still buried in her hair and her head tucked under his chin. She was safe. He’d make sure.

They woke like that the next morning, still entangled, his fingers still buried in her hair. Her hands were still pressed to his chest and her face tucked into his throat, and he had his nose buried in her hair. They stayed like that for several minutes after waking, neither of them wanting to move away.

Chapter Text

Lorcan was not used to being worried.

He was not used to how it consumed him, how it clouded his concentration and distracted his mind completely. Because it was worry that filled his body when he laid next to Elide the following night and listened to her muffled exhales of pain. She was trying to hide it, that much was clear, and probably thought she was succeeding, too. As she had been all day.

He’d first noticed at breakfast, how her posture had been slightly curled around herself. Waking up with her in his arms that morning, untangling from her, had made him feel things he had no words for. Her eyes were sleepy, joyful, warm, a bit shy, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in a delightful chaos. He would have liked to stay like that forever if he could, just holding her. He very well knew she was easily the most precious thing he’d ever had in his arms.

She had seemed happy, which was why he was surprised at breakfast to see her a bit hunched over.

“What’s wrong?” he’d frowned down at her, too late realizing the gruffness of his tone, but she had only shaken her head and told him she was fine. And he had nearly, nearly believed her, she was that good at lying.

He had watched her throughout the day though, watched when her face fell slightly when she thought no one was watching. One time her hand fell to her abdomen. He was pretty sure she was in pains from her cycle, and that it was nothing serious - but it made him pause with the realization that she would spend the day in what must be pain and tell no one. Had her previous cycles been like this too, without him realizing? Had it been like this when they were looking for Aelin on horseback? When she fought for her life against the ilken and her uncle? Before that?

Her mood throughout the day was cheerful and content. She sent him her soft smile once, the one he wanted to taste, his smile, and brushed her hand innocently over his arm when she passed him in the hallway. His heartbeats had quickened by the innocent touch, and he could barely recognize himself.

Like the previous night, Elide was almost asleep on her feet after dinner. She had only kissed him briefly goodnight before she had crawled under the blanket and curled into a tight ball. She was facing away from him though, and he had wondered about that.

Careful to keep some distance between them, he’d settled into bed on his side behind her. For a long moment he had rested his eyes on the back of her head, on the slight shine to her dark hair, and just breathed in her scent. He had almost fallen asleep, had it not been for the fact that her breaths had never quite settled, never quite becoming deep and even. Never quite relaxing. And now, here she was in the middle of the night, exhaling shakily and still not sleeping. Lorcan had laid behind her for a while in the dark, listening to her breaths as they caught in her throat, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You’re in pain,” he said, breaking their silence. He cursed himself for making it sound like an accusation.

Her breath rushed out in a sigh, but other than that she didn’t seem surprised to learn he was still awake.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered.

Lorcan raised himself up on his elbow behind her so that he could peer down at her face. Her expression was neutral, eyes closed, and he was none the wiser from seeing her face. She looked like she could be sleeping.

“It’s not nothing,” he disagreed.

“It’s just cramps,” she said evenly. “It will get better in a couple of days.”

Lorcan stared down at her.

“Have you been in pain the whole time?” he asked harshly, again unable to hold back his tone.

She must know what he meant. They had been travelling together for months.

“Not like today,” she said.

Not truly answering, he noted.

“Why haven’t you asked the healers for something?” he pressed. Surely this could be easily remedied by a tonic, at least he assumed so.

Her expression hardened then. “There are people out there who lost arms and legs,” she said, her voice quiet. She opened her eyes to look at the door as if she could see right to the healers headquarters. “You were nearly gutted, Lorcan. I will not go out there and complain of a tummy ache.”

Ah. He thought tummy ache was an understatement, but refrained from commenting.

Letting the tension seep out of him, he rested his chin gently against her shoulder. He peered down at her now stern face.

“What can I do?” he asked her. He managed to control his tone this time, trying not to sound like he was accusing her. Even if he was, a little.

She only shook her head and smiled slightly, before her smile got interrupted as a jolt of tremors run through her body. Her hands clutched at her stomach.

“Just sleep,” she whispered.

He kept his eyes on her, waiting, not accepting her answer.

She sensed that, and added, “The only thing that help at all is lying on my side applying heat and pressure. See?” She nodded to her hands on her belly. “Sleep. I’m okay.”

He eyed her hands that were wrapped over her stomach. Perhaps it was the arrogant male part of him who simply could not accept that there was nothing he could do to help that made him speak.

“Heat?” he repeated.

He was warm.

“Mm,” she only nodded, not catching on. She closed her eyes. He watched her face try to relax, before she flinched again when a new cramp ran through her.

“Let me help,” he breathed.

She frowned, her eyes still closed. Still not catching on.

He gingerly placed his hand over hers, over her belly, and repeated, “Let me help.”

She opened her eyes then, and understanding dawned on her face.

“What do you mean?” she breathed, as if not quite trusting that she had understood him.

Lorcan searched her face, her scent, but there was no uneasiness or discomfort there. Her expression was open – so open with him. Slowly, so she could follow his movements, he trailed his hand back from her hands to slip down under the blanket. When he reached the edge of the shirt she was wearing, he paused.

“May I?” he asked. His fingers played with the shirt, letting her know his intention.

She nodded, not even hesitating. So Lorcan slipped his hand gently up under the shirt, trailing it over the bare skin of her thigh, before he wrapped his hand over her belly. Her own hands slid away, allowing him room. He flattened his hand there, palm pressing lightly just over her belly button. He tried not to dwell on the softness of her skin, and kept his eyes on her face to monitor her reaction. The side of his finger brushed against the waistline of her underwear.

“Oh,” she breathed. Surprise crossed her face, and she pressed her own hands back down on top of his. “You’re warm.”

“Mm,” he replied.

Well he was. His hand was so much bigger than her own, covering her belly.

“A bit lower,” she breathed.

Her words made his heart stumble, but he ignored that, ignored the pulse that suddenly hammered in his ears. He slowly slipped his hand down, just under the waistband of her underwear, pausing when her hand pressed down on top of his again. He kept perfectly still, and watched her face as she took a deep breath. Her eyes squeezed shut.

“That feels good,” she breathed. She pressed her hand again, and he added a bit more pressure.

“Good,” he said, brushing his lips to her shoulder.

He tried not to linger on the feel of her skin, so soft and warm and smooth under his touch. His rough hands fit nowhere near it, and at the same time, fit perfectly. He tried not to think about the immense trust she had in him as his hand rested just below the hem of her underwear. He only kept quite still.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her face had relaxed now, and was no longer flinching. He laid back down behind her, allowing his nose to rest by the nape of her neck, and he held her in his hand. He applied gentle pressure and kept quite still. He didn’t let himself think, just held her, keeping his hand right there on her lower abdomen covering the most vulnerable part of her. She was allowing him into her space and her body and her pain, and he held her just as he had longed to. For the first time in his long life he was longing for that, for holding, just touching. Things he had previously detested, had refused and denied and scoffed at whoever had tried.

When her breaths became deeper, edging on sleep, he too relaxed. She was, if not pain free, at least not whimpering and trembling with it. He would find a tonic for her tomorrow. And if no remedy would help, he’d hold her, keep her warm and apply pressure, just like this, for as long as she wanted him to. Lorcan fell asleep, holding her abdomen and keeping quite still.

In the morning he woke to find they had moved around in their sleep. During the night his fingers had splayed wide over her belly, stretching across her midriff as if trying to wrap all the way around her. His other arm had slid under her head, encircling her front. She held onto his underarm, holding him there. Her back was tucked tightly to his chest, his nose deep in her hair, her scent surrounding him completely.

When he began to untangle from her she was already awake. There was a slight blush in her cheeks when she leaned up to steal a kiss from him before he could put space between them. Her eyes were bright. Lorcan swallowed. He wasn’t aware his hands were trembling until she had slid out of the bed and walked away from him.

Perhaps it was the scent of her blood that made him do it. Perhaps he could blame it on that. He wasn’t sure that held any sway at all, though, not really.

After having slept with Elide in his arms two nights in a row, each time with a solid excuse for why he needed to do just that, Lorcan came up empty the next night. There were no more excuses. There were no more sensible reasons that explained why he needed to wrap his arms around her small, perfect body and keep her flush to his chest all night through. The truth was, he simply wanted to. Which meant absolutely nothing if she wasn’t so inclined. But, he thought, she was. And Lorcan caught himself that day right in the middle of wondering why, really, he shouldn’t.

He could control himself, after all. He had more than 500 years of self control, and would describe his self discipline as nothing less than excellent. And, if she indeed wanted more from him… Why would he not give her what she wanted?

He made himself remember that she was young, and that she was inexperienced. She had once told him frankly that she had never wanted anyone, males or females, at any point in her life. And he had promised himself – promised them both – that he would give her time. Time to get to know this, them, him. Herself. Time to feel safe and to figure out what she did want, now when she was for once free to live her life as she pleased.

He would give her that time, even if time itself had started to bug him. Time and mortality alike. Lorcan had not forgotten that he had made her another promise as well, back on that horse. I’ll be with you always, he’d promised her. He had said it thinking he was about to die. Now he had started to wonder how he would keep it and live. He would give her time, but he could not keep himself from pondering how, how he could give her everything. How he could give her always.

The day after he had wrapped his hand over her belly to keep away the pains from her cycle, he got her a tonic for the pain. He asked one of the healers for it, and Elide quietly accepted when he handed it over. That next day, she was in no pain at all. Still, when night came, he held her just the same. She leaned back into him, and he placed his hand over her belly and buried his nose in her hair. It was as if a silent agreement had passed between them, that he needed to do so because of her pains, as if the same excuse as before still applied. Only they both knew she had no pains at all. They didn’t speak of it.

The following night was the same. Just like the previous night, they had said nothing but goodnight, and Lorcan pretended like nothing at all when she curled herself back into his embrace. He said nothing when she turned around to face him in his arms, when she reached for him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He made no reaction whatsoever when the scent of her arousal reached his nose. He’d done nothing, had barely breathed, only laid quite still and let her kiss him. He let her explore him, and somehow knew it was imperative he did not move. But she could move, and she did, and adrenaline shot through his body in delight by her uneven breaths and her soft lips that pressed eagerly against his.

He nudged her to go to sleep after a while. She didn’t listen at all. She kissed him with hungry lips and hazy eyes. The air in the small bedroom teased his nose with her arousal. She acted as if she wanted him, her scent affirming the truth of it, and he knew he was the luckiest bastard there ever was.

When she at last laid back down and tried to sleep, she was restless. The scent of her arousal clung to him and Lorcan wondered if he might implode. He took deep mouthfuls of her scent, filling his lungs with it, and focused only on breathing. She would have time. Time to want, time to feel safe. He could hold them both back.

Every time he remembered why she deserved that time, it cooled his mind. Remembering the hell that had been her life made it even more essential not to rush, to let her take the lead and to perhaps even hold back the speed with which she rushed towards him. He knew that she didn’t really know what she was doing to him, had probably no idea of the effect she had on him. Sometimes he thought he could taste the faint tint of uncertainty in the air. So he would remind her there was no rush. He would keep his head.

But to hold her in his arms while she slept - he could not resist. Not when she leaned back into him in search for his arms to wrap around her. So he did. He truly did not know if he could ever deny her anything. He held her in his arms that night too, with no excuse at all, only her lingering arousal in his nose and her restless body next to his own. He ignored her subtle movements, the shifting of her legs when she pressed them together under the blanket, and ignored it when she turned around restlessly on the mattress. He only breathed deeply and held her. He allowed himself that. Allowed his marred hands near her perfect, pale skin. Allowed himself to bury his nose in her hair and fill his lungs with her scent. Allowed himself to rest his eyes on her into the late hours of the night after she had finally fallen asleep. She wanted him. He didn’t have words to express how that made him feel, knowing that.

When she woke in his arms the next morning, they stayed. His fingers were splayed out over her belly and his nose was nuzzled just by that beautiful curve of her neck. He could feel the pulse thumping under that curve, calling for him, the scent of her blood in his nose. He had to carefully angle himself away from her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Neither of them moved for a long while. Her skin was warm under his hands, her heartbeats loud in his ears. At one point she turned around in his arms to kiss him, and he knew that want of hers had not passed away in the night but was still there waiting impatiently for him.

“Hi,” she whispered.

She reached up to palm his cheekbone, and their eyes met.

“Hi.” His voice was hoarse.

They got up, eventually, but not before the scent of her arousal had reached his nose again.

Chapter Text

Lorcan had always prided himself on his quick thinking and his level head. Today that was not the case.

He didn’t seem able to clear his head or make coherent, reasonable thoughts at all. His mind was muffled, distracted, unbalanced. Unlike him. When Elide smiled softly at him from across the hall after breakfast, he thought he might know why.

Lorcan went outside several times during the next day, taking deep lungfuls of cold air. Not because of her, not directly – Elide left with Yrene to the Great Hall and he didn’t see her again for the rest of the day – but because of his own muddled mind. He wondered if he’d ever felt the need for this before, to take some fresh air. He scoffed at himself. He had to get himself together. He had to reign in his need for her. Had to leash himself, leash these muddled, longing and unreasonable thoughts. He was absolutely ridiculous, hungering after her as if he himself was a bitch in heat. He forced it all down, made his head cool, tried to ignore it all and just breathed.

He wondered what was happening to him, and could for the love of Hellas not comprehend why he was reacting to Elide the way he was. But something was happening to him, and he could no longer deny it. He told himself this was nothing. She was after all just a tiny little human woman. There would be limits to her possible reach and impact upon him. There had to be. This was nothing. Nothing at all.

Except he knew he was lying.

Lorcan pushed it down, forced it into stillness. They would travel towards Orynth soon. There was shitloads to do, for everyone. Time was not on their side, and the army was mostly healed - they had to move. He was to take charge of one of the convoys. He was needed. So Lorcan pushed it down, and spent the rest of the day in close counsel with Whitethorn as they organized the move ahead. He pushed it all down, all his longings and muddled thoughts of her, pushed it down alongside his impossible thoughts of time and mortality and his promise to stay with her always.

He did not see Elide for the rest of the day, not until he had gone to bed for the night and found her already there. She was already wearing his shirt for bed, which in truth was now her shirt, and he had simply pinched the candle and slid into bed next to her. She had turned into his already open embrace, not saying a word – and the air had turned electric.

She kissed him. His skin burned where her fingers trailed down his chest, delightful chills jolting through his body at her touch. When she broke away from his lips, her eyes roamed down his torso in the dark room. She fisted her hand in his hair, and he rumbled at her, unable to help it. Her expression turned into that unruly look again, the one he’d come to realize he craved. The scent of her arousal hit him, and he wondered how it was possible to want someone like this.

He knew she was feeling that arousal, the one he had become so familiar with of late. Knew very well why her body was restless, why energy was running under her skin like a storm. He wondered if her want had simply waited for him throughout the day here in the dark room, only to be continued right where they left of. Lorcan kept still, kept calm, and let her feel it. Because he knew – this was a first, too. For her to want something, someone. Perhaps not knowing exactly what to do with it, but wanting none the less. She kissed him, and his stomach jolted with electricity again when her mouth opened for him and her tongue met his.

Normally, before, females were typically there and it was convenient and he’d bedded them, glutted himself on them, on release, and it had been a pleasant way to spend some time. It had been a way to feel something amidst the numbness, and perhaps above all, it had been entertainment. Entertainment and pure, physical pleasure. This was different. This reminded himself of his younger days, when his own want had been nearly impossible to quench, this was wanting someone so desperately while simultaneously knowing he was not about to enter into anything at all. It had nothing to do with entertainment. He didn’t know what it was, only that he wanted her in a way he had never felt before. Wanting this, wanting her close, wanting her to be his, wanting her to be happy. The urgent need to crawl under her skin and stay there. He wanted every little piece of her. It was a strange, new feeling.

Elide dragged her hand down his chest and abs, and he rumbled again – a warning this time. But he did nothing, only stayed quite still and let her. He knew he could not deny her anything, but also knew this was not it, even if she perhaps thought it was. Until she told him, showed him, he knew.

“Sleep, Elide,” he mumbled against her lips.

It had somehow become his mantra these past few days together, his only possible response, and one which she’d completely ignored each and every time he’d said it. This time though, she answered.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered back.

“You should,” he retorted against her lips.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” she said, pulling back an inch to watch his face. Her eyes searched his. “It will be some time before we have a bed together again.”

Lorcan pulled back from her another inch, creating some distance. Her words tugged him back from the fog in his mind.

“We’ll share a tent,” he told her mildly. “We’ll be together”

He knew that wasn’t what she’d meant, but it felt important that he told her none the less. He trailed his fingertips down her neck. She swallowed. There was a pause before she spoke again, and he wondered if she was debating with herself what to say.

“Perhaps we should make the best of this room while we have it,” she whispered.

Her words sobered him and the fog in his mind cleared completely. He shook his head at her words.

“We already are,” he told her solemnly. Frustration glinted in her eyes, as if she knew he was deliberately avoiding her meaning. So he added, plainly, “I wont bed you because it is convenient, Elide.”

Because that was what her words meant - in this bed, inside the privacy of this room and within these walls. But that was not what he was waiting for.

There was a slight blush to her cheeks at his bluntness. She said nothing, only closed the distance between them again in another kiss. He let her kiss him, but he kept his eyes on her face. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and whispered against his lips,

“What if I want you to?”

His stomach dropped by her words. He pulled back from her again, letting his eyes roam over her beautiful face.

“Tell me what you want,” he prodded softly.

If she would only say it, he would give her anything. If only she knew herself. He pressed a palm against her cheek, holding her there, drinking in her expression. Her pupils were big in the dark room.

“I want you,” she whispered.

His chest ached, his ribcage too small somehow.

“I’m yours,” he whispered back.

“I want you to- To hold me,” she finished after a moment of hesitation, as if she had not been quite sure what to say. And he knew he was right to hold back, knew she wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking.

But hold her he would. Lorcan wrapped his hand around the small of her back and dragged her body closer, letting his fingers trail up her back. She leaned into his embrace and kissed him again. She opened her lips to his, and did not pull away until her heartbeats were thundering in his ears and their breaths were unsteady. Her eyes had turned heavy lidded and the scent of her arousal filled his nose again, calling to him. There was a pull from her, between her body and his, drawing him to her.

“Sleep,” he told her again.

To his surprise she huffed out a breath in frustration.

“Why don’t you get some sleep,” she huffed, rolling away from his embrace and over on her back.

Her reaction made a breath of laughter escape him - actual laughter, abs contracting and all. He followed after her, trailing his hand over her belly and stroked his thumb tentatively over her skin.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, the words slipping out of him unfiltered.

He felt her soften by his words. She reached up to kiss him again, her frustration slipping away as quickly as it had appeared. His fingers traced back and forth over her belly, trying to soothe. He thought it didn’t work though, because she started to squirm beneath him again, pressing her legs together in frustration. And with her arousal heavy in the air between them, her skin so soft and inviting, her legs running restlessly under the blanket as she squirmed – Lorcan held back, kept quite still and breathed.

The following night would be their last night in Anielle. He would miss it, this thing that had started in this very bed between them. This was where she had told him she loved him, kissed him, let him in. He almost didn’t want to leave. But of course she deserved better, and he badly wanted this war over with so that he could give her just that.

He knew he did not deserve her, but he would strive to. He did not know what to do other than follow her and fight for that bright light. He would do what he could to give her back her home. He had no idea how he could give her the stable, peaceful, happy, joyful life she deserved after the war, and knew he could only ever bring shade to her life as a Lady. But he would fight for her home, and help returning it to her, and he would follow. He could only pray it would be enough. He hoped it would.

Their last night in their room before leaving for Orynth proceeded like the nights before. She was restless, kissing him with the unruly look on her face that he loved. He let her and kept still. Because he also heard the hesitancy that sometimes tinted her voice, and felt her scent sometimes leak of uncertainty. Not because of him, he thought, but because of the newness of all of this. Even if she wanted him. Because that had become painfully obvious.

“Lorcan,” she complained, falling back from his embrace after he’d again told her to try to sleep.

He hid the light feeling rushing up his throat, the air of laughter almost escaping him. Because it was a bit humorous, this.

“You still haven’t told me what it is that you want,” he challenged her, feeling the humour dancing in his eyes.

She blushed immediately, as he knew she would, and said nothing, like he knew she wouldn't. If his words could be construed as a test, she had just failed.

Today, like previous nights, she had braided her hair and changed into his shirt while his back was turned. She had slid into the bed behind him, slipped under the heavy blanket, and she had wrapped her arm around his torso and kissed him when he turned towards her. She had quickly deepened the kiss, and her arousal had filled the room, her breaths turning uneven and her heartbeat starting to race.

He’d had to angle himself away from her, and at one point, he’d pulled back from her. Because she was everything. She still had no idea about the effect she had on him. Had no clue his trembling hands were straining from the effort not to pull her closer, to keep from touching her, straining to keep distance between their bodies and to keep himself still. That he was constantly refraining from stroking fingertips over her cheek, and from cupping her cheeks in his palms and tasting her tongue. Refraining from curving around her body and burying his hips in between hers.

“If you would only tell me,” he added, the corner of his lips twitching. “But it seems you wont.”

“I asked you to hold me yesterday,” she frowned.

He carefully hid his smile at her innocent request, at her shyness, at her youth. He rested on his side next to her as she laid on her back by his side.

“I have,” he rumbled.

He slid his hand back under her shirt to place it over her belly for emphasis. She signed, her legs again turning restless under the blanket. He ignored that.

“Well, it’s not me who’s the expert here,” she said, a bit crossly now.

She was not really cross, he knew that. He only rested his eyes on her, stroking her belly slightly with his thumb. She squirmed beneath his hand.

“I don’t know what to do with this.” she added. She glanced down at herself, his hand on her stomach, legs squirming and all, and then looked pointedly at his body next to hers.

He felt his lips tug upwards, his face softening, but he was still in a mood to tease her a bit.

”You could always see to it yourself then, if it is that urgent,” he challenged.

She only stared at him impassively.

“How very gentleman-like of you”

He rumbled at that, a true smile tugging at his lips now.

“On the contrary, I’m sure you do know best yourself,” he said.

He did not think much of his response. But she frowned at him then, and it took her a few moments before she replied.

“You know I haven't been with anyone before,” she said quietly.

He blinked at her reply, not quite following her train of thought or the shift in her tone.

“I wasn’t talking about...” he started, eyeing her expression, his voice trailing off. And then-

It hit him like a slap in the face. Surely not, surely he was wrong, he had to be wrong. But she had once said she’d never wanted someone before, and he knew her life had been unsafe. Secluded. But that couldn’t mean- Surely it did not mean- He must be mistaken. But for her to misunderstand him so fully- It could only mean-

She was eyeing him, her expression open. Waiting.

“You have- you have done that before?” he asked her carefully. “Taken care of yourself.”

She only watched him, her face unreadable.

“Do you really mean to ask if I have ever touched myself?” she asked, her tone impassive.

It was incredibly frustrating how she was able to hide herself this well right there in front of him. He couldn’t read her expression at all. He nodded, unabashed, because he was asking precisely that, and it was suddenly imperative that he knew. Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she kept her chin up. She shrugged.

“I guess. Of course.”

His eyes narrowed at her elusiveness.

Sensing his silent challenge, she blurted, “I mean, I guess so. It just never had that much of an appeal.”

He frowned at her words, her tone. Realisation slowly grew in his stomach.

“What do you mean?” He asked her, not letting go.

Her gaze fell down to his neck now. He felt his heartbeat quicken.

“You know I haven’t been in a place where that was – where that was even – there was no space for that,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And before, in that tower- I wont lie and say I never tried. But I was always told that- Finnula, my nursemaid, was deeply religious. She told me the gods were always watching. And I guess I didn’t see what the fuss was about either, so it was always easy to- not.”

She was fiddling with the pillow by the time she had finished and she was not meeting his eyes. Which was a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could control his own expression.

“You’ve never found your own pleasure,” he concluded for her, no longer asking, because he knew the answer. His voice had turned soft now, dangerous.

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I probably have. It’s not like I’m completely blank. It just never really appealed that much, to be honest, that’s all. It’s not like- It was never like-”

Never like this. She didn’t need to finish. He knew exactly what she meant.

Lorcan removed his hand from her stomach and turned his face away from her to press into the pillow beneath him. There was roaring in his ears, his blood rushing though his veins. He just breathed for a little bit and tried to control his face. She didn’t even know her own body. She had never even climaxed. It had been all too apparent when by his thoughtless comment she had assumed he was including himself in the equation, that he was necessary for her release. He’d known she was inexperienced with others, had suspected she had several encounters with males who had put her off it completely, but this- 

He was struggling to make sense of his thoughts. He pressed his face into the pillows, trying to gain back control.

“That don’t affect us at all though,” she said.

Worry had seeped into her voice, as if she was concerned about his reaction. Lorcan forced himself to calm down.

“Are you angry,” she asked him quietly, sensing it.

“Yes,” he said honestly.

“Why?” Her tone was hard, demanding he answer her.

He turned back to face her. He checked his anger, fought it down. She indeed looked worried, a frown on her face now, and she was biting the inside of her cheek. Uncertainty tinted her scent, alongside annoyance – annoyance with him. He gingerly put his hand to her cheek.

“You never got to be safe,” he tried to explain.

Her eyes widened in surprise, his words clearly not what she had been expecting. Her brows furrowed as she silently asked him to explain. He swallowed, but kept his eyes on hers, willing her to see his meaning.

“You should have played with your friends outside,” he said, his voice low, needing her to understand. “You should have been kissed by some idiot boy. You should have fallen in love, before growing up and breaking that poor boys heart. You should’ve been safe and happy.”

Her eyes had turned distant while he spoke, drinking in his every word. The frown and confusion slipped away from her face. He let his thumb stroke down her cheek.

She smiled at him, before whispering, “I like you, though.”

Lorcan leaned in to kiss her then, breaking his own restraints. He could not bear it. And it was him who deepened the kiss and held her closer this time, him who pressed his forehead against hers. There was a need in him to make it right, and this seemed the only way he could. And selfishly, he wanted her closer. She sighed into him, and her arms wrapped around him. He stroked his palm down her hair again and listened as her heartbeats stumbled ahead of themselves.

“I want you,” she breathed into his mouth, pulling back to look at him.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispered back earnestly. He cupped the nape of her neck with his hand. He knew he could not deny her anything at all.

“I want you to hold me,” she whispered.

“I will.”

“I want to be close to you.”

“You are,” he said, the corner of his lips turning upwards again at her sweet little requests, so tentative, so young.

She sighed, getting frustrated again. “ I want- I just want to - to feel, to let go, to release-”

Her cheeks heated. He only stroked her hair, letting his eyes roam her face. And to his amazement, he watched as the uncertainty in her scent ebbed out in front of his eyes. She met his gaze, the uncertainty replaced by want, only want, want for him.

“You can,” he breathed. “You can right now, if you want that.”

She looked like she wasn’t sure she had heard him, as if she had expected him to refuse her. But it had never been about that.

“How,” she breathed.

Her eyes were big, lips parted. Her cheeks were red and her expression was so open, so open with him. Somehow she had never been more beautiful.

Her hand reached down for his abdomen then, and he felt her fingers trail slowly under the blanket and down his belly towards the place where he was achingly hard for her. Before she could reach him, he trapped her wrist in his hand and shook his head.

“That will come later,” he said seriously.

“You always say that, later.”

But the ghost of a smile was on her face now.

He only brushed his lips over hers. Her uneven breaths washed over his face.

“Later,” he repeated. “Now is yours.”

“Now?” she breathed.

“If you would like that,” he clarified, ignoring his own uneven heart. “If you want.”

“But I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice was so quiet it was barely a whisper. He stroked her hair again.

“I can help you,” he said. Then adding quickly, before she could interpret that too much, “I don’t have to touch you or anything like that. You can do it yourself”.

Her eyes turned blazing at his words. Her gaze was hard when her eyes met his.

“I want you to touch me,” she said.

His chest exploded into a thundering beat at her words, at her demand. No uncertainty, no fear, no nerves in her scent. Just want. I want you.

“You can also-” he started.

“I want you to touch me,” she repeated, unblinking.

A heartbeat.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes”.

There was no hesitation.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Her heartbeat fluttered, as if she had expected him to say no again. Instead she only reached up and kissed him, fingers curling around the nape of his neck and holding him to her.

He felt his heart galloping in his chest. With a trembling hand he trailed his palm down her back over the shirt. He curved his hand around her backside and thigh, and her breaths caught against his lips. Slowly he slid his hand under the shirt, up over her hips, and pushed gently against her belly so that she laid on her back beside him. Her skin was so soft, and he tried to still his own trembling hands. She kissed him with fervour, and he kept the kiss languid, unhurried, and tried to calm her pace. He brushed his fingers against one thigh, nudging it to the side. When he slowly trailed his fingertips up to the edge of her underwear, her heartbeat turned frantic.

“What if there’s still blood,” she breathed, breaking from his lips, barely audible, “I mean, my cycle is over, I know it’s over, but- What if- Wont it be messy?”

She was rambling now, her heart fluttering in her chest, her eyes roaming all over his face. And worried about mess? He subdued his smile. He felt his face soften as he took her in.

“Do you want me to continue?” he asked her gently.

She instantly nodded. He gauged her expression.

“I want you to,” she whispered.

Something ached in his chest at her words, at her wide eyes and her racing pulse.

“Just tell me to stop,” he reminded her

He softly pressed his lips to hers, again trying to calm her frantic heart, before he rested his forehead against hers. When he carefully trailed his hand down under the waistline and slid her underwear down her thighs, her eyes fluttered shut.

She was so soft, so small against his hand, so silken against his rough fingers. His own breath caught in his throat and his blood thundered in his ears, but he ignored that, because he was touching her like he had longed to. He cupped her at first, before sliding a finger down between her. She shuddered beneath him. He trailed his fingers down, and up, getting to know her a little and letting her get to know him.

She was exquisite. Her scent was everywhere and he could not have enough. He kept his eyes on her face, drinking in all her expressions. She kept shuddering in his arms at every turn and movement, and he took his time easing her into it. When his fingers reached her entrance, her breath caught, and her eyes flew open. He inched his hand back at her reaction.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, his voice lost somewhere.

Her eyes were hazy, her mouth open, and she was so beautiful.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed back.

Holding her gaze, he slowly returned to her and slid one finger gently inside her. He was careful, so careful, not to be too sudden with her. Her heartbeats thrummed in her chest like a hare. Again he was glad that he had held them back, that he had not met her restless need for him with his own need for her, because if she thought his finger was a bit much… They would take this slow.

He felt her Oh more than he heard it when he started to move against her, massaging that particular spot which he knew would open her up to him and knew would feel good. He only watched her face as he gently pressed against her, just right, awakening her body.

“Oh,” she breathed again, and he felt her react to him. And he knew his hands were trembling with what she was allowing him to give her, for him to be able to show her the pleasure that she had never found on her own. His eyes greedily drank in her face and he could not get enough of her. She pressed her eyes shut, and he watched her as she felt for the first time, pleasure washing over her face like waves. He kept his movements slow, easing her into it and making her body relax. He would make it just right. After a little while, he returned to her centre with slow, unhurried movements. She opened her eyes.

“Was that-?,” she whispered, breathless.

And he ached for her, he really did, because it could not be more clear to him that she had indeed never felt that climax before if she thought this was it. But he only kissed the corner of her mouth as he murmured back, “Not quite.”

He rubbed slow circles at her centre, and it did not take long before her body started squirming and pressing into the mattress. Trying to soothe her, he kissed her jaw, her earlobe, her mouth. The soft sighs that started to escape from her lips made goosebumps erupt on his skin. He watched when her eyes squeezed shut again, watched pleasure as it rippled over her face, and he filled his lungs with her scent. He was painfully hard beside her, but that was nothing, that was inconsequential and easy to ignore. This was all for her, only her.

He gently slid a finger back inside her again, and her head pressed back into the pillow at the feeling. The movement bared her throat to him. He pressed his lips to her neck, and he lost himself in her. Lost himself in her response to his touch, her sighs, the feel of her in his hands. Blood rushed under her skin, and he pushed away his instincts. Instead he tasted the pearls of sweat forming at her throat, leaving his mouth open against her skin for a moment before returning to her lips. He gauged her expression as he carefully, slowly, added another finger, pressing up. She moaned, deeper this time, and it reverberated though his body making him shudder.

He loved her. He would store away each and every sound she made in his mind. He would learn the cause of each and every little trembling sigh. They were his. She was his. He would cherish each and every inch of skin. He would make it his life mission to show her everything, learn everything, and please her. The sight of her beneath him, the feel of her and the sounds she made - she took his breath away.

Considering the last few days and her restlessness that had been slowly building, it wasn’t surprising to him when it didn’t take all that long before he thought she would soon reach the edge. Her kisses turned sloppy and unfocused, her breaths escaping her in short ragged gasps, and he thought her climax was not far away. When he slipped his fingers away to reach around her thigh, she whimpered at the brief lack of contact - but he had already returned to her and continued his movements. His fingers traced their way back up to her centre, and he slid his thumb in steady circles over her. She glanced down.

“Trust me,” he breathed into her neck.

She did, relaxing back into the pillow. Her breaths were ragged and uneven against his face when he pressed his lips back to hers and worked her that final bit. His own body was humming with anticipation, his attention completely locked on her. She whimpered again, a small sound in the back of her throat. When he felt her start to tremble beneath him, and when her back arched into the mattress, he slid two fingers inside her while he continued circling her centre with his thumb.

She erupted. Her head pressed back deep into the pillows as her back arched and a delightful, strangled sound escaped her. He just watched her, his own heart racing in his chest, watched her face as she came in his arms. There were silent words leaving her mouth now and her muscles contracted and pulsated deliciously around his fingers. The feel and smell and look of her was so overwhelming he barely knew what to do with himself. He worked her through it, rubbing intent circles over her while he felt her entrance throb around his fingers and she trembled underneath him.

She was his. She was everything. She was so beautiful he had no words. She was his.

The wave gradually stilled, and his movements did too. When she had completely collapsed into the pillow, he slowly removed his fingers from her. Her scent was all over him, inside his lungs, and he never wanted to part from her. She didn’t move, only breathed, her heartbeats heavy in his ears. She was so beautiful he couldn’t think.

He gently wrapped her back up, letting her underwear slide down and pulling the blanket over her naked legs. Not for the first time he imagined tasting her on his fingers – but he leashed himself. That would come later. The rest would come later. This was only hers. He laid down beside her, gently tucking her hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed - she had not yet returned to him.

“Elide?” he prodded, wondering. Worry tugged in his gut.

She opened her eyes to look at him then, and his thoughts of worry immediately fell away. Because the look she sent him... He liked that look. He liked it very much. Hazy, satisfied, sleepy eyes met his, and he saw in her eyes that dominance that secretly thrilled him, telling him he was hers.

“That was...” she whispered. “That was definitely new.”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, only stroked his hand down her hair before placing it gently by her waist.

She trailed her hand down his stomach in silent question. Her gaze turned questioning, wondering about him now, silently asking if he was to be next. He shook his head, making her hand pause.

“Not yet,” he reminded her.

That small frown he was so familiar with returned to her face, but she trailed her hand back up to rest underneath her cheek. He stroked a hand down her hair again, unable to keep from touching her. He wondered how it was possible to feel so much about someone, how he could have been in this world for so long, for centuries, knowing so little, not feeling any of it. Until her.

Wondered, not for the first time, if his chest would burst.

“I love you,” he whispered when her eyes started to drop.

She was asleep less than a minute later. That night she didn’t stir once.

Chapter Text

Lorcan had never seen Elide blush like this before.

Uncontrollably so. In bright daylight, for everyone to see. He relished in it. Loved the sweetness of her, the shyness, this version of her that she certainly did not display when she pressed her lips to his in the dark of their bedroom at night. But there, in bright daylight, fully clothed, straightening the saddle on her horse, there was that blush on her face. He only needed to look over at her, and it was done. Bright red cheeks, ducking her face away behind her hair, face flushed.

He knew Fenrys had snickered at her blush. He also knew Fenrys had a painful lump in the back of his head now, from the hilt of Lorcan's sword. It would heal as if nothing in a few minutes, unfortunately, but Lorcan was confident it had hurt. A lot.

Elide and Lorcan had woken up entangled, both of them having slept heavily. When they woke, neither one of them wanted to move. The air had still been thick with the scent of her arousal from yesterday - he could almost taste it in the air on his tongue. They could not stay there though, and before light was fully upon them the day had started and they were swept away in the bustling of movements and packing and the organisation of the move.

They were leaving. Finally, to the last stand. To war and ruin, and to her home. Which she’d offered to him, too. They had not talked of it since, but he had a feeling that offer had been back on the table for a while.

And now here she was, riding the horse in front of him, a small smile on her lips sometimes when he could glimpse her face. They had barely spoken, had not been able to, and he had barely been close to her at all. But he stole glances when he could, and rode next to her whenever able to. And she blushed and said nothing and was the sweetest thing.

It was late when he was first able to enter the tent they were to share while on the road. It was big, comfortable, and his eyes went straight to Elide who was already fast asleep on one of the cots.

It had been a long day, and they were all tired, but he sometimes wondered if she was straining herself too much. She had been helping Yrene and the healers with the move, both in the wagons and then with their camp. She had gone straight to bed after dinner, and had fallen asleep at once if judging by the state of her blanket which was barely tucked over her legs.

Lorcan gingerly pulled it up to cover the rest of her before he laid down on the cot next to hers. Even if he already missed having her closer, and would miss burying his nose in her hair at night with his arms around her, he was content to be close to her like this. Just to sleep next to her and to watch over her while she slept. Lorcan rested his eyes on her face until he too fell asleep.

He woke by something tickling his face, and had it not been for the scent clinging to his nose, he would have had his knife out before a heartbeat had passed. Thankfully the instincts in him knowing that scent battled down the instincts to kill, making him able to pause and open his eyes.

Elide’s face was inches away, smiling warmly down at him, her eyes crinkling. She was stroking one finger down his cheek, kneeling down next to him on the cot. She was already fully clothed, her hair braided.

“You’re pretty when you sleep,” she told him, tracing her fingers down the angle of his cheekbone.

“What are you doing,” he asked her, his voice gruff.

He was still not fully awake, and his heart was already beating fast in his chest from his first impulse of violence. No one had ever been allowed to touch him like this in his sleep, or wake him like this, had dared to or even tried. No one would ever be this close, in his face while he slept, and the surprise of it now rushing though him made him feel off kilter.

She cocked her head to the side, reading his expression.

“Waking you,” she explained, eyes roaming over his face. “Are you alright?”

It was already morning. He was not used to oversleeping, and this too unsettled him - that he’d slept until need of waking. Still, what unbalanced him most of all was his own reaction, his immediate instinct to slice, defend - what he could potentially have done.

She had of course woken him before, while on the road when taking shifts, but that had usually been saying his name from across the fireplace or at the most, most, poking his shoe. Never, never, like this, never in his face, stroking his cheek, slowly waiting for his mind to surge. Never because he’d slept too well.

“I could’ve hurt you,” he said, voice still hoarse.

He tried settling his heartbeat and to control his breathing. Elide only tilted her head to the side again, reading his face with those sharp eyes.

“No you wouldn’t,” she contradicted him mildly.

His frown deepened, his eyes now roaming her face. Did she not realize how lethal he was? How lethal his instincts had become, honed over centuries? To react, not pause. Death was all he was, all he knew. It was all that emanated from him. She must know that. But Elide just watched him steadily, her gaze utterly trusting, remaining frustratingly unafraid.

“You’ll get used to it,” she said, completely unruffled by his glowering.

The meaning of that sentence, what she implied, made him pause. It meant she’d be there to wake him, be there in his face, as close as she could come, and that she would do so for a long while. Do it again, and again. Her lips twitched, and it looked as if she was trying to hide her smile.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all, if she did. If she woke him, if she honed him too, changed him and made him hers.

Lorcan felt his lips tug up at the corners despite himself.

Elide worked herself to the ground that day. The healers were restocking, relabelling, remaking and reorganizing their tonics and medicines, and she spent the whole day in one of the healer wagons while they travelled on, churning herbs and oils and seeds in a big heavy mortar that made her arms tremble by lunch. By dinner time she had barely shown up to eat the stew that was given out by the centre of their camp for the night, and she had slipped away from the rest to go back to their tent after eating only half of it.

Lorcan had assumed that she had gone to bathe, and did not follow, wanting to give her privacy. When he had entered the tent an hour later, she was laying on her cot, back to him, fast asleep on top of her blanket. She hadn’t bathed, hadn’t even changed her clothes or removed her weapons. Her shoes were still on her feet. It looked like she’d slumped to her bed and fallen asleep as soon as she had reached their tent. He went over to her cot and knelt beside her.

“Elide?” He stroked his hand down her back.

She awoke right away, drawing in a breath of air, and turned towards him. Her eyes were glossy, far away, roaming his face a few times before finding him.

“I fell asleep,” she said, as if only realizing herself.

He studied her face. “Yes.”

She straightened. He kept his place in front of her on the ground, stroking his palm down her hair. She looked tired.

“Do you want a bath?” he asked her, thinking it might soothe and relax her body as well as her mind. Her eyes met his for a second, and he could feel the direction of her thoughts - her wondering about him and her and that bath. So he clarified, “I’ll go out to get you some more dinner while you bathe. You barely ate anything.”

Trying to give her space, make her comfortable. He would not impose.

She smiled at him, eyes crinkling up. She was so beautiful.

“A bath sounds lovely.”

She stretched a little bit, sitting up straighter and sliding her legs down from the cot. He didn’t miss the wince in her face when she moved.

“What’s wrong?” he frowned. She only shook her head, smiling, but he’d have none of that.

“Is it you leg?” he asked, carefully picking up her broken ankle in his hands. He started unlacing her boot.

She shook her head again.

“It’s just a bit sore. No more than usual,” she said, watching him as he undid her shoe and placed it on the ground.

He gently held her foot, taking off the sock as well, and held it in his hands. His calloused hands were rough against her skin, snagging on her scars. He gently started to massage her ankle, carefully feeling out her tender muscles, testing and pressing his fingers to her skin. She sighed, and her warm breath washed over his face. He suppressed the shudder running through him by her sigh.

“It will get better in the bath,” she said after a little while, silently watching his hands on her foot.

He gingerly placed it down on the ground, feeling like his hands were too big, like he might break her somehow while he desperately tried not to. He started on the lace of her other boot instead, taking it off and her sock too. He felt her eyes on him the whole time, but did not look at her as he rose to prepare her bath.

They had not been intimate since that day in Anielle, when he’d been permitted to touch her until she fell apart in his arms. Their cots here were narrow, too small for her to be able to comfortably share one with him, and while he longed for her in a way he had never longed for anything in his life, that was secondary. Secondary to her safety, her happiness and her comfort. He would give her privacy, would give her space. When he returned to her and found her blazing eyes already on him, he only brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

“I’ll go get you some more food,” he said, before he slipped out of the tent.

He spent a good while longer than necessary to get her another bowl of stew.

When he returned, she had finished with her bath. She was sitting on the cot with a towel between her hands, pressing it against her wet hair. The room smelled of soap and contentment and her, and he tried to stop himself from too obviously filling his lungs with her scent. She looked peaceful now, comfortable and fresh-faced from her bath, dressed in a clean cotton shirt and a thick blanket wrapped over bare legs. Her eyes were calm. He felt himself soften at the sight of her sitting like this in their tent as if she was home. Peaceful. Safe. Safe with him.

He placed the bowl of stew next to her cot and sat down on the ground in front of her. She sent him the loveliest smile, her cheeks still pink from the heat of the bath. There was an undeniable pull from her, dragging him into her face and her gaze and her smile. Somehow she had become gravity, and he felt himself inch closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Lorcan carefully picked up her broken leg from the ground, placing it back in between his hands in his lap. He gently roamed his fingertips over her ankle, pressing over the sore muscles.

“Better?” he wondered.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He did not miss the wince that crossed her face when she reached for the bowl of stew however. He frowned, looking down at his hands that had completely stilled on her foot.

“I barely touched you,” he said quietly. "It's that painful?"

How the hell had she managed to walk on that foot if his fingers ghosting over it made her wince? Elide looked confused for a moment, before realization dawned on her face.

“Oh,” she said, as she started to eat. “It’s...it’s not my foot.”

Lorcan searched her face. Well, something was hurting her.

As if she could read his thoughts, her expression softened while she chewed her food and watched him back for a few moments. He waited.

“It’s no big deal,” she finally mumbled, looking down and taking another bite, and he realized she was feeling self-conscious. “Just sore muscles.”

“Where?” he asked.

She looked up at him from under her lashes. “Shoulders.”

Aha. From that mortar.

He didn’t think to hesitate, to halt, to ask, before he sat up next to her on the cot. He made a spinning movement with his finger for her to turn away from him, and saw a small smile at the corner of her lips at this utterly demanding behaviour. But she did as he asked and turned away from him on the cot, and he placed his hands on each of her shoulders and started gently squeeze the tight muscles there.

He was not prepared for the absolute groan that escaped her lips. It immediately did things to his body. And while he realized, of course, that this had nothing to do with pleasure and absolutely had to do with pain from his thumbs on sore spots, he could not stop the image – no, the memory - that flashed in his mind of her beneath him, emanating that very sound but for completely different reasons. He pushed the image away.

He felt her oh gods in the air more than he heard them, and she groaned again as he rubbed his thumbs against her skin. Her upper back was covered in knots and tight muscles. Air rushed out of her lungs as he started rubbing his thumbs on a selection of those knots.

He kept massaging her shoulder until he had kneaded out all of them. Her groans eventually turned into sighs and soft sounds that made him have to subtly adjust his pants a few times. He’d gladly, selfishly, keep doing this for her sounds alone. When she eventually turned back to him, her eyes were hazy and sleepy. He brushed her hair behind her ear, out of her face.

“Better?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, but stretched up to kiss him instead. It was a slow, sleepy kiss, and had it not been for the utter exhaustion he had seen on her face, he would have wondered if perhaps she would have liked for him to please her again. But her eyelids were too heavily, the sigh that escaped her a bit too long, and he knew she was tired.

“Thank you,” she said against his lips, her eyes opening to peer into his. “I think this is the best I’ve ever felt”.

His chest warmed at her words, while at the same time something tugged at him, and he simply could not resist.

“The best?” he murmured down at her, arching a brow. Because at the forefront of his mind of late was her writhing beneath him, his fingers pushing up deep inside her, and that wonderful, uncontrolled strangled noise escaping her as she tipped over the edge. He selfishly wanted to see if she too remembered.

To his delight, there was that blush again. He could smell it on her before he saw it, sense her temperature rising as blood flooded to her cheeks, and he watched as crimson spread over her throat and cheeks. The primal parts of him wanted to sink his teeth into that neck, wanted to taste and lick every inch of her, wanted to make her blood boil, and he was glad to see that his words had hit home as intended.

“Maybe second best,” she admitted, a small and almost bashful smile ghosting over her face as her eyes met his. He could not help the grin that spread on his face in return.

That night, Lorcan fell asleep with Elide's hand wrapped in between his own, her hand reaching over the space between their cots for him to hold. He held her hand delicately between his own callused ones, holding it close to his chest like a treasure. He had only kissed her temple before she’d laid down on her cot, and she had fallen asleep almost instantly. But she had reached out her hand for him, as if even in her sleep she knew he was there, knowing he’d catch it. He rested his eyes on her face as she slept soundly next to him, and held her hand close to his chest and to his thumping heart. Not for the first time he wondered what this was, what was happening to him, how simply holding her hand could elicit this pulse from him and make him feel like nothing ever had before.

Chapter Text

Lorcan was used to rage.

He was easily roused, always had been. Perhaps not as easily as during his younger years, but anger had always been the most primary emotion to stir in him. Getting angry was easy.

Even if, most of the time, he’d felt nothing at all. For the past century at least he had slid into a bleakness of mind that housed nothing whatsoever. Because he had not cared, truly, about either people or disagreements, dangers, wars or achievements. The exception had been Maeve, who he’d strived hard to please, even protect. He had strived to become her strongest warrior, to become the best and the deadliest of them all. He’d found some comradely in Whitethorn along the way, perhaps because they both had that same bleakness in their minds, somehow relating and existing in the only way Lorcan knew how. But for the most part his adult life had rarely made him feel anything beyond vague experiences of smugness, of pleasure, or of irritation. Mostly he had felt nothing at all. Until Elide.

Except rage. Rage had always been the one thing to spur him into action. It was rage that had made him dispute orders, kill, win. And today, when he had looked into the bleary eyes of the man who was responsible for all of the misery Elide had ever felt, that rage had made his blood boil. It had only been his knowledge deep down that this was her decision, that she deserved that decision, that had kept him from slowly flaying that man’s skin from his flesh.

He’d been so proud of her when she stood in front of her uncle, spine straight and not an ounce of fear in her eyes. She had withstood his taunts, withheld her irritation, and she had lashed out one final time before leaving and never turning back. That man would die, pinned to that chair, locked away and forgotten by everyone. It would be slow, and painful, and never enough.

That man was the reason why Elide was in daily pains over her broken foot. That man was the reason why Elide had not since her early childhood felt safety, freedom or peace. That man had locked her up, kept her isolated, had kept her from developing friendships, feeling love, and from growing up like a normal child. He had put her in chains, the echoes of them still marring her skin. He had put her in a dungeon and filled her life with terror and humiliation. That man had exposed her to threats of violence and rape. He had delivered her up for a life contained, to a life spent violated and experimented on.

Lorcan was not sure exactly what she had endured while in Morath beyond what she had briefly told him long ago. That time when he had asked her if she had ever experienced that form of violence and she had said no. Or the time when she had told him of her uncles plans for her and had said that it had not come to that. Still he had sensed it in her that time, when her scent had leaked of fear and disgust by his suggestion of her taking a male to her bed, that there was more to it. Even if her answer had been that it had not come to any of it, her reaction told him something more was behind that answer. Perhaps some other forms of violence or force, a threat or worse, that he had to remind himself not to dwell on. She was here now. Here with him. Safe.

He knew who was to blame though. It was the same man who had forced her to almost end her own life. She had so very nearly succeeded. The echo of the fear Lorcan had felt that moment flashed through him as he remembered that knife, less than an inch from her frantic, beating heart. That man was now chained, alone in the dark, abandoned and waiting to die. Still, it was not enough. It could never be enough for the lifetime of pain he had caused her.

When they returned from the Ferian gap after leaving her uncle to rot, Elide did not speak a word to anyone. She had slipped down from the ruk’s back and gone straight for their tent. The others had eyed her. Aelin had made to follow, but Rowan stopped her, nodding quietly towards Lorcan who was already there.

Lorcan had not spared a glance at any of them, but silently followed Elide inside the tent. When he entered she was pacing back and forth in front of the bathtubs. He could sense the whirlwind of emotions storming inside her, her scent whirling with it. Energy emanated from her so loudly it was almost prickling against his own skin. Her heartbeats were loud and her gaze was far away, turned inward some place he could not follow.

But Lorcan knew people, knew soldiers, knew her. He knew her chaos would either explode or implode. He slowly walked over to her, quietly bringing calm into her sphere of chaos, and giving her a centre to hone in on. He stopped only when he had all but stepped in the middle of her path where she paced in front of him. He stood there, looming over her, and waited. After a few moments he slowly reached out his arm to block her path, halting her movements.

When she leaned into his chest, he let his arm curl around her. Steadied her. He stood there silently with her until her breaths calmed, holding her to him as she leaned into his body. They didn’t speak, she did not say a word and he did not either. He knew he needed to wait for her to let him in, for her to return to him. The only thing he could do was to hold her and wait. When her pulse was calmer he nudged her towards the cot, and she numbly followed him.

She sat down, and he kneeled before her on the ground to unlace her shoes. He removed her shoes, socks, her weapons and her jacket. He gazed into her face, stroking her hair back. Eventually her eyes found his too, and she was there, but she wasn’t. Without a word she turned away from him to curl up by the edge of her cot, facing the wall.

He watched the back of her head for a moment, before he silently went to unstrap his sword, shrug out of his jacket and to wash the dust of his face. He left briefly to get them something to eat, giving her the space she was silently asking for. When he returned, she still hadn’t moved. He put her plate down on the ground next to her cot.

“There’s food for you,” he told her gently, ghosting his fingers over her hair and returning to her sphere.

He laid down on his own cot, rested his eyes on her back, and waited for her to come back to him.

It took almost an hour before he tasted salt in the air. He sensed her chaos when she started to falter. Her breaths became uneven and her heartbeat quickened in stress. 

“Elide,” he said into the quiet space.

He had wished she would talk, but instead she had bottled it all up, until now. She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge it, but she could no longer contain the emotions ripping through and out of her body.

Lorcan did not think at all as he moved towards to her. He slid in behind her on the too tight space on her cot, not allowing it to not be room for him, and wrapped his arm around her. Her body was trembling now, and it ripped his heart open - the heart that he wasn’t aware he even had - when she curled around herself and silently cried.

He just held her. Held her to him in a way he had never held anyone. Her back was tucked tightly against his chest and he felt her tears trail down his underarm. At one point, she turned around in his arms to face him and buried her face in his throat. Her face was wet. He only stroked her hair. She fell asleep like that with her nose against his throat.

Lorcan stayed awake most of the night, and held her.

The next day she was back to normal. She didn’t bring it up, and he did not push her. He had barely slept at all that night, balancing on the edge of her tiny cot while he held her in his arms. But he had cherished it, holding her again, her sleeping body tucked safely against his. Watching over her.

It often stunned him, these thoughts, these feelings and needs and longings in him that he caught himself having. So foreign, so unlike him, so… alive. He had come alive. And he wondered again at this, at them, and how she had changed him. How this little human had simply reached out and picked him up between her fingers and taken him for hers.

Fenrys sought her out after breakfast that next morning. They had eaten breakfast together with the rest of their group, and Elide had been her usual self, although slightly subdued. Fenrys slid down next to her.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked her, pointing at her leftover breakfast that she had picked at and mostly left on her plate.

She shook her head, but smiled slightly despite herself when he cheekily dragged her plate to him with one finger. He grinned down at her.

“I hoped you’d say that,” he said.

Fenrys stayed a bit, finishing off her breakfast and chatting towards her, and Lorcan had just left the fireplace when he heard Elide’s laughter behind him at something Fenrys had said. And Lorcan was grateful for Fenrys, knowing very well what he was doing - effortlessly making her talk and forget and feel better for a little while in a way Lorcan wasn’t sure he would ever be able to. Lorcan did not think himself able to make her laugh like that just by making a face or comment. He was not as effortless, not as inviting. He knew Fenrys had only good intentions, knew he liked Elide, was protective of her even, and knew why he was truly there. The sound of her laughter settled inside Lorcan like a light attached to his spine.

He left them there, let them be, let her laugh, even if he had to take a deep breath or two while he walked away. He knew deep down that it was right to let them stay there together. He was thankful she smiled at all that day, and he tried very hard to not be an arrogant shithead.

He noticed the look Rowan sent him as he walked past though, as if he was amused by Lorcans inner turmoil. Lorcan fought down the urge to smack him in the face. Rowan probably knew that, too, because his eyes turned even more amused. But Lorcan walked past him, not hitting anyone, willing himself unaffected. Elides laughter filled the air again, effortless and beautiful like a string of pearls. And Lorcan was thankful for Fenrys, and hated him only a little bit.

They spent the day travelling and he didn’t see her again until they had made camp that night.

He knew she had spent the day with the healers again, in one of their wagons, and like the last few days, that she had been working endlessly. He checked on her once, without her knowing it, unable to help himself. He had gently let his powers ghost over her cheek in a mild wind, bringing her scent back to him where he rode ahead. Just to make sure.

He first saw her again by nightfall in their new camp, when she brushed a hand lightly across his back as she walked past him and sent him a small smile over her shoulder that made his heart stumble. He sought her out at dinner soon after, making sure she ate. And, like had now become routine, he held back after dinner so that she could go to their tent to bathe and change in private. He was careful not to impose. And like before, when he entered the tent an hour later, he found her already deeply asleep on her cot.

Her hair was still damp from her bath, and the tent smelled lovely of soap and of her. He was careful not to wake her as he too undressed and washed. Like the nights before, he laid down on his cot next to hers, resting his eyes on her sleeping face. She had seemed calmer at dinner, when they had spoken a bit and she had told him about her day. He’d urged her to eat, and she had. She’d seemed more settled, content even. He let his gaze roam her face. She looked so peaceful in her sleep and he felt a deep calm settle into his bones as well. As the night grew darker, and the camp around them quieted, Lorcan too fell asleep.

He awoke abruptly by movement at his side.

His instincts to act and defend roared to life and his heart was already racing. But it was a familiar scent that washed over him as something brushed against his torso. Someone. He felt the edge of the cot dip.

When he opened his eyes he found Elide sliding onto his cot in the dark. He laid quite still, only watched as she slid her legs underneath his blanket and wrapped herself over the right side of his body. He was resting on his back and the cot was too narrow for her to lay down next to him – there was no space left beside his broad shoulders. Instead she curved her leg around his thigh, wrapped her arm around his midriff, nuzzled her nose into his throat and draped herself over his body. She went still there, as if contented to go to sleep right there on top of him.

Lorcan's heart hammered in his chest and blood was rushing in his ears. His body was racing, both with the sudden awakening and ancient instincts roaring to life - but equally so from the realisation of what had just happened. It was the middle of night, and the tent would be dark to her eyes. Still she had come to his bed. Not even his bed, truly, because there was no room for her on this narrow thing, but on to him. Her weight was resting solely on top of him, draped over the half of his body like a wonderfully soft and precious blanket. She fit perfectly, her body so soft where she was splayed out on her stomach on top of him as if in a hug.

She was wearing his shirt. Her leg, now curled around his thigh, was dangerously close to his crotch. He felt his body react. To her, to the idea of her seeking him out like this, to her warmth and her closeness that he had been completely unprepared for. He carefully lifted his arm from underneath her and wrapped it around her waist to keep her from sliding down to the floor. She lifted her head to peer up at him by his movement, this admittance that he was awake. He was not sure how well she could see his face in the dark as her eyes roamed over his face. She relaxed back into his embrace.

“Is this ok?” she whispered against his neck.

He made a rumbling affirming sound in the back of his throat, very much letting her know that it was.

“I’m not hurting you?” she asked, and his heart made a leap in his chest when he felt her hand brush over the naked skin on his abdomen to find his newest scar slashed across it.

If she only knew what it did to him, having her hands on him there, so dangerously low – but she had no idea, only brushed her fingertips carefully over the edges of his scar.

“That doesn’t hurt any more,” he rumbled. His voice came out like a purr.

“Not with my weight on you either?”

A gush of air escaped him at that, a mixture of a laugh and a snort, and he was not sure if he was to be offended or not. Her weight.

He felt her smile against his throat, clearly understanding his answer.

"Okay then," was all she said.

He eyed her, looking down at her from the corner of his eye and wondered what had caused this very pleasant surprise.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Perhaps she had a bad dream.

She only smiled. “Yes. I just couldn’t sleep.”

She reached up to kiss him then, and that too did things to his body he could not stop, was unable to control. There was nowhere to move away, nowhere to hide, no place for him to move her, so he stayed quite still and let her kiss him. He could only pray she would not notice.

His hand tightened around her waist. Her palm was still resting on his abdomen and Lorcan could not think straight. He was only wearing his underwear, and wished he’d kept his pants and shirt on. Perhaps he would have been more prepared and ready for this situation if there had been more barriers between them. But for once, control evaded him, and he could only taste her lips as he felt her tongue tease his own. Another rumble escaped his throat, this too beyond his control. But he locked his body down, laid still and let her kiss him.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were rosy and she was so beautiful. Her eyes were calm, peaceful, and her scent was too, her heartbeats steady. She nestled her face by his throat again, running her palm over his stomach, and he felt goosebumps run across his skin.

He tried to get himself back under control, to will his own body to listen, to relax. Willed his mind to not focus on the tingling trail of her hand over the lines of his abs, down, again reaching the edges of his scar. He wondered if she could feel his heart beating it’s way out of his chest. She trailed her fingertips around the edges of that scar, her touch like flame over his skin. He willed his breaths under control, locked his body down. He reminded himself that it had been a turbulent few days, that she was tired and that it was late. He willed his heart to calm, tried, but it kept on hammering.

She must have registered his tension somehow, perhaps noticed his heartbeats or his slightly uneven breaths. He could feel her eyes on him even as he closed his own and willed himself to calm. He should sleep, he should definitely let her sleep, and he needed to calm the fuck down. But her fingers kept tracing circles around the edges of his scar, trailing all the way down to the centre before turning back up.

This was incredibly foolish, he knew. He should probably make her go back to her own cot. But he just kept still, clamped his body down, and let her touch him.

Warm, soft lips pressed against his throat. His heart bolted. She did it again, pressing her lips to his throat in another open mouthed kiss, her fingertips again trailing like feathers down his abdomen. He exhaled shakily. He tried to say her name, warn her somehow, tell her that she should stop this, tell her to sleep, but for a moment he’d lost his voice. She had no idea what this did to him, she was so innocent, and he should stop her, pause her-

Her fingers trailed down to the lining of his underwear, barely an inch from where he had long been hard for her. His eyes shot down to her then, but Elide only pressed her lips to his throat one more time. If she intended- if she was- she must know then, he concluded, what she was doing to him, she must know, if she was deliberately trailing her hands across his underwear and-

Her fingers slid past the edge of his underwear to brush down the length of him, and a shiver ran through his body. Her palm trailed down right there over the fabric of his shorts.

“Elide,” he managed to say her name this time, voice hoarse now.

The warning he’d intended did not sound like a warning at all. She kissed his throat and didn’t stop. She let her fingers stroke over him, tentative, back up to where he was pressed against his abdomen. He tightened his hold on her waist, but other than that did not allow himself to move an inch. She was exploring him.

“What do you want, Elide?” he managed to ask, searching for her face again, her eyes, her expression.

She trailed her fingers tentatively around the tip of him. Another shudder ran through him. Eventually she met his gaze.

“Show me?” she asked in a whisper. “How to make it good for you.”

He was already shaking his head at her words.

“That will come later,” he said.

She smiled, but kept moving her hand on him. 

He let his own hand trail down her back, brushing his fingers over her hip. Perhaps she had awoken in the night feeling restless. He had longed to touch her again, would like nothing more than to be able to touch her if she’d like that.

“Would you like me to please you?” he asked her, his voice husky now, and he felt the smile tug at his lips with the memory of last time he had done just that.

To his utter surprise, she shook her head.

“No thank you,” she smiled. Then added, “Just you.”

Again he shook his head, thrown off balance a bit from her request. “Elide, I don’t need-”

“I know,” she interrupted. “But I would like to. If you’ll let me.”

He only stared at her, letting her words sink in.

She must have realized the effect she had on him after all. He knew this was new for her, and perhaps she was...curious. Her hand had stilled on him, but was none the less resting right there on top of him. Waiting for his reply.

He tried again. “There is no...expectation for you to-” he started, still frowning, feeling the urge to explain to her, to make sure she knew this beyond any doubt. His voice trailed off as she nodded.

“I know that,” she said. She leaned up to his face, eyes big, eyeing his mouth as she pressed her lips to the corners of his lips. “But I’d like to,” she repeated. “If you want.”

His breaths were heavy in the air between them. He did not like the idea of her touching him without him giving her pleasure too, did not like the idea of her pleasuring him alone. He had absolutely no qualms about this the other way around, that was just right, but for her to please him alone felt… unbalanced. Obscene, even. It went against his instincts somehow, his vows to himself, his promise that he would give her everything.

She must have seen the inner turmoil on his face, because she asked him, “Did you not enjoy seeing me that time?”

Rhetorical now, a knowing look in those sharp eyes. He had. Immensely so. Was that what this was about? That she would enjoy seeing him like he had seen her? And, he realized, he could understand how him yielding control could give her satisfaction, solely based on the power and confidence the ability to elicit that in another person could bring. This was new. She was probably curious. Did probably want to explore, explore him. Even if she had so gently refused him and his touches just now. No thank you. Just you. He could understand that, too. Understand the need to stay in the known, the comfortable. Clothed and in control. He felt hot headed, not even sure why, why this affected him so much.

If this was what she truly wanted… He was not sure he would be able to deny her. He knew his reluctance was based on doubt that she knew what she truly wanted, that he could not believe she wanted this - but wasn’t this type of thinking the prime example of male arrogance? The arrogance of presuming to know better? That he would know the best? Her fingers brushed against him again, stroking up his length now, as if sensing his surrender.

“Show me?” she whispered against his lips.

Her face so open, so filled with expectation and… eagerness. Curiosity. Not a trace of fear or unease in her scent.

A sigh escaped him, and she smiled, recognizing it for the surrender it was. She did not hesitate at all before moving her hand back to slip under his underwear.

His body locked down. He kept himself still as a log while she stroked her hand over his length. Her touch made his heart falter and soar, but it was her face that stole his breath away as he drank in her expression. He watched the blood rush to her face as she flushed, watched her as she bit the inside of her lip taking in the size of him, watched her lips part and a slight smile tug at the corner of her lips. Her heartbeat quickened, her pulse increasing. She liked it, he realized, liked touching him. Liked that he let her. Liked that he let her do with him as she wanted.

She moved her hand over him a few times, ghosting it up and down and making him shudder. When she wrapped her hand around him, she looked up at him through her lashes as if silently asking And now? So he followed her hand with his own, wrapping his own hand over hers. He dragged both their hands down, and up, stroking himself, squeezing her hand gently for pressure. After a while he let go, and she kept on stroking him like he’d shown her.

“Like that?” she whispered, and he only nodded, completely lost in her face and her movements on him. Her expression was curious, eager, and he laid still and watched her and let her.

Nothing could match the whirlwind of feelings now soaring in his chest. The sensations ripped through his body like wildfire, not only because of the physical aspects of her movements, not only because it had been so long since he had done anything remotely sexual himself he did not even remember - but because it was her, it was her who did it, and she was his. Her hand felt so at ease on him, small, new, but not, and her body fit perfectly in his arms and around him. She kept at it for a while, and his breaths were shaky by the time her thumb snagged over the tip of him, making his body jolt in delightful tremors and his eyes flutter shut.

“Good?” she breathed, making sure.

“Yes,” he breathed back, barely getting the word out.

He felt her excitement at his reaction. She did it again, her thumb sliding over the tip of him and spreading out the wetness there, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He pressed his head back into the pillow, and felt her mouth against his throat as she placed another open mouthed kiss there. A shudder ripped through him in response. And she stroked him and twirled and he almost forgot to breathe.

Somewhere deep down he knew, right that moment, that he was no longer himself. He was no longer his old self, because somehow he had become a younger version, one he could scarcely remember. A version where impressions from the outside world burned deeper into his skin and one where control was elusive. Somehow the smallest actions - the ghost of a hand or twitch of a lip or a sharp look from dark eyes - had come to make the heaviest impact and the deepest imprints.

This tiny human woman. Just looking up at him. Touching him. Smiling. An open mouthed kiss to his throat.

He opened his eyes to look at her, finding her gaze again, not able to not see her for long. She stroked him slowly, making delightful unexpected twirls of her thumb every now and then. Her face was so lovely, her eyes shining now, and he could see that she liked it, liked this, liked to see his body shudder in response to her movements. He moved his hand back to hers, placing it over hers like he had before, and tightened their grip. Gradually he increased their pace.

“More?” she whispered, realizing. She kept a slightly quicker pace and tightened her hold on him as he let go.

He only nodded, his lids becoming heavy. Her lips were parted, inviting his gaze. She took his instructions to the point. She squeezed him harder, tightening her hold, almost too much at times, delightfully surprising him and making his whole body shudder whenever she did. And he knew that she was going to be the end of him.

She watched his face, his lips, wide eyes roaming his face. Her expression was so open, watching him, and he thought at times almost triumphant. Especially so when a groan escaped him he was completely unable to hold back.

“I’m going to come,” he warned her, in case she didn’t realize. He had to make sure she knew.

Her eyes only twinkled back at him, and that unruly expression he loved so much crossed her face. She increased the pace, as if reading his mind. He willed himself to be still, to keep his hips down, to keep his eyes on her face, to check in on her, to monitor her expression, to make sure she was at all times comfortable, that it did not become too much. But he found only eagerness and wonder there in her eyes, and it was not enough to keep his mind focused and his control from slipping.

“Faster,” he breathed, and felt the frown deepening on his face as she followed his cue.

Her eyes were wide on his, awe in her face now. She quickened the pace, squeezed him harder and slid her thumb over him again in another unexpected, jagged movement. And it was what he needed.

Ecstasy rippled though him. He drew a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut and his head fell back into the pillow as he came in her hand. A gutted sound escaped him, deep and raw and uncontrolled, echoing throughout the tent. She dragged the climax out of him, worked it all through his body. He clamped his body down, forcing himself to lay still, forcing himself not to take over, holding himself back and letting her steer as she slowly and tortuously dragged the pleasure out of his body. It filled every inch of him and numbed his brain completely, and for a moment he disappeared from the world. It didn’t stop, only washed through him in wave after wave after wave as he spilt over her hand. She kept easing it out of him, prolonging the pleasure until he could not bear it any longer.

When it finally became too much, his hand wrapped over hers to still her hand. He realized his breaths were loud, realized she had leaned her forehead into his throat while his climax had rippled through him. Her hand was still wrapped around him there underneath his own, covered in the mess he’d made.

He lifted his head up from the pillow to peer down at her, suddenly desperate to see her face. Her eyes were shining with wonder, triumph and disbelief alike by the effect of her hand on him. Her cheeks were flushed and she was so beautiful. Her heart was hammering in her chest right there above his own.

He ghosted his fingers over her back, reassuring her and himself both. She released her hand from around him, her fingers sticking to him now and completely covered in his spills.

“I’ll go get you a cloth,” he said, finding his voice. He tightened his grip on her waist to shift himself out from underneath her, but she halted him.

“No, stay,” she said, as if unwilling to let go of him and this spot on top of him. Instead she made to get up and out of bed herself, which was of course utterly out of the question.

He huffed at her attempt to leave. Keeping his hand firmly around her he reached out to grab his used shirt.

“Use this.”

She took the shirt and started wiping her hand on it, an amused look now upon her face. She wiped her hand and glanced at him occasionally. He just watched her, and held her, not about to let her slide away from him any time soon. As if she knew precisely that, she sent him another amused look. He thought he could see in her mind the echo of Aelin's previous mention of territorial fae bastards. He felt his lip tug at the corners.

After she’d dried off her hand, he used the shirt and his underwear alike to roughly wipe the spills from himself before tossing them to the floor. He could sleep naked - he was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind it, and was proven right when she immediately settled back over him as he laid them back down. He held her tightly to him while covering them both with the blanket. She reached up to press her lips to his, her heart still racing.

He kissed her back, and felt her relax into his body. She had draped herself over him like a perfect duvet. He never wanted to let go. He never would. When she broke away from his lips to rest her head by his throat, he followed her movement to press his lips to her forehead. He slowly let his fingers trail down her back, stroking back and forth along the curves of her hips. She peered up at him. Her eyes were bright, drooping slightly now. Content, and sleepy, and safe. And his. She was his. Like he was hers, and had been hers for longer than any of them had ever admitted – perhaps ever since that time they first met in the forest, when he had thrown her over his shoulder and ran. He let his fingers slide suggestively down her hip to grace her backside. She smiled.

“Your turn,” was all he said, a silent question there in the stroke of his fingertips over her shirt.

But she only shook her head again.

“Make it up to me later?” she asked quietly, eyes still blazing.

He saw the tiredness on her face, and he understood. He knew she was exhausted. She had barely slept the night before, and the past few days had been overwhelming. And this, too, was new. She had meant it when she said this was enough, that she did not crave anything other than him holding her. Warm, safe, content. It was enough.

The thought alone was more than he deserved.

“I will,” he said, hiding his smile as he added. “I promise.”

He always remembered his debts. He’d make sure to keep this one.

She smiled, widely this time, and she knew.

He lost himself in her face, lost himself in the look of joy that now crossed that beautiful face, a look he’d rarely if ever seen on her before. Considering the past few days, considering everything she had been through, that look was more precious to him than he could describe. Her eyes danced with light.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her, feeling his face go serious. He wondered if he’d ever told her before, and why the hell he hadn’t.

Her smile softened, and she rested her head back on his chest. Her body was wrapped comfortably over his torso, one leg resting down between his thighs, her arm curled around his midriff. He held her there - safe and peaceful and wrapped in his arms.

She fell asleep on top of him only minutes later. Lorcan stayed awake for a long time, watching her sleeping face and listening to her heartbeats, and wondered if this was happiness.

Chapter Text

Lorcan had forgotten how sleep could be like.

The complete, utter oblivion. When he woke, he felt slow, sluggish, foggy, and not like himself in the best possible way. It was like escaping the worst parts of yourself, the ones you’re rarely allowed to escape or forget. He thought the soft, precious body that was draped over his own might have something to do with that.

When he woke, he didn’t want to rise. Didn’t want to go back to his life, his body, his head. Wanted to stay here in between with her. In between sleeping and waking, life and death, day and night. Her body and his.

When she woke, her eyes were sleepy and swollen. She looked like she’d slept heavily and he was glad. She kept working herself to the ground and not eating enough. She was human and he was keenly aware of it. Her body was more fragile than his, could not heal the same way if hurt, was overall much less resistant to the harshness of the world. Already her life had been filled with so much cruelty. She had been forgotten by everyone, and still she had turned out like this – perfect. He would at least make sure she ate. And he would make sure she slept. On top of him from now on, preferably. Lorcan liked these narrow cots very much.

Dawn was already there, and the camp stirred around them. Another day, another move, another trek towards war. Still, Elide made no move to get up and away from him.

“Hi,” was all she said, resting her chin on his chest and peering up at him.

He rumbled back at her, his answering purr vibrating throughout his chest. He could get used to this life. He did not know quite what he’d do if this ever fell away from him again. What he’d do when it eventually would.

But he could not think like that. Could not allow himself to face that. Not now.

“Do you want to get up?” he asked her mildly, and tried to distract himself from his own depressing thoughts.

“No,” she answered blatantly, a smile lurking on the edge of her lips, and he huffed out a breath of laughter. He let his eyes roam her face for a moment, drinking her in. She looked happy.

“Come here,” he said, nudging her elbow. Somehow she was too far away.

She stretched towards his face, and he lifted his neck to press his lips to hers. He was glad she was in no rush. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d let her go. When she pulled back, she reached her hand up to run her fingers through his hair.

“I’ll get a bath ready for you,” he suggested, voice gruff.

She lifted her eyebrows at the luxury. “Bath in the morning?”

But he only ghosted his palm over her shoulders, and started to rub lightly at her tense muscles. And while he might think he was prepared, he truly was not prepared at all for the moan that escaped her. It did things to him, that sound. He ignored it.

“Your muscles could use a soak,” he murmured. “I’ll go get you breakfast meanwhile.”

“You don’t want a bath?”

He only shook his head. “I’ll get you breakfast”

They untangled, and she blushed when she peeled herself off his naked body. He felt his lips tug fondly at her flushed neck and sudden shyness. She slid down and away from him, averting her gaze while her cheeks turned bright red, and he loved her.

While Elide quietly slipped out of the tent to relieve herself, Lorcan quickly washed and dressed. He was done by the time she returned.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said.

He quickly left before he could change his mind.

Lorcan surveyed the convoy, talked to some soldiers, and delayed only a little bit. When he thought she might be done, he brought back food. She was already dressed when he entered the tent, and her flushed cheeks from earlier had calmed. They ate in peace, on their cots, chewing their food in silence, and he wished he could stay right there.

“Do you think we have a chance?” Elide asked quietly after a while, poking at her food, then added, “Be honest.”

It took him a few seconds to orient his thoughts and to realize where her mind was.

“In the war,” he clarified.

She only nodded, eyes on her food. He sensed her worry in the air, could taste it on his tongue, and that v between her brows that he knew so well had returned to her face.

“We’ll get Perranth back,” he said, guessing what was occupying her mind the most.

He knew the news that her home was overrun had grieved her.

I will help you. He wondered if she could hear his silent promise. Perhaps she did, because her eyes brightened.

The war, the battle looming, their situation – it was grave, but he had been preoccupied. His focus had been with her. Lorcan was not used to caring this much and it had unbalanced him completely. Usually he did not care whether it went one way or the other. Usually it went his way, in wars, in missions. He was not used to this worrying. He’d usually been alone. Just him.

“Eat,” he nudged her.

She smiled, and she did.

The next time he saw her was for a short break and a bit of food that afternoon. They had travelled a long distance that day, but they would not pause for long. They had kept a brisk pace, but still it was too slow. Too damn slow, and a long distance left. But they had to eat. Had to stop. Had to move.

“Missed you at breakfast,” Fenrys said, sliding down next to Lorcan.

Lorcan had brought food for himself and Elide, and was waiting for her to come over to join him by the fireplace – but instead it was Fenrys who was now sitting beside him.

“That’s not for you,” Lorcan snapped, in case Fenrys was about to grab the extra bowl in front of him.

Fenrys only snorted. “I don’t even know why I bother,” he mumbled under his breath.

But there was no true ire behind the words, and he kept away from the food knowing very well who it was for.

Lorcan scoffed back at him, but there was no ire in that either.

“How’s life?” Fenrys asked instead, a smirk on his face now.

He was clearly insinuating the irony of the situation that Lorcan - big, old, bastard born, powers of death – was now smitten with a tiny, delicate, young, perfect, human woman. Fenrys very well knew how life was, and how Lorcan’s whole life had been flipped on its head so brutally he sometimes wondered if he indeed was the same person anymore.

Lorcan had found long ago that he honestly did not care or bother with other people’s assumptions. So he ignored the jab, and answered honestly.

“It’s interesting,” he said.

Fenrys held his gaze for a moment too long.

“You don’t deserve her,” Fenrys finally said, eyebrows raised. “Better watch yourself.”

He was serious, Lorcan realized. He felt the words ring true some place deep inside him. He also had to reassess his earlier assumption, because Fenrys had not been about to bully him for drooling over a human woman at all, but was acting Elide’s advocate. He was telling Lorcan to behave, to keep his shit together, not to disappoint them again.

Not to disappoint her.

Perhaps, perhaps, Fenrys was even sitting here next to him for Lorcan’s benefit. If Lorcan was at all to give him the benefit of the doubt. That asshole. Because Lorcan was not exactly spoiled with people seeking him out for a chat. People were usually happy to give him a wide berth most of the time.

“I know I don’t,” Lorcan answered quietly, looking down.

Fenrys had no time to reply to that, because Elide joined them then. To Lorcan’s immense annoyance, Elide slid down on Fenrys' other side instead of asking for Fenrys to move. But of course she would not do that. Lorcan forced down his irritation and his impulse to snarl at the male.

“Hi,” she said, breathless, flashing them both a bright smile. Lorcan pushed her food into her hand without a word. “Oh, thank you.”

She sent him another smile, just for him this time, that soft one, his smile, and his mood eased slightly.

Fenrys was grinning at him too, but that was a completely different type of smile. You besotted idiot, his face clearly said. Lorcan ignored him.

“You okay?” Fenrys asked Elide, turning to her as she started eating.

“I’m good,” she said. “But you know I can’t complain at all next to Yrene so you’ll never hear me say anything else.”

Lorcan and Fenrys both snorted. True enough. Yrene, pregnant and nauseous, had turned out to be a complete force to be reckoned with, putting the rest to shame.

“I would never have guessed wartime was so much organizing things in boxes,” Elide continued. “Though you have probably been to hundreds of wars already, haven’t you. This is old news to the two of you.”

This time, only Lorcan huffed.

“Not this pup,” he said, nodding to Fenrys.

Elide looked up from her food. “Oh?”

“Not as many wars as he,” Fenrys explained. “The brute.”

Elide smiled at Lorcan again, her expression making his heart falter. She liked him being teased, he realized.

Fenrys eyed Elides now forgotten lunch. “You’re gonna eat that or not?”

She picked it up immediately, returning to her food. “Yes, actually.”

Loran knew very well Fenrys did not truly want to steal her food. He was only asking her the same questions Lorcan was itching to ask, itching to remind her. And he was thankful for it, for Fenrys looking after her too.

Perhaps Fenrys even asked her these questions for Lorcans sake, knowing they were already on the tip of his tongue.

That little piece of shit.

“I keep forgetting you’re the young one,” Elide said around her food, looking up at Fenrys with a scrutinizing look as if she was trying to see it on his face.

Fenrys grinned back at her comment, but said nothing.

“But you’ve been to war before right?” she asked him.

“Yes”, Fenrys said

“Did you win?”

“Yes”

“Are you nervous about going to war this time?”

“No.”

She eyed him for a long moment. Her gaze lingered on him, a frown now on her face, before she looked down at her plate.

“What’s that look?” Fenrys pushed, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Two blinks,” Elide said quietly, keeping her gaze to her food this time.

There was no movement or reaction from Fenrys at all, but Lorcan could feel the shift in emotions next to him as if she’d slapped him. Fenrys went alert - so at odds with the casual way his next words left his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“Two blinks,” Elide repeated quietly. She eyed him quickly, as if knowing exactly how her words had impacted. “You always blink twice when you say no. One for yes.”

Freeze and fear was emanating from Fenrys, even if his stance appeared casual. Lorcan frowned. What was she even talking about? What had he missed?

Clearly sensing Fenrys’ frozen reaction, Elide continued in a low voice.

“I haven’t figured out three blinks yet,” she said, sending him a look that was almost apologetic, as if she knew she’d hit home. “But I think four blinks is Don’t be afraid, or something of that sort. Something to soothe.”

Fenrys only stared at her, his face neutral. A long silence passed.

“Is it something you’ve had to use in wolf form?” she asked him carefully.

Fenrys blinked once. And slowly, he nodded.

Sensing she shouldn’t ask any more questions, knowing not to push it, she didn’t. But Fenrys eyes went to Aelin, far away with Rowan across the camp, and Lorcan knew. Knew how Elide had indeed hit home. Lorcan had never even noticed.

Another long pause passed before either of them spoke.

“You’re not an ordinary human are you,” Fenrys finally said, looking back down at Elide. But his tone wasn’t unfriendly at all, quite the opposite.

She pursed her lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment I think.”

His gaze held hers for a moment.

“Good.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of their short break. Lorcan knew she had already figured out why Fenrys had looked at Aelin, had probably figured it all out ages ago long before this conversation. None of this was news to her. She was just letting Fenrys know she knew. She was being his friend, too. Not an ounce of fear or nerves in that little heart.

They uprooted camp soon after, and marched into the night before setting up final camp for the day. It was dark, and they would rest until dawn. They ate dinner together, all of them gathering around the centre of camp. Lorcan discussed their plans ahead with Rowan and Gavriel. He knew Elide ate with Yrene somewhere, and had plans to bring her an extra portion back, or at least to offer getting her one.

He was being an idiot, he knew that, this sudden obsessiveness with her comfort, but it somehow seemed urgent that she gained her strength and it was the only thing he could think of to do for her to help her do so. She was human. They were going to war. And the realization of that was starting to creep up on Lorcan. She would of course not go anywhere near actual battle. But he would. What if he did not survive? What if they did not win? What would happen to her then?

He had no doubt in his heart she would find a way. She always had, way before he’d stumbled upon her in the woods that time. But he didn’t like it, the not knowing, the idea of her running for her life to escape terror once again. He tried not to think about it. Instead he vowed to offer her a second helping of food later and to make sure she slept.

And he would live. He’d lived for five hundred years and had proved he was godsdamned difficult to snuff. He would make sure he lived, and he would find her, if it came to that. He always would.

She spotted him across the camp, and sent him a soft look. Not quite a smile, but her face brightened when her eyes met his. His heart faltered again, and he wanted her so badly it hurt.

He sensed Gavriel had asked him a question and returned to the present, turning away from her gaze.

When he saw her slip away to their tent for the nigh, he followed. He wanted to keep close to her, and he was done with people. He’d spent the entire day trying not to think about their previous night together. Now that the distractions around him faded, and the night in front of them waited, his mind started to slip. He tried not to think about any of it. But what she’d done to him… How he’d repay that promise eventually… But no, he vowed to himself - she would set the pace, every inch of it. He’d simply follow her lead.

He hoped she would continue to sleep wrapped over him like a blanket though. He’d liked that very much. Which was both surprising and not at the same time, because he had always detested people touching him unnecessarily, and yet he craved her touch. He could not think about why that was, not now, did not have the answers anyway, would not listen to the whispers inside him either. He knew this was more than he deserved. Knew he was the luckiest bastard in this world.

He followed her into the tent, and blocked out the rest of the world. Just for a little while.

Chapter Text

Note: Inserted scene – here’s a reminder. This is from Kingdom of Ash, chapter 87. You know where:

 ("From the cot opposite hers, Lorcan only watched, an apple half peeled in his hands.
“You should rest more often.”
Elide waved him off, yanking away her boot, then her sock. “Yrene is pregnant – and throwing up every hour or so. If she doesn’t rest, I’m not going to.”
“I’m not entirely sure Yrene is human.”

 

A rustle of clothing, and then Lorcan was kneeling before her, Elide’s foot in his hands. Nearly swallowed by his hands, actually. “Let me,” he offered.

He carefully, with near reverence it seemed, began easing the ache away. Those hands had slaughtered their way across kingdoms. Bore the faint scars to prove it. And yet he held her foot as if it were a small bird, as if it were something...holy.

Lorcan slowly coaxed the pain from her foot. Seemed content to do just that all night, should she wish it. But she was not half asleep. For once. And each brush of his fingers on her foot had her sitting up, something warming in her core.

But then he said, “You are well and truly Lady of Perranth now”.
“Is that what you really wish to talk about?”
His fingers didn’t halt their miraculous sinful work. “We haven’t spoken of it. About Vernon.”

Lorcan resumed his soothing strokes.“Perranth will be rebuilt. We’ll see that it is.”
“Have you ever done it? Rebuilt a city?”
“No,” he admitted, his thumbs coaxing the pain from her aching bones. “I have only destroyed them.” His eyes lifted to hers, searching and open. “But I should like to try. With you.”
She saw the offer there – to not only build a city, but a life. Together.
Heat rose to her cheeks as she nodded.“Yes,” she whispered. “For however long we have”
For if they survived this war, there was still that between them: his immortality.
Something shuttered in Lorcan’s eyes at that.

“You should soak that foot. And soak in general. As I said, you work too hard.”
“You said I should rest more.”
“Because you work too hard.” He jerked his chin towards the bath as he pulled off the boot and helped her rise. “I’ll go find some food.”
“I already ate –“
“You should eat more”

Barefoot before him, Elide peered into his granite-hewn face. Shrugged out of her cloak, then jacket. Lorcan’s throat bobbed.

“I need help. Getting into the bath.”
“Do you, now.” His voice was near guttural.
“I might slip.”
His eyes drifted down her body, but he made no move.“A dangerous time, bath time.”
Elide found it in herself to walk toward the copper tub. He trailed a few feet behind, giving her space. Letting her steer this.

Lorcan watched every move. She wasn’t entirely certain he was breathing.

“Show me what to do,” she breathed.
“You’re doing just fine,” Lorcan ground out.
But she gave him a helpless look and he prowled closer. His fingers found the loose hem of her shirt.
“May I?”

Cool air kissed her skin, pebbling it. The flexible band around her chest remained, but Lorcan’s gaze remained on her own. “Tell me what you want next,” he said roughly.
Hand shaking, Elide grazed a finger over the band.
Lorcan’s own hands shook as he unbound it. As he revealed her to the air, to him.
His eyes seemed to go wholly black as he took in her breasts, her uneven breathing.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.

(…) she ran her hand over the smattering of dark hair across the sculpted planes.
“Beautiful,” she said.
Lorcan trembled – with restraint, with emotion, she didn’t know. That darling purr of his rumbled into her as she pressed her mouth against his pectoral.
His hand lifted to her hair, each stroke unbinding her braid. “We can go as far and as long as you want,” he said. Yet she dared to glance down his body – to what strained under his pants.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Anything you do will be enough,” he said.
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to please me.”
She scoffed at the arrogance, but Lorcan brushed his mouth against her neck. His hands bracketed her waist, his thumb grazing her ribs.

And then his mouth found hers, gentle and thorough.
Her arms twined around his neck, and Lorcan lifted her, carrying her not to the bath, but to the cot behind them, his lips never leaving hers.
(…) and when Lorcan laid her out on the cot, his breathing as uneven as her own, when he paused, letting her decide what to do, where to take this, Elide kissed him again and whispered,
“Show me everything.”
- End of chapter 87, Kingdom of Ash")

LORCAN POV

Her words made his brain go quiet.

The meaning behind those words, the intent in her eyes, the sound of her rapidly beating heart beneath his own – he couldn’t think.

Her breasts were teasing him in the chill air, her skin in goosebumps where she laid out on the cot underneath him. She was absolutely perfect. He’d already known that for a long time, but here she was again, proving it true. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And he was allowed to touch her. Kiss her. Undress her.

He pressed his lips back to hers, careful to keep his weight off her body. He was immensely aware of his own body hovering over hers and how massive he was compared to her small frame. His chest grazed the bare skin of her breasts, just barely. She deepened the kiss, closing the distance between their bodies completely, and pressed her beautiful chest flush against his own.

She fit perfectly against his body. Her skin was so soft. He could not get enough of her, even if he desperately tried to hold himself back. She’d asked for everything, and he was desperate to do this right. He knew she meant it, knew the scent of her emotions echoed her words, that she was sure, that she wanted him to show her, that she wanted him, that she wanted to give him this. This final claiming, this first beginning, this utter trust and yielding of her love for him. Because that was what this was.

Show me everything.

He knew where he would like to start. Slowly, gently, he trailed his hand from her cheek down her neck, following her arm down her side. He let his thumb graze the side of her breast in a silent question. She arched into him, deepening the kiss - a yes. He let his thumb slide over her breast, brushing over the sensitive skin on her nipple, and felt her body shudder beneath him. His hand trembled as he cupped her breast. She fit perfectly in his palm, small and soft and utterly ravishing.

He did not pause there, not for long, only trailed his hand further down her stomach until he reached the lining of her pants. He pulled back then, finding her eyes, and felt his stomach drop a few inches at the look of want he saw there in her eyes. His fingers paused there, drawing circles on her belly in silent question. She pressed her lips to his again – a yes – and he nimbly started undoing the string of her pants, loosening it one by one, before he slipped his hand underneath.

When he cupped her in his palm, her body arched against him and a groan escaped her. The scent of her arousal reached his nose, and he filled his lungs with it, with her, as he ghosted his fingers up and down her centre. Gently saying hello. He revelled in the fact he was allowed to, in how she felt against his hand, and how her body reacted to his touch. A whimper escaped her, and he swallowed it all up, feeling it reverberate from her lips and throughout his body.

Her hand lingered by his abdomen. Eager, hesitant – another question. He was already painfully hard for her, pressed up against the seam of his pants, had been for a while, but it did not matter. That would wait. If it at all came to that, if she truly wanted him to show her everything, she would need to wait. He would not allow this to cause her pain. He would need to be thorough, slow. Would like to be, also, but that aside he knew it would be necessary.

He let his fingers find a steady rhythm, and relished in her body as she arched against him. He held his weight on his side, arm propped up by her head. When he pulled back from the kiss to look at her, her eyes were closed. Had he not known better it would almost look like she was in pain – but he knew better, and watched in awe as pleasure rippled over her face like a wave on the sea. He allowed his gaze to trail down her naked upper body, over her chest that rose and fell in rapid gasps of air, her breasts, her stomach, and he wanted to taste her everywhere. But he reigned himself in. They would have time. He’d make sure there was time.

When he moved one finger down to slip inside her, her breath caught in her throat. He pressed up against that place he knew would feel good, in steady, unhurried movements, and felt her wetness coat him. Her eyes met his, and he thought his chest might burst. His own breaths mingled with hers, sharp and quick and gradually losing control. He let it build, moving steadily before sliding his thumb back to her centre. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she hid her face by his neck at the sensation.

He let his gaze travel back down her body, and knew her climax was not far away. He leaned in close to press his lips behind her ear, and nudged her face back towards his. He needed to see her.

“Come,” he murmured into her ear, letting this one selfish request escape him before he could stop himself. Because he wanted her to, needed her to. Wanted to see her.

As if his words had been her cue, she did. Her head pushed back into the pillow, eyes closed, and a lovely whimper escaped her as she came in his arms. He let his gaze roam over her face, taking in her parted lips, her yielding of control. She had bared her neck to him, and he selfishly pressed an open mouthed kiss to her throat. He lingered there, feeling the rush of her pulse beneath his lips. He stayed there for a moment, bathing in the scent of her. Her whole body shook. His fingers did too, but he kept working her through it, circling her centre with his thumb as she trembled beneath him.

When she calmed, he removed his fingers from her. He stroked his palm down her hair and found her gaze again, needing to see her. There was a molten fire burning there in her eyes. Her fingers brushed against his abdomen, snagging at the hem of his pants. Slowly her trembling hands started to work on the buckle of his belt, the strings, opening them, and he let her. He helped her push his pants and underwear down all together, kicking it away, and felt her gaze land on him.

He could taste the slight tint of uncertainty in the air as she took him in – no doubt wondering what would come next. Her hand brushed against his length, and he shuddered, but he had other plans for her yet. He leaned in for a kiss, gently pushing her back into the pillow. Her heartbeat turned frantic, and too late he realized she probably expected something different than he intended. Instead he broke away from her lips to trail his mouth down her neck and throat. As he moved down, her hand slipped away from him, and her pulse eased. Good. It would wait. It would all wait.

Slowly he trailed his lips down her body. He felt her heartbeats calm, and then stumble when he pressed open kisses down the front of her chest. He looked up at her before reaching her breasts, searching her eyes for permission. She was watching him, her chest rapidly rising and sinking underneath his chin. But there was light in her eyes, no hesitation in her scent, and he continued down to kiss her breast. She inhaled sharply when he wrapped his mouth over her nipple. The sound made him smile against her skin.

“Beautiful,” he rumbled, echoing his words from before. It was not nearly enough, but it was the word he could find, and she needed to know.

Lorcan spent precious moments there, his kisses on her skin thorough and slow. He relished in the soft feel of her beneath his lips, kissing one breast, then the other, her nipples, her curves. He felt her eyes on him, and her hands ran through and entwined in his hair before he continued to kiss his way down her stomach.

He could smell the insecurity seep back into her scent when he reached the lining of her pants, and he paused. He rested himself on his elbows, looking up at her. Being here, so close to her, to her arousal, her scent, to her… it did things to him. And the view of her above him like this, propped back on her elbows and her chest heaving – she was breathtaking. He could feel her mind racing behind those wide eyes as she looked down at him though, and saw her hand twitch as if unsure what to do. Perhaps this was far enough.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked her gently.

She shook her head almost immediately.

“No,” she whispered.

He searched her eyes. She’d meant that. And he realized, the reason for her hesitation was not a wish to stop, but simply shyness. Perhaps also that she had not quite understood his intentions, what he was doing – not quite. For a moment he was stunned by this reminder of her inexperience, of her innocence, her youth, and of the utmost importance of him allowing space for all of that.

“May I?” he asked, carefully eyeing her expression.

He lightly nudged the lining of her pants with his fingertips, making it clear what he was asking her. The string of her pants were still loose from earlier.

She nodded, keeping his gaze. For a moment, for a few, long seconds, he felt himself fumble.

Ignoring his heart now beating in his throat, he reverently pressed his lips back to her belly as he started to nudge her pants and underwear down her hips. She lifted her hips slightly, helping him, and he sat back only to peel the garments down her knees and ankles. He smiled despite himself when her underwear got tangled up in her foot, and felt her breathless laughter in the air as well as he held up her calf in front of him and gingerly slid her undergarments over her broken ankle. Before taking another step, before making another thought, he leaned in to press his lips to her ankle just where the scars still marred her skin.

He looked down at her, and watched as her cheeks slowly tinted with red now that she was laid out completely naked before him. He held her gaze, and did not let his eyes wander down her body. And he saw there in her eyes that he could not ask her what she wanted from him next, not this time, because he suspected she would not know what to say. It would only make her feel insecure, not being able to answer, and he never wanted that.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her instead. He brushed his fingertips over her ankle as he carefully placed her foot back down on the cot, soothing his thumb over her skin.

A faint smile crossed her face, as if her nerves settled by his touch. He returned to her, draping himself back over her lower body and propped himself up on his elbows by her waist. He pressed his lips back to her stomach before looking up at her face.

“Would you like for me to show you?” he asked her. Echoing her words from earlier. Show me everything.

The corner of her lips turned upwards in a small smile at his choice of words.

“Yes.”

She nodded, not hesitating, not unsure. Slowly he leaned down to press another kiss to her belly, brushing his palm in soothing circles down her thigh, before he trailed his lips down towards her centre.

Her heartbeats quickened like a hare, but she didn’t stop him. He did not allow himself to think, or react, only tried to still his shaking hands and ignore his own thundering heart. When he reached her centre he had to exercise all his control not to lean down and fill his lungs with her, not to immediately lap her up and claim her with his tongue. Instead, he ghosted his nose over her, letting his open lips snag on her, and felt her sharp intake of breath. He had no words, no thoughts, only let his senses drown in her scent.

When he let his tongue trail over her from mid to tip, she stopped breathing entirely.

“Breathe,” he reminded her, the word only a whisper against her heat.

She drew a shaky breath. He returned to her, and she shuddered beneath him. And he was finally tasting her, finally doing what he’d longed for, was finally allowed to show her this, to selfishly take her like this, to taste. Many, many impulses crossed his mind, but he yielded to none. He simply licked her, slow, almost politely so, carefully and gently showing her why.

When he heard her gasp out oh my gods above him he thought she might’ve understood why.

He gently slid his hand under her thigh to guide it to the side, spreading her out before him.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, roaming his eyes over her. The look of her, the feel of her, the scent of her that now completely filled his nose and lungs. She was absolutely perfect. As he’d known already, but here he was again, stunned.

When he peered up at her face, her eyes were closed, head back, and he smiled to himself. Her uncertainty now seeping away, and her body relaxing, he could be more forward - and so he was. In one stroke he lapped at her from centre to tip, pausing there, familiarizing himself with her. He let his lips snag on her, nibble, tease her, and she whimpered above him. The sound untethered him, and he revelled in her sounds and the way she reacted to his touch.

He gave her everything she might want. He was awarded with another groan when he slid two fingers inside her, and she arched into his face. One hand flat against her stomach, holding her still, he let his fingers tease her, explore her, gently and carefully, all while his lips and tongue gently twirled and lapped and stroked her where she was most eager for him.

“Oh,” she whimpered, and he smiled again.

Her sounds alone would be the end of him, and he realized he wanted them to be his, only his. Since he could no longer swallow the sounds that now escaped her mouth, he let his powers come alive to give a small shield of air around them. Shielding her sounds from the world outside of this tent, from any ears but his own. They were his. As she was.

He pleased her until one whimper replaced the next. It was as much his own pleasure and privilege, for her to allow him to relish in her so completely. Her legs were sprawled wide, all shyness seeped away from her. His face was slick with her, his fingers were slick with her, and still he couldn’t get enough. He met her silent questions and chased her movements until she trembled around him for the second time. When she came, her whimpers turned silent and her hands clutched the sheet beneath her. He lapped her up and cherished every taste of her. Gradually he let his movements still, and withdrew completely only when a last, final shudder tore through her body.

He heard himself breathe her name against her, again and again, and he was kissing her and whispering her name alike. She trembled in aftershocks, her breath ragged in the chill air. He nudged his nose against her one final time, before he rested his forehead on her abdomen, closing his eyes, and simply breathed her in. How long he stayed there he did not know, but when he lifted his head to find her gaze, hers was already on him. He pushed himself back up to gently curl himself over her body.

Her attention snagged to him as she looked down his naked body, but he only laid down gently on top of her and pressed his mouth to hers. When he pulled back to look at her, she was smiling, and her eyes had dropped to his lips. She unceremoniously placed her hand over his mouth and wiped his face – wiped him of her. Lorcan grinned at that. But the grin faded from his face as he took her in, as he saw that quiet burning still in her eyes. And there was no uncertainty any more, no shyness, no hesitation, as if that had all been lapped away by the strokes of his tongue on her.

The realization of this moment hit him like a punch in the gut, of what was before them, what was now twinkling in her eyes.

“Are your sure?” he asked her. He felt the frown on his face.

She nodded, eyes blazing, words equally hard. “I am. I want you.”
I want you. She was his. She was his and would always be his and he’d always be hers. Something built and strained in his chest.

Her fingers brushed over his length then, wrapping around him, stroking him. Just a few times, and completely unnecessary, because he had been ready for her for a long time. He pressed his lips to hers again, before he kissed her cheek, her nose, her forehead, her hair as he moved his body up over hers. Their difference in height made him unable to kiss her like this, but he pressed his lips to her hair once before he settled above her. Her face was flush against his chest, and he was immensely aware of his own large, heavy body towering over her delicate human one.

He had to be careful, and was cautious to keep his weight off her. But her arms sneaked around his waist, her palms flat against his back, and she pushed him closer. He felt himself line up against her, just by her entrance. Resting his weight on one elbow, he moved his hand to her chin, angling her face up towards him.

“I want to see your face,” he said, his voice rough.

He felt the frown on his face, felt the seriousness of the situation hit him. Knew he needed to see her, to make sure, to monitor her face, to keep back. Felt how this meant something, not even realizing what exactly, only that it did. Her face was open, so open with him, open and trusting and her eyes filled with love. And he didn’t deserve any of it but was completely unable not to succumb to it when she offered.

“I love you,” she whispered up at him.

His hand fell from her chin to trail down to her thigh, and she kept her face up towards him as he gently guided himself into her. Only an inch, just barely. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she pressed her face into his chest. Gently, he nudged her chin back up with one finger, making her face him again.

“I want to see you,” he repeated. Needed to see her face.

Her eyes were heavy lidded, soft, filled with trust. Slowly, he inched himself into her. He could feel her heart hammer beneath her ribs, her warm breath against his chest, her heat. She held his gaze.

When he paused to let her body adjust, her hands on his back pressed him closer, eager, and her hips buckled. He felt the corners of his lips twitch at her impatience.

“Slow,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to hurt you”.

“You wont,” she whispered back, her eyes so certain of it. But she let him pause, let her impatience still.

He knew he was stretching her, knew it would at least sting, hurt her if he wasn’t careful. He had not let himself all the way inside, would not try to either, not this time. He stroked his thumb down her lower lip.

“Try to relax,” he whispered, because she wasn’t, she was tensing her body, which would not help.

She took a deep breath, and they stayed like that for a few moments, just breathing. He stroked his hand in soothing circles over her hips, her thigh. When she relaxed more, he moved again. Her dark eyes bore into his and his heartbeats synced to hers. That tight bundle of iron thread that had been building inside his chest expanded, and it was as if a string of light was woven between them, as if a golden thread shot from his heart to hers, and back. And his world altered.

She was everything. And it was he who could not breathe, he was the one drowning in her eyes. He gently pulled out of her a little bit, before slowly pushing back, and her eyes fluttered shut as they moved. She kept her face upwards, facing him, letting him see her, opening her eyes when he again pushed into her. He felt his power rumble around them, felt the light breeze against their skin, felt himself drown in her, in those eyes, in that string of gold that connected her to him and him to her as they joined. And he wanted nothing but this, ever, nothing but her body on his and her eyes on him and her heart beating.

He reached down to wrap her thigh around his hips. He ghosted his thumb down over her centre between them, but she only shook her head, no, and breathed, “I just want you.” Instead she pressed him closer, her palms on his back trying to close the distance between them. So he settled his hand back in her hair, by the nape of her neck, and he made love to her. Slowly, gently, and as deeply as he dared.

When she again pressed against him, urging him deeper, he dared another inch. A groan escaped her at that, and he cherished it. Felt his heart melt out of his own body and onto hers. Felt himself dissolve. And it was only her, only her in this world, and he was utterly and completely hers. Whatever she wanted, whatever she asked, he’d do it.

Their breaths were both becoming ragged, mingling, and he felt himself start to slip. But that wouldn’t do, not at all, and if she would not have him touch her he’d find other ways. Without breaking pace he reached for the pillow above her head and dragged it down the cot to squeeze it underneath her hips. Her eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. She’d see. And she did, as he pressed into her again, the pillow now changing their angle. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a small sound escaped her.

“I love you,” he whispered, his response long overdue.

He leaned down to press his lips to her forehead, back and neck straining, before returning to look at her again. Another delightful, wonderfully strangled sound escaped her, and she opened her eyes, wide now, searching for his. And he loved her, and she was everything, and that golden thread wove in and out of his ancient, wicked heart and made the centre of the earth on which he stood shift. And she was the centre, the world, everything.

They kept it up for a little while, as he worked his way to slowly drag that pleasure out of her once more. He made love to her in a way that both preserved and prolonged, trying to drag every ounce of pleasure from her body while simultaneously storing every moment and every touch under his skin. He moved with her, gently steered her towards that edge, towards that spot, towards that first experience that would set the standards for all the rest. The already swollen lips of her rubbed against him as they moved, his thumb stroking over her making her shudder at the sensations, and he moved in her just the way he knew would awaken her again. Gradually deepening, gradually quickening their pace, gradually easing her into it. And himself – he had not expected that.

He wanted to do so much with her, show her all he knew about pleasure, pleasure her in all the ways possible, but now, this first time, this first time he made love to her like he had never done before, because he had never loved like this. And to his surprise – because in his arrogance he had not seen this coming – it was she who showed him, just by existing. And it overwhelmed him completely, this feeling, this need for her. Because this – he had not expected this.

He pressed into her, quickening the pace again, feeling her start to twitch and tremble around him. Feeling himself start to falter, too, he let his thumb brush over her centre between them, the ghost of a question, and she groaned. Her walls around him started to spasm, her heartbeats raced against his own. He felt her uncontrolled gasp of air, and he knew he’d never be the same again, that he was forever changed. Changed by this young woman, this wonderful, wicked, wise woman, this human with witch blood and the bravest heart.

When she came, he held himself back and let it wash over her, watched her face as she felt it all. Her delightful tremors pulsated around him for a moment before she dragged him with her over the edge. It took every piece of control in his ancient body not to ram himself into her, not to slam himself down repeatedly, short, hard – but he held it all back and simply let it wash over him in its own slowly torturous time. His orgasm hit him like a force of power so great he almost lost track of his own body, his whereabout, his movements. He simply knew that he was hers, and she was there, and she was everything, surrounding him. He disappeared from his body for a moment and drifted as it cleansed his body and his soul.

He did not know if he’d roared, or choked, or if he’d made no sound at all. He returned to himself face down on the cot with Elide pinned underneath him.

“Fuck,” he rushed, getting to his senses and lifting his weight off of her – but she only laughed and held him to her. The sound of her laugher settled into him, deep in his bones.

“I like it,” she whispered, referring to his weigh on her.

I like it. He eased his weight off her anyway, but kept their bodies flush.

They stayed there for a few moments, staring into each others eyes, still connected and catching their breaths. He could not get enough of her. He would never let go.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. I didn’t hurt you?

She nodded, eyes twinkling now and lip twitching slightly.

“Mm.”

As if telling him she was more than just okay. He felt the corner of his lip twitch too.

He gently pushed her hair out from her face to place it behind one beautiful ear. And they just breathed and watched each other for a few moments.

“Stay here,” he finally said.

He gently withdrew from her, and rose from the cot to get a damp cloth by the bath. When he returned to her, she was already sitting, and was following him with her gaze. She looked utterly mesmerizing, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes still hazy and her cheeks flustered. She moved on to her knees when he returned to her, and paused to look down at herself when she realized the movement had made a sticky trail down her thigh.

He kneeled down in front of her, and simply reached over to wipe up his spills from between her legs. She jolted slightly, and their eyes met. A deep, beautiful crimson blush spread across her face by his intimate touch. He suppressed his smile, and her expression softened by whatever she found on his face. He continued as if nothing at all, wiping the spills away from them both.

When he was done he nudged her aside and laid back down on his back. She draped herself over his chest, as he’d hoped she would. He covered them both with the blanket and stroked his palm down her cheek and hair as she settled on top of him.

“How do you feel?” he asked her.

The soft smile on her face was answer enough.

“I love you,” she said simply.

Perhaps, like him, only able to express that one, clear, distinguished feeling amongst the whirlwind of the rest.

She settled into him, her heartbeats heavy now. They laid in silence watching each other for a long time. Her eyes were content, and her breaths were becoming gradually deeper. He watched her face and relished in the feeling of her body on top of his. He stroked her hair until she fell asleep.

Lorcan stayed awake for a long time after, just watching her sleep. Her heart beat in an even, comforting rhythm, and he tried to still his own racing thoughts by just listening to her heartbeats. He let them guide him, settle into him, swallow him, until he too was gone.

Chapter Text

She was his mate.

Lorcan knew she couldn’t be. Knew it was impossible. But she was.

He had felt it. Known it deep down in his bones last night when they had joined for that first time. He had felt a ray of golden thread, thin and unbreakable, weave between them, closing in between them and tighten like a string. Bond. Unyielding. His.

Mate.

Yesterday had been hers. He had intended it for her to set the pace, to decide, to experience. Somehow he had not anticipated the staggeringly overwhelming effect it would have on himself. Had not expected the extent of how out of control he’d feel, how much he’d feel, how he truly, honestly, could not get enough of her. He still felt it. Even laying on this cot now with her body draped across his own felt like too much space between them.

He had known it for a while perhaps, without acknowledging it for what it was. Had not admitted it to himself, not opened his eyes. Had only known she was exceptional, extraordinary, had wondered about how it could be, how she could be all she had become to him. How she could alter him like she had from their very beginning, just by existing.

Except it wasn’t possible. She was human, mortal. He was not. He could not understand. For the first time in a long time, he could not understand. He had stayed awake for a long time last night, silently reeling with it. Just laying there, holding her to him and trying not to think. He had fallen asleep after a while, his mind blank, and he’d slept deeply while holding her tightly to him until dawn, somehow feeling her there in his sleep.

When he woke, she was still deeply asleep on top of him. He laid quite still, not wanting to wake her. Her weigh on his body was a comfort he hadn’t known he craved. Her hair fell loosely around her face, delightful stray strands of hair falling across her forehead and onto his chest. He watched her face, peaceful and rested, and his heart ached. Ached was an understatement - it ripped and tore and swelled in his chest and he felt almost unable to breathe around it. She was so young. She was so perfect. She was so kind, so clever, so open, so hopeful. Trusting. So much more than anything that had ever been given to her. And she was his.

His mate.

It was not possible. Mating bonds had always been purely fae. It made no sense. Because no human had ever been mated with a fae, and he had never heard of anything like it in his five hundred years in this world. Only fairytales and myths spoke of mortal and immortal beings together, and those were never pleasant. They were by definition incompatible.

He wondered if her witch heritage had anything to do with it. Or perhaps if him being demi-fae had any say. But he did not know. Could not figure it out. Could he somehow be wrong? Not that it mattered. Because even if it was impossible, it was true.

He knew she did not realize, that she had not understood those feelings last night the same way he had. He thought that she must feel it too, but did not understand it. Perhaps she thought this was normal. He knew she had no context or prenotion to help her realize, and he did not know what she even knew of mating bonds. Perhaps she felt it less keenly than he did, in her human body.

He knew he could not tell her. Not yet. Not while this new silver line they were threading together was still so new to them both. He simply dared not risk it, risk her. Perhaps it was selfish of him. But he dared not, not while it was still only weeks since the days she did not speak to him at all, not while this was all so new. Not before he understood it all better, not before he knew, not until he had a solution. Until he was sure. Even if deep down, he knew it was true.

He looked down at her sleeping face, felt her body against his. She was warm, soft, her body hugging him gently where she was curled over him. He could feel every line of her naked body against his own. He had woken up ready for her, knew it did not matter, pushed it down. He wasn’t sure he’d even stopped being ready for her in the night. He knew he would have to rein himself in. She deserved to feel. To be. To choose. Space. Time. She would have that. He’d give her everything.

He did not understand how it had happened. She was his mate. He didn’t deserve her at all. What would she make of it? Would she resent him for it? Would she feel bound to him? She was a lady. He had no idea how to give her the life worthy of a lady, how to give her the stable, happy, peaceful life she deserved. Would she want him there alongside her, Lady of Perranth and… him? She had her life ahead of her, he was...Well. Old. It could not be. Except it was.

His emotions whirled inside him until he wondered if he would explode. He could not bear it. Could not fathom how he’d live through it. She was mortal, there was no changing that. And he would not be anywhere she was not. He could barely finish the thought of it.

For however long we have, she’d said.

Was he supposed to stay the same, frozen, watching her while she aged and died? Was he supposed to live on alone for eternity after her life had ended?

She stirred then, dragging him from his rapidly spiraling thoughts, and he welcomed it. Watched her eyelids flutter, her lungs fill with air. Felt her body as she stretched over him, her breasts pressing into his chest, muscles in her thighs tightening for a second before relaxing. And he watched her lips as she smiled to herself, still not opening her eyes. Her face was soft now, her body relaxing back into his. That small smile on her lips. Eyes shut.

Awake.

He removed one hand from around her to touch his finger to the corner of her lips, at that smile. Her smile widened. He felt his own lips twitch in response. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked straight at him. He wrapped his arm back around her and they laid there watching each other for a few moments, not speaking.

It was still early. He silently cherished that he would have one more moment with her, here like this, before the day demanded he tear away from her again. Her eyes roamed his face, and she lifted one finger to trace his lower lip.

“Have you slept at all or just stared at me all night?” she whispered.

Lorcan barked out a laugh at that. “I’ve slept.”

She smiled at his laughter. She traced her finger down his lip again, and her finger snagged at his canine. He rumbled at her – a warning. Her face became unruly, eyes glinting, her head lifting from his chest.

“What do you use those for?” she asked him, eyeing where she knew his canines were. He felt something stir deep inside him at her question. But he pretended like nothing, only shrugged slightly.

“Intimidating lesser males, mostly,” he said, and he swore she rolled her eyes at him. “Or enticing beautiful females.” He had one particular female in mind.

She grinned at that. “After they are enticed, what do you do with those then?”

He grinned then, deliberate now, showing them off. “I’ll think of something.”

Her eyes fell to his lips again. Wondering about it, he knew. He was not sure how much she knew about this at all, but he felt her mind spin, so he added, explaining quietly,

“Male fae have a heightened interest and sensitivity to blood. The scent of it, the taste of it... It does something to a male.”

“Taste?” she wondered. And he saw her quiet question, the one she didn’t want to ask.

“It’s an impulse,” he explained. “To claim a partner. Mark their body, so others can see they’re taken. The same goes for scent.” He paused, before adding quietly, “Don’t worry about it, I would not bite you. It would not be pleasant for you.”

She frowned slightly at that. “But it would be pleasant for you?”

He shook his head. “It’s just an impulse.”

She kept her frown there on her face for a moment, until it smoothed out and she rested her head back on his chest. She stayed there for a long while, just watching him. He roamed his eyes over her face too, drinking her in.

“Was it enough?” she whispered after a while.

He hesitated at her words. “What do you mean?”

“You said, last night,” she said, “that anything would be enough.”

“Enough for what?”

She raised her eyebrows. “To please you.”

And, too late, he realized she had just echoed their conversation from the day before. When he had tried to calm her nerves by telling her that anything they did would be enough.

Enough for what?

Enough to please me.

He’d thought at the time she’d understood, that if she’d like to stop that would be fine. Anything she wanted would be enough. All she would give was already more than he deserved. But he realized, too late, that she’d heard more than that, and for what he’d left unsaid she had filled in the gaps herself. And she had perhaps concluded that pleasing him was usually a standard to be met.

She’d said it all with a smile on her lips, her eyebrows slightly raised as if in humour. And it was probably humour, at his phrasing, at his arrogance. If she was truly unsure, she hid it well. But still - he could sense it, feel it in her scent, that small note of nerves. As if she was truly wondering deep down if she’d been, to use his own words, enough.

“Do you really think that it would not be?” he asked her, serious now. “Did you not think it was?”

She pursed her lips. “Oh I was pleased,” she said, still humour in her eyes. He felt his own lips twitch, remembering. Well. He had made sure. “It’s you I’m asking,” she finished.

Lorcan watched her for a long moment.

“You’re mistaken,” he finally said softly, referring to her train of thought. “Elide, you could have fallen asleep at dinner and it would have been enough.”

She brushed his words away. “Yes, but…” she paused, then added more quietly. “Were you?”

To his amusement, he watched as that blush he enjoyed so much crept up on her face. He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Pleased.” Cheeks red now. Her blush tickled his nose.

“Are you asking me if I was pleased by you?” He hid his smile.

She didn’t answer, but held his gaze in spite of her blooming blush. He stroked one hand down her hair. And, because he knew she was truly wondering, he let the humour slip from him and answered her.

“Yes, Elide. I was pleased. Much more than you realize.”

It was as much as he could tell her without telling her everything. She smiled at him though, perhaps sensing something in his voice after all, and he hoped she felt his honesty at least and somehow saw the words he had not spoken. He stroked his hand down her hair, his thumb brushing against her cheek. He wondered how he could show her what he meant without telling her all of it, how to make her secure, make her safe.

“You make me feel alive,” was all he said. He stroked her hair again. He’d told her before, this was nothing new. But perhaps it would make her realize his life before was not the same he was threading now, and would not be compared. It could not be measured. Not by partner, or by experience, or any other form of comparison.

“You look happy,” she whispered, eyes flickering between his.
He remembered her words from a long time ago. I don’t think you even know what happiness is. He felt the frown settle on his face, the honesty and seriousness of it all settling in his face in contrast to her comment.

“It’s you.” It was the truest thing he could say. And he could only say it again. “It’s you.”

He didn’t think he could say anything else without telling her all of his suspicions, without pouring out everything he had just come to realize, so he closed his mouth and just watched her. As if she sensed that he could not say anything else, she leaned down and brushed her lips against his. He kissed her back, holding quite still, and tried not to think too closely of her naked body on top of his.

Soon after, when they could no longer delay the morning creeping up on them, she peeled herself off him and got up. Her cheeks reddened when she saw his naked body and how ready he truly was for her, and he felt his chest melt at her sweetness. But she did not shy away from him, only sent him a small, shy smile before she walked towards the bath.

He watched her go. Watched her naked body walk away from him and wondered how he would get through the day. Let alone, get out of the tent. He could not go over there with her, especially not in this state. He would have to calm down. He would let her lead, he would let her set the pace, he would let her initiate. But his mind – his mind was all over her, and he wondered how he’d even stand letting her get dressed. Going out of the tent. Talk to others. Their friends. Other males. How he’d manage not circling his arms around that waist and have her, right now, right there on the ground, make her come on his tongue again, let her take him and ride him and melt her body into his.

But he made himself remember why he was not going to do any of that. Who she was. Who he was. And again, the most important bit, what she deserved. Why she deserved it. She deserved to talk to her friends, and any male she’d like to talk to, not to have him looming and snarling over her shoulder. She deserved taking a bath in peace without him lusting for her like a rabid dog. He would never make her feel like this intimacy was expected. He would never again make her feel like his years had hardened him into certain expectations or to a degree of insensitivity.

It was nowhere near the truth, quite the opposite – none of his experiences had made him feel the same as what now rumbled in his chest by just seeing her before him. He’d discovered long ago that a simple kiss from her had made him feel more than he’d done in centuries. It was another life.

He stayed on the cot while she bathed, and rested his eyes on her. He wanted to give her space, and not to crowd her. So he simply watched her, her flushed cheeks, her hair clinging to her scalp as she dipped under the water, washing herself and washing him off her. When she rose, he only watched as water gleamed on her breasts in the chill morning air and dripped from her as she dried herself. He kept his distance and allowed only his eyes to rest on her, and wondered that she was his. And it was enough. Like it also would never be enough.

He got up when she got dressed and bathed quickly while she went outside. They ventured into the camp to eat breakfast together like any other day. Only today, her scent was mingled with his own and a beast tore through his chest. He was torn apart from her too soon, his insides roaring as the day swept them onwards and he had to let her go from his side. She slipped quietly from him, squeezing his arm briefly before walking away, and pain, actual pain slashed though his body. He knew it was absurd, knew it made no sense, knew it was the overly sensitive chaos from what had happened between them that clung to him still and probably would for a while. He had heard of this from other males, seen it – it was well known. And even if he knew it could not happen, she simply could not be his mate, this was another proof that she was his, that pain. But he ignored everyone, turned his back to her, and tried to squash it all down.

She reappeared by his side when he readied his horse though.

“Yrene didn’t need help today,” she told him, breathless. “I’ll ride, too”.

He only nodded, didn’t want to show her, but his insides wreaked havoc in triumph at her proximity. She probably saw it in his eyes anyway.

“I’m glad,” she continued, not waiting for his reply, and he saw her eyes twinkle. “I’m no longer very good friends with that mortar.”

He hid his smile and said nothing, keeping it all locked tightly down. But, he could not resist, when she’d readied her own horse and was about to climb it, he couldn’t resist but close in behind her and help her up, his hands steadying her waist as she gripped her saddle. His nose skimmed her neck for just a second to fill his lungs with her as he helped lift her up. And it was enough. Kept him floating for a little bit longer.

She rode in front of him that day, a few paces ahead as they travelled onwards, and he rested his gaze on her back and it was enough.

It was early afternoon when Fenrys appeared next to him. They had travelled all day, their stops brief. For the past hour, Lorcan’s mind had been pleasantly occupied with memories from the previous night. He had not spoken to her at all, only rested his gaze on Elide’s back, keeping her in his line of vision whenever possible. He’d spent a good part of the day riding alongside Gavriel, and occasionally Rowan, discussing their options ahead – which were scarce. Snow had started to fall, and was slowing their progress. Lorcan had been able to block her out for the most of it, block it all out, the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts and beasts and impossible questions. If the others had registered his mind to be preoccupied, neither of the other males had commented. But that was nothing new, and as far as they knew, this was nothing new. Nothing new about Lorcan falling head over heels for the Lady of Perranth.

He’d spent the last distance alone, imagining her body on his. Her weight draped over him. The feel of her body beneath him. The feel of her. Of him in her. Her scent. Her taste. Her sounds, whimpers and moans escaping her and settling deep into his bones. He tried not to think ahead into the future, at what he’d like to do with her, tried to halt himself. But he allowed himself to remember.

Fenrys raised his eyebrows as he rode up next to Lorcan, and his gaze moved from Lorcan to Elide. And Lorcan could not stop the snarl that escaped him, he really couldn’t, and to be honest didn’t really try to either. Fenrys only laughed.

“If someone told me a year ago,” he said, skipping the opening hello, “that you would fall for a human, I wouldn’t have believed it for all the treasure in the world.”

Lorcan knew Fenrys had smelled it on him then, her scent still clinging to him, and probably his scent on her. Fenrys knew what had passed between them. Lorcan snarled again.

“Luckily for you,” Fenrys continued, unfazed. “I’m pretty patient. I don’t mind the occasional snarl. I don’t mind talking to brute idiots either.”

Lorcan only dignified that with a snort.

Fenrys grinned at him. “Have you gotten some new friends lately, or how is that going for you?”

Lorcan raised his brows at the jab. “And you have?”

To his surprise, Fenrys eyes moved to Elide and Aelin both, who were riding a few paces ahead of them alongside each other and talking. Clearly insinuating that indeed, he had.

“I like her,“ Fenrys finally said, after a moment had passed, nodding at Elide. “Oh, don’t bother snarling at me again.”

Lorcan snarled a bit anyway, because Fenrys had rested his eyes on Elide, his eyes contemplative. But Fenrys ignored him, and added, “She sees things. She’s cleverer than she looks.”

“What the hell is that’s supposed to mean,” Lorcan’s voice was sharp.

Fenrys sighed again, getting exasperated now. “Only that she is very, very clever. You possessive piece of shit.”

Lorcan thought about that, and decided he had no objection. Willing himself to calm down, he answered quietly, “I know she is.”

A long time passed in silence. Their horses walked ahead, and neither of them spoke for several long moments.

“She had me fooled when we met,” Lorcan offered out of the blue. He surprised even himself for bothering to speak. But here he was, offering… conversation.

Fenrys brows rose in question.

“Had me fooled for weeks,” Lorcan added. “Played into my expectations of her. When I found out the truth about who she was, she told me I was an arrogant shithead.”

Fenrys grinned. “As I said, I like her. Perceptive.”

Lorcan felt the ghost of a smile on his face.

It was about that time the young Hallvilliard king appeared as a wyvern landing in front of them.

Chapter Text

It was about that time the young Hallvilliard king appeared as a wyvern landing in front of them.

Lorcan had been deeply impressed with the young kings tale of single-handedly tearing down Morath.

Morath which he himself had spent months gathering intel on, not long ago, and here this boy had erased it expertly in days. The place where she’d been chained, where she’d experienced things he still didn’t know the details of. He glanced in Elide’s direction, but her spine was straight and eyes clear. She was the Lady of Perranth now.

The rest of the day passed in heated debate. The news of Maeve joining with Erawan had unsettled Lorcan, even if he wasn’t surprised. Like a memory of a bad dream he’d felt an uneasiness settle in his spine at the news. He’d meet her, he knew that, before this was over.

The young king had brought with him the rest of the wyrdkeys - the very ones he had hunted for months. Aelin had presented her routes of action for them, offering her own head on a platter to eliminate the keys, herself, Erawan and all the gods alike. It would probably be the end of Aelin Galathynius, unless she found another way, and it was so unlike the last queen Lorcan had served. Lorcan had voted that they waited, go north first. Still, the final decision had been to destroy the keys immediately.

It was an idiotic move. He agreed wholeheartedly with Whitethorn, who was visibly in denial of this idiotic plan. But Aelin didn’t budge, seemed almost determined to sacrifice herself. He did not understand her. He knew the two of them would hash it out in private. And they would talk her out of it – Whitethorn would find a way. This was not something done overnight anyway.

They camped a close distance from the salt mines, and spent some time after eating lingering with the group by the fire and discussing it all. Aelin and Rowan did not join them for dinner. Lorcan talked briefly with Gavriel, but otherwise keep silent. Elide spent her time talking to Yrene, and to Gavriel sometimes, and Fenrys. Somehow they had become friendly, the two of them, effortlessly so, and he’d missed it completely. But he made himself remember that she deserved to make friends. That she deserved to be happy. Deserved to do what the hell she liked for once in her life. She leaned into Lorcan’s side as she sat next to him, and he knew she was his.

He did not think he could bear having her further away than this, flush against his side. He wondered how he’d get anything done. Was she truly his mate? He pushed it down, down, and locked it up to think of later.

By nightfall, when all had gone to bed, he found Elide in their private tent sitting on her cot and staring blankly at the tent wall. He kneeled down in front of her, and it took her a few moments before she turned her attention back to him. He roamed his eyes over her face. She was worried for Aelin, he knew that. Knew she was troubled by the events that afternoon, and by Aelin’s decision, was pondering how to change it, how to find a solution for her friend. For their queen.

“We’ll find a way,” he said, guessing where her mind was. He stroked a hand down her hair, trying to soothe her. He knew she was exhausted.

She looked at him. “How?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

She smiled, a bit sadly. “I hope you’re right.”

“Come,” he said, and nudged her elbow to follow.

She did, draping herself over him as he laid down on her cot. He had longed for this. This new way to sleep that they had started, her body draped over his, had become the most cherished part of his day and he was secretly thrilled that she kept indulging him. It calmed him, as if finally assuring his tense body that she was safely by his side, especially today when she had seemed further away from him than ever. She rested her face by his throat, and they stayed there for a moment, just breathing. He listened to her heartbeats as they calmed, stroked his hand down her hair again, and pressed his lips to her temple.

“Don’t you want to change?” she whispered, because he was still dressed, had not even removed his weapons.

He shook his head and filled his lungs with her scent. “Not yet.”

He did not tell her why, had not explained to her the nudge he’d felt from Hellas earlier to keep alert and awake. It had stopped him in his tracks only after removing his sword, and gently steered him towards Elide instead. As if this night would be different. So he’d gone to her, and he would wait. Wait for whatever was about to happen.

She didn’t ask why, only nodded against his throat. He brushed his lips against her hair, her forehead, stroke his cheek over her temple, and slowly she started to drift. In less than a minute she had fallen asleep.

“Lorcan.”

Lorcan awoke with a startle. It was a males’s voice. He’d fallen asleep after all, it was still night, and Elide was still draped across his torso deeply asleep. Someone was standing right outside their tent.

Lorcan laid quite still, listening, and let tendrils of his power trail over the ground across the tent and under it to feel out the situation. He found it was Gavriel, that he was alone, that it was dark and that something was wrong.

As quietly and swiftly as possible he slid Elide down on the cot beneath him and eased himself out of her embrace. She stirred, but didn’t wake. He could not stop himself from stroking his hand briefly down her hair before he turned. He strapped his sword to his back on his way out.

They were gone. Whitethorn and Aelin. Gone in the night, not a word to anyone. They must have gone for the destruction of the keys. Which, in truth, entailed the destruction of Aelin. Lorcan could not fathom it, did not believe it, knew Rowan would never accept. He knew Rowan. They must have found a way. It wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had done impossible things.

Fenrys had been searching the campsite in wolf form for scents – it was he who’d discovered their disappearance in the night. And it was he who, when he returned in human form, informed them that the king and Chaol were gone as well.

There must be a reason. They debated going after them, but not knowing, and not being roused in the first place, they also had to entertain the idea they were not wanted. After thoroughly roaming the camp and finding everything calm, they moved to the edge of the camp and waited. Lorcan felt Fenrys brimming with tension next to him. He reminded himself that Elide, at least, was deeply asleep in their tent, safe in the middle of camp.

“We’ll give them until dawn,” Gavriel soothed, sliding his eyes towards Fenrys, noticing too.

And show falling quietly around them, the night still dark, they waited.

Elide joined them before dawn. Lorcan felt her there before he saw her, sensed her quiet presence by his side. She must have awoken with him gone, and come to look for him. He looked down at her as she stepped up next to him, but her eyes were fixed straight ahead down the road. She did not ask them what was happening, and he knew she’d already figured it out.

“Aelin and Rowan?” she asked, needing no context explained.

“And Dorian and Chaol,” Gavriel answered her gently.

Lorcan brushed his knuckles against the back of her hand, and they waited in silence.

When a group of four emerged in the distance, it was like a collective breath of air escaped them. They were alive and walking, even if it looked like Rowan had to keep Aelin upright. They watched them approach – until they saw. Until they smelled it. The scent of her hit them all simultaneously and it knocked them back. Because Aelin was no longer human.

Shit hit the fan after that. As it turned out, Aelin was a fire bringer no more. Erawan was still untouched. And the gods? The gods where gone. Lorcan felt no different, not yet, but wondered at how the lack of Hellas’ nudges would impact him. If it was true – he could not quite believe it. Had Hellas’ last nudge yesterday towards Elide been it? The final say? The knowledge of it settled in him like a full circle, and he tucked it away for later, what that meant.

There was no denying that without Aelin’s fire they had lost their upper hand. Aelin looked miserable. And truly, the bad did outweigh the good. Lorcan tried not to think to closely on what it meant. He’d realized their days were probably numbered now, but still he was damned if he’d give up yet. Not when he’d just found Elide, opened his eyes. He could not let it crumble between his hands. Not again.

“You stupid cow!” Hasar had spat at Aelin as soon as they had reconvened in the war tent, and Aelin had explained their situation to the royals. “You didn’t even get rid of Erawan. You have doomed us all! You stupid, stupid cow!”

Four vicious male fae snarls had filled the tent. Even Elide had bared her teeth at the royal little bitch. None of them parted on good terms after.

The rest of the morning passed in a daze. Fenrys pretended to be unruffled by all of it, but he clearly was not. Barely controlled horror emanated from him, at Aelin’s sacrifice, at her not telling them her plans, at her coming so close to death and for allowing it to play out. Gavriel sent him worried glances, but said nothing.

Rowan clearly did not intend to let Aelin out of his grasp. Lorcan only waited for the moment he would burst into hawk form to escape the whirl of aggression and sorrow that edged him. It was Elide’s suggestion that she and Aelin would go bathe in Aelins tent, and she had to all but push Rowan out of the tent to leave the two women alone. Lorcan leaned down and brushed his lips against the top of Elide’s head before he strode off into the morning to join Fenrys’ command of the army. If he knew Rowan at all, he wouldn’t even bother to leave camp before taking flight.

They spent the rest of the day apart. Snow fell all day, and made moving north difficult. They had crossed Terrasen border now, but barely. Lorcan felt it in his bones, in his blood, that a storm was coming. It had been snowing for days already, and it was no longer leaving the ground but rather burying their gear and tents. Again he was not used to worrying, but now he did. By the end of the day, he knew the very reason for that was currently curled up on his cot, deeply asleep.

Elide had gone straight to bed after dinner. His bed, he saw when he entered their tent shortly after, and his chest warmed at the sight. She had spent dinner with Fenrys, talking quietly to him and trying to nudge him from his uncharacteristically deflated state. He had been off all day, and Lorcan wondered if Aelin almost dying had triggered something in him, some reaction from not being able to protect her. Protect her, and protect his brother. He’d masked it well, brushed it off, but his eyes had been haunted and Elide had seen right through him.

She had nudged his side and engaged him gently in conversation throughout dinner. A true smile flashed briefly over Fenrys’ face when she tentatively pushed a piece of bread across the table towards him. And he ate, snorting loudly at her obvious attempts to cheer him up. But he smiled, and he ate. When Elide left, telling them both goodnight, Lorcan had held back to allow her some space before joining her.

“I’m not used to that,” Fenrys said, his eyes on the tent opening where she’d just left.

Lorcan lifted his brows in question.

Fenrys leaned back against the tent wall. “I don’t think anyone cared whether I ate or not since my mother was alive,” he clarified.

Lorcan pursed his lips. “She’s just returning the favour.”

Because he remembered distinctly Fenrys pulling a very similar move on Elide not too long ago. Talking to her and helping her out of her own shocked state after her final meeting with her uncle.

Fenrys shrugged. “Perhaps.” And he added, still looking after her, “She didn’t have to though.”

They sat together in silence for a while. Fenrys’ eyes turned distant again, and Lorcan knew the effect Elide had on his mood was fading.

“Today got too close,” Fenrys finally mumbled, eyes on the fire in front of him.

Lorcan wasn’t sure, but he wondered if it was the sorrow of losing his brother that now danced over Fenrys face.

“It’s not on you,” Lorcan retorted. It was the only thing he could think to say.

Fenrys let a breath of air escape him. “I know.”

Lorcan wasn’t sure he did. He knew survivor’s guilt when he saw it. He left for their tent shortly after, leaving Fenrys alone with his thoughts.

Watching Elide now asleep before him on his cot, Lorcan realized she had spent all of her day taking care of everyone else. And he was finally permitted to look after her, she had in fact left him no choice, now sleeping on his cot as if stating loudly that she was waiting for him.

He’d tried his best to stifle down the impulses in his chest roaring to kidnap her from everyone’s prying eyes and run for the hills, have her to himself all day and night and not share her with anyone. But he knew she would not take kindly to that – had only mildly entertained the idea – and he knew her mind was filled with more than him, especially today.

He wondered if humans could not feel the same way as fae in ways of mating bonds. Wondered if this feeling, this desperation inside him was one-sided. It did not really matter. He knew he was right to stifle his impulses. She did not need territorial. She needed someone to take care of her, and he was damned if he was not going to do just that.

He did not even recognize himself sometimes.

He lifted her gently up to his chest and slid down on the cot to lay under her. She didn’t wake. He let her heartbeat reverberate into his own body and listened to her heavy breaths until the sound of the wind outside lulled him to sleep.

Home, a small voice whispered deep inside him. He was home.

The storm slammed into them in the early hours of morning.

“Shit.”

Lorcan woke with adrenaline already heightened, the swearing already on his tongue, and he rushed from sleep to dress in their winter clothing and hurry outside to survey the situation. Elide followed right behind him, scrambling out of bed with sleep still in her eyes, torn from sleep by the sudden jolt of wind.

Lorcan had experience brutal winters before. He remembered that Elide was used to this too, had grown up in these lands. Had been stuck in a tower high up in the air, in storm and wind, just a child. Her cold hand sneaked into his as they surveyed the situation from outside their tent.

He grasped her hand tightly. The wind would not have her.

The whole army spent the better part of the morning making sure their camp would hold against the harsh weather. They had to hunker down in the wind and snow, ruks grounded, and their group grew increasingly restless and desperate as they realized they would not move north anytime soon.

They had a week to go, and no time to do so. On top of their already weakened position, the storm was now tying their hands, making sure their allies died alone before they could reach them. Terrasen would fall. Perranth would fall. Erawan and Maeve alike would conquer. A standstill in a snowstorm with an army was not something to take lightly to. People who were already exhausted would freeze. Lorcan, Gavriel and Fenrys spent the day making sure people were fed and not freezing to death, making sure there were fires and clothes and that chain of commands held. They debated their route over and over. Perranth, around Perranth. But no matter what way they discussed, they could not move an inch.

By the end of the day, tents were deep in snow and it was becoming hard to move around camp. Still, the weather was only increasing in strength. By nightfall, frozen to the bone, and after hours of debating with the leaders in the war tent, there was nothing else for them to do but bathe and try to get warmth back into their bodies. And wait. It could be hours or it could be days. They had no choice in the matter.

Lorcan slipped out of the tent while Elide bathed, getting them food and giving her privacy. When he returned he was thoroughly frozen, and the stress from the day had settled in his shoulders. Elide’s cheeks were rosy and warm from her bath, and she had insisted he bathe too before they ate. Too cold to argue perhaps, he did, unceremoniously slipping out of his clothes and dipping into the relief of warm water.

He saw from the corner of his eyes that she was turned away from him, and her neck had turned red with her blush. He hid his smile.

They had not talked of them at all since that night he sometimes wondered if he had imagined. The chaos of today and yesterday had torn him from the lull of comfort they had created together over the past few weeks. He longed for her. Longed for her skin against his, her weight on him, the feel of her. And, selfishly, he was glad for this moment. This moment after dark, the wind howling around them and rattling their tent. The warmth was returning to his body as he soaked. They would eat and sleep. He was selfishly glad for them to be alone, even if that would doom them in the end, this moment, this waiting.

They ate together in silence, facing each other on their cots. After finishing her dinner she let out a long yawn.

“You’re tired,” he said, studying her face. She had purple circles under her eyes again.

She nodded. “Aren’t you? You’ve barely slept at all.”

He only shrugged, reaching out in the space between them and smoothing out her frown with his thumb. Sleep was not on his list of worries. Elide’s face softened by his caress.

“I’m glad I am here with you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens.”

His chest ached at her words. And he didn’t want to wait any more, didn’t think he could wait to have her closer, as close as possible, just to hold her.

“Come here,” he said, a question and a wish, itching to reach out for her and nudge her towards him like last night, for her to drape herself over his body again.

Her eyes met his and she gave him a shy smile, as if she knew just that, and he loved her. She looked down at herself though, as if unsure whether to change out of her clothes or not, and her cheeks became flustered again. He knew she still needed some time and courage to ease that shyness and newness of youth.

“Do you want my shirt?” he suggested, feeling his lip tug upwards again at the memories of another bed shared and that first time she slept next to him.
She nodded. He instantly flipped his shirt off his back and reached it out for her.

He left the cots, busying himself by securing the flaps of the tent and keeping his back to her while she changed. When he felt her hand brush against his back, he turned, his heart already beating quickly in his chest. And she was there, his shirt swallowing her small body, her naked feet bare underneath. His mind went blank. Her cheeks were no longer flustered, and there was a small smile to her lips. She was covered in his scent and was so lovely, and something deep in him roared at the sight of her.

She reached her arms up towards him, a silent demand, and he instinctively bent his knees and lifted her to him. His arms wrapped tightly around her backside and thighs, around those naked legs, and he peered up into her face. Her arms entwined around his neck and her fingers ran up through his hair, and she leaned down to press her lips to his. He kissed her back and silently carried her over to his cot, not unlike what he’d done once before.

He laid down on his back this time, and she draped herself over him in the way that had become the only way he ever wanted to sleep. She broke the kiss only to settle over his body, bringing the blanket with her to cover them both. He wondered if they would continue to sleep like this later in life, when given more space, if she would still want to keep close to him like this. He knew he would always crave this, had already been spoiled, and there was no turning back now.

Her hand traced down his chest and abs, leaving goosebumps. She rested her cheek on his chest, watching him now, and he gently placed his palms over the small of her back. He filled his lungs with her scent and felt the weight of her body sink into him like a comforting blanket. She trailed one finger over his lips, across his jaw. It tickled.

“I love you,” she whispered. She stroked her finger up his cheekbone. She stifled a yawn.

“Sleep,” he told her gently, and she smiled.

“Are you not tired?” she asked.

He smiled then. He was, but it didn’t matter. He just wanted her right there, under his skin, draped over his body and not moving away from him any time soon. He’d kept his pants on, it was easier like this. He was halfway hard for her, had been so for days now, but it did not matter, knew she was probably used to it by now. He knew she was exhausted. They would sleep. She would lead.

“I just want this,” he told her, his face turning serious. “Just you.”

The wind rattled the tent above. She fell asleep while he trailed his fingertips in soothing circles down her back. He kept stroking her back for hours into the night, before sleep finally claimed him too.

Chapter Text

Lorcan wondered if this could be considered torture. Wonderful, excruciating torture.

He’d been tortured before. Knew well what that was. And this was of course nothing like it, but yet he wondered, yet it was similar.

He’d tried to ignore the constant pain that rippled through him every time Elide ventured away from his line of sight. He knew it would pass, this storm that raged inside him. Knew he could not tell her that he thought she was his mate. Knew he just had to weather it. That was not the thing bothering him though.

Lorcan often stayed awake at night. He thought about Whitethorn a lot at those times at night when he couldn’t sleep, when he just listened to her heartbeats and filled his lungs with her scent and tried to still his racing thoughts. Rowan who had lost a mate – or so he thought – only to find his true mate, before she too was taken away from him.

Tortured. Because of Lorcan. He tried not to dwell on that too much. Squelched the unwelcome feeling of shame that sometimes overcame him. They had gotten her out. He had atoned.

But he remembered the gauntness of Rowans face, those lost, dead eyes. And he thought to himself that if this hurt, if this hurt for Lorcan who had Elide safely by his side almost every hour of the day and draped over him at nigh, how that must have been for Rowan.

It would pass. These frail, shredded nerves he now struggled to reign in would pass and balance inside him eventually. And the urge to constantly have her, to ravish her, to bury himself deep in her, crawl under her skin, it would quiet down too. A bit, with time. Become bearable. It was the normal way of an established bond. Frenzy before balance.

Mate. It must be. Only it couldn’t be. His head hurt thinking of it. How could she be? This young, innocent, mortal human being. He didn’t understand it.

She was not unaffected, he knew that. She loved him, too. But she was not pining for him the way he was pining for her. He was well aware he was acting like a lovesick puppy around her, but also well aware he had been for a while, so nobody had truly noticed. Only that he was a territorial bastard, and even more so after their joining, but that was to be expected. He’d kept his realization well hidden. He would keep it that way. Until it cleared, until he knew what to do about it. He knew what might turn out to be a precious gift for him, might not be the same in her eyes. She might not appreciate being stranded with someone who could not follow her into life itself.

Time was elusive. He’d had time, waisted it. Now he had only decades. In ten years, she would be the same. In twenty, thirty years, she would be the same. After that... She’d get pains, her body would challenge her. In fifty years, she would become an old lady. In eighty years, she would probably be dead. And this, this was best case. Now, stuck in this storm as their allies died on the battlefield alone, even that future was looking bleaker by the second.

He’d never before had to give thought to how fragile the human life was, how short a life span truly was. Would he stay unchanged, frozen, watch her age and die, unable to truly join her? Was he to wander aimlessly alone for centuries after her death, mourning her, until he reached the afterlife? Would she not even join him there? Was this to be his fate?

It was unbearable. It was torture.

The vision of small feet running around her legs appeared in his mind. A grin on her face, happy. Her belly swollen. A home. Would he partake in that? Would she give him a family? Would she want one, with him? Children? He knew she was taking a monthly tonic now, one she had gotten from Yrene, but… Children. He’d never assumed that life was for him, but here he was, imagining it. Imagining impossible things with her.

Would he be forced to stand by and watch them all die, his mate and their future children, as age claimed them one by one? Leaving him unchanged in their wake? It was unbearable. It was a nightmare. And he had no time, so little time to figure it out.

Lorcan had stayed awake for a long time that night, thoughts mulling over and over in his head, accompanying him as he listened to Elide's thumping heart and her even breaths against his throat. He watched her as she slept, and he pondered. Pondered on how to fix it, how to solve this. His mate, his mortal mate. It was impossible. But here she was.

The storm had charged their camp all night, rattling the tent roof until dawn. Elide slept steadily through it all. Lorcan slept too, but not deeply, and the wind dragged him from his sleep several times throughout the night. He held her tightly to him whenever he woke before he fell back into slumber.

It did not look better by morning. Lorcan woke by a jolt of wind jostling their tent. Apart from the hint of light seeping through the fabric, there was no change in the weather outside. It would be madness to uproot camp.

Elide stirred just before dawn, stretching like a mountain cat where she was sprawled over his chest. Feeling groggy, Lorcan cracked one eye open to see if she was about to get up or not, but she was already settling back into him and nuzzling her nose against his neck. It was still early. They could go back to sleep.

“Hi,” she whispered, as if sensing him watching her. The tent was still dark to her eyes, but slowly turning into the dim light of morning and he thought she soon would be able to see his face.

He just rumbled in reply.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Hm,” was all he said, because he had not really, and he felt her smile against his skin. She peeked up at him, and reached out one arm to run her fingers through his hair. The sleeve of her shirt tickled his face. He rumbled again as her nails trailed over his scalp.

“You’re a grump in the morning,” she commented.

“I’m not,” he insisted gruffly, and her beautiful smile broadened as if he’d just proved her right. She nuzzled her nose back against his throat, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

They lay there silently for a few moments, listening to the howls of the wind outside. Her fingers trailed circles on his chest, up to his throat and down, and Lorcan tried to not think. Tried to simply cherish this moment with her.

He would have assumed she was tired, had she not trailed her fingers down to the edges of the scar on his abdomen. He tried forcing his thoughts away and his instincts to quiet, but to no avail. He could not stop himself from lazily stroking his hand down the small of her back in return. She pressed her lips to his throat, and his pulse quickened.

He didn’t recognize himself at all. He used to loathe people touching him unless it was purely sexual, had not permitted it at all outside the bedroom. And here he was, for days in a row getting pulse from her fingertips on his chest or her hand brushing against his arm whenever she passed him in camp. He was constantly craving her body flush to his own. Sleeping with her - just sleeping. Holding. It was like someone had opened a door and he’d stepped in without even realizing it, and there was no going back. Even now, as her fingertips moved down his side, his pulse was quicker than could be explained by that simple action alone.

When she pressed another open mouthed kiss to his throat, he pulled back an inch to look at her. Because she was... What she did to him… Did she even know? Did she intend to? Her eyes met his, and his heart jumped in his chest at her gaze. A small smile was on her face, and her eyes were quietly blazing. She knew.

Her hand stroked his side tentatively. He felt himself twitch against her, and she didn’t move away. Her eyes didn’t leave his. Something roared and thrashed in his chest.

Her eyes fell to his lips. She trailed one finger over his lower lip, her eyes slowly lifting back to his, and he wanted to ravage her completely. Tension thrummed between them, like a string right before snapping, tugging him closer. His impulses imagined flipping her around on the mattress and burying himself deep in her, but he only stroked his thumb up and down her back, soothing, his eyes searching hers.

She didn’t kiss him. She had rested her chin on her arm, too far down for him to reach her lips, but she kept roaming her eyes over his face. She trailed her hand back down, trailed it down his chest and side until she reached his pants. When she shifted, the scent of her arousal reached him. He didn’t quite manage to hide taking a deep breath of air, and her eyes twinkled as their eyes met.

She shifted to the side, and her hand found the string of his pants as she started to untie it. When she had loosened the string, she began pushing down his pants. He helped, not taking his eyes off her face, wanting to follow her lead. His heart was hammering in his chest now, the beast purring, the string in his chest that connected to hers gradually tightening. He shrugged out of the pants and kicked them aside, now naked beneath her.

She draped herself back over his chest, his erection pressed against her shirt and into the non-existent space between them. She relaxed back into him and pressed her lips to his chest. He couldn’t help the rumble that escaped him as he closed his eyes and his head fell back into the pillow. What she did to him… And she knew. She knew.

He did not expect it however, when her hand wrapped around his length and lifted him to her. His head snapped back up, his heartbeats bursting into sprint, when she lifted her hips and placed him just by her entrance. She was not wearing underwear at all – just his shirt. The feel of her, of her heat and the slickness that met him there, jolted through him like lightening. For a second he couldn’t breathe. She hovered there, hips lifted, as if she was just moments away from sinking onto him.

“No,” he whispered, rushing his hand to her hips to halt her, in case she was about to actually do that, move down on him just like that. She looked up at his face, her hand slipping away from his length, but her entrance still right there. Teasing him.

“No,” he whispered again, moving one hand to cup her face. Her face was questioning, and she clearly had not expected his response, but he did not see any rejection or hurt in her face that he’d stopped her. She was simply waiting for him to explain. Open. She was so open with him, and he loved her for it. He stroked his thumb over her cheek.

“We need to prepare you first,” he said “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You wont.”

But she eased her hips away slightly, letting him fall away, and lowered her hips. He slid his hand from her hip down between them to curl around her centre, cupping her gently in his palm. She sent him a look as if telling him okay fine, and he hid his smile, at her stubbornness and her absolute confidence in him alike.

When he started touching her, she gradually relaxed back into his body and hid her face in his chest. He ran his other hand over her head, weaving his fingers into her hair, over her scalp, and she sighed. Her heartbeats quickened. She was already wet, and the scent of her whirled to him. He felt her lips against his chest, warm, soft. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face, from what she allowed him to see, and from the small movements of her body on top of his as she reacted to his touch.

He took his time. He wanted to ease her into it, make her relax. Still it did not take long before her breaths became uneven and her heartbeats irregular. She started to squirm and arch against his hand, pressed into his palm, and he felt his lips tug at her impatience. Her scent was everything, pure want in it now, all over him, his, hers, and she was the most precious thing he had ever held. Her hips buckled greedily into his hand as he twirled his fingers over her, in her, and a gush of air escaped him at her movements. She reached for him, impatiently so, and the smile that had started to form on his lips transformed into a groan when she wrapped her hand around him.

Her eyes met his, and this time when she lifted him towards her and placed him at her entrance he didn’t stop her. It felt as if all the air he’d so eagerly gobbled down had disappeared from his lungs all together. Her body was still sprawled over him, her chest hovering over his, and he held her gaze as she lifted her hips back and carefully started to slide herself down on him. He moved both hands to grip her hips, willing her to slow, and she did. And she was everything, as she surrounded him, her dark eyes, the feel of her- It was better than all he’d imagined and remembered and dreamed and longed for.

Her eyes closed with the sensations, and he tightened his grip again, halting her. She paused. Her upper body was still draped over his own chest, supported on her arms, and her hips slightly elevated as she moved her way down. When she opened her eyes, they were bright. She moved her hips down another inch, stretching her now, he knew. He paused her again, not wanting to push it, his exhale shaky.

She only smiled. He tugged lightly at her shirt, his eyes dancing over her face, a question, and she nodded. He slowly and unceremoniously dragged the shirt over her head. Her hair followed, and a tumble of dark hair fell across his chest and face as her hair cascaded over him after the shirt. She fell into him, as they untangled her arms. She grinned when he pushed her hair back away from her face, peering up at him from his chest as he looked down at her, and he felt a breath of air escape him in silent laughter. And she was naked on top of him and it was like a dream.

She rested there for a bit, as if they had done this every day, as if this was normal, as if they had been joined like this every time they’d slept together. Her thighs had slid down on each side of him, surrounding him. When her eyes met his, he knew she was wondering about what was next, what she should do, how. And while he would’ve like nothing more than for her to sit up and ride him into oblivion, perhaps that would come later. And right here, right now, this morning in the storm before the world awoke, they were simply connected.

He gently lifted her hips with his hands and moved his own in time with hers, excruciatingly slowly, rolling their hips together in small, controlled movements, carefully steering her. She followed his guidance, and continued rolling her hips into his. He draped his hands over her backside and thighs, stroking her skin, cupping her backside. He steered her to him in time with his movements, monitoring her face, careful about not going too deep. She was so perfect it hurt.

A groan escaped him when she rolled her hips down against his with more determination. He felt the frown on his face. She smiled at his reaction, and he grumbled at her, making her smile widen into a grin. He sneaked one hand down from her backside to slip in between them, and returned his fingertips to her centre. A gush of air escaped her, hot breath washing over his chest as she whimpered. He loved her.

Lorcan roamed his eyes over her, drinking in the expressions that danced over her face. She was almost too much, these emotions swirling in him too much, too foreign, too intense. Her hips rolled against his again, his hand at her backside and hip gently guiding her, lifting her, caressing her and pressing her too him. He listened to her irregular heartbeats and lost himself in her completely. Her fingertips travelled over his chest and neck, tickling his skin. Her eyes fluttered shut and pleasure washed over her face, and she took his breath away.

He knew she was getting close when her hips started to falter and her eyes kept squeezing shut. The sounds that escaped her, breathy little sounds that drowned in the wind from outside – but oh, he heard – made his own control start to falter far too soon. He grabbed her hip tighter, quickening his own movements slightly as he moved into her. His fingertips against her centre intensified, just where he knew she wanted him. He rolled his hips with hers, chasing the moans that now escaped her, and intensified his touch. And with a yelp, she came, her eyes squeezing shut and her body turning rigid as she clamped down around him.

He moved her through it with determined fingers and steady movements of his hips as she shuddered and trembled on top of him. Her muscles contracted and pulsated around him where he was buried in her, teasing him in the best way. Her hot breath washed over his chest in uneven breaths that matched his own shaky exhales.

When her trembling had eased and her movements on him had stopped, only light jerks and delightful aftershocks left, he removed his hand from between them. Her body became slack, her hips now falling helplessly down on both sides as if unable to hold her weight. He secretly revelled in this evidence of her pleasure. Without thinking at all, he raised his thumb to his lips, just tasting. Indulging. Her gaze was still far away as if not yet quite back with him from wherever she’d gone. He stroked her hair away from her face, and gently rolled his hips into hers again, and she closed her eyes as another wave of aftershocks rode her. He smiled.

Gently - and impressively so, if he was to say so himself, on this narrow thing - he flipped them around on the cot without them breaking contact. Holding her knee to his side, he was careful to shield her leg as he laid her out beneath him. He hovered there above her for a moment, and Elide moved her hands up to cup his face. Again, he became immensely aware of how tiny she was underneath him, how massive his body was to hers, their height difference and how soft she was. But she just held his face for a moment before releasing him, keeping his gaze trapped in her dark steel eyes. She stroked her hands down his neck and chest, watching him and allowing him to read her face. Without him doing anything at all, she lifted one leg up to wrap around him, curling it high up around his hips and deepening her hold on him.

He gently pressed one hand under that thigh, caressing it and lifting it even further up before he started to gently move with her. Careful, slow, not too deep. And, for the second time, he made love to her like he had never done, never felt, like he had not know was remotely relevant for him. Her eyes kept him trapped, unable to look away. The golden thread in his chest sang and tightened, and she was his.

Their position, her leg lifted like this, allowed him deeper. Her quiet sighs made him confident, and he was more sure of her this time, knew more where he had her, what would work for her. He wasn’t as terrified as he’d been that first time that he might hurt her by going too deep. At one point, she bucked her hips, and he felt her nails running over his neck, and he let himself go a little bit. The moan she rewarded him with let him know she liked that. The sounds tugged at the thread in his chest, and they were his, those sounds. As she was.

Gradually, he let go. His fingers returned to her centre, and he lifted to look down her body. For every stroke she breathed or whimpered, affirming she liked him there, liked him deeper. He lifted her leg higher, caressing her thigh and intensifying their pace. His eyes roamed over her body, drinking her in, her beautiful breasts and rolling hips and her hair draped all over his pillow. His power filled the air around them, stroking her skin in a mild tickle. He stroked her core steadily, and they kept it up for a while as he gradually increased and intensified their pace. In the end, he let himself drive into her a few times – though he was gentle, always gentle with her – before he managed to coax out her second climax. It dragged and pulled him too slowly over the edge.

He weathered it, withstood their slow pace, resisted the urge to pound through it, and let the slow build-up of pleasure wash over him. When he finally came, his body shook and clamped down, and he curled around her as a deep gutted sound escaped him. Blood rushed in his veins, in his ears, and she was his. Mine, the beast in him roared, you’re mine, his body demanding he claim her, bite her, take her, slam into her. He weathered it all and floated. And he disappeared from his body for a moment, leaving it behind for just a second to float a bit at the top of the tent roof alongside the howling wind.

When he returned to her and to himself, she was still breathing heavily beneath him. She had rested her forehead against his chest. Her skin was clammy and sweaty against his in the chilly morning air, and he let a gentle breeze brush against her skin once more. He brushed his palm over her wild hair, stroking stray strands away from her face. She was his, just his, and he could not even wrap his head around what that truly meant. It was only her, would ever only be her, and he’s spend his days only with her for the rest of her life. However that would happen, however he might fix that. He’d find a way. He must. He felt the golden thread around his heart tighten, as if invisible string was wrapping around his heart tying it closer to her.

A silent threat of the pain that would release if he lost her. If that string was snipped. What would happen when it eventually did.

He pulled out of her and withdrew slightly, giving her space to breathe, and moved down to drape himself over her body so that his face was level with hers. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, pressing his lips against her face and ear.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked her, feeling that frown on his face, breath still uneven. He knew the question was backwards, knew he hadn’t, but he had to ask. They had gone deeper this time, and he knew it was a delicate line, could easily become too much for her small body.

She laughed in his face – laughed – and shook her head. She ran her finger across his frown.

“No, you didn’t”.

They only watched each other for a few moments. When her pulse had calmed a bit, he placed his hand by the nape of her neck, and pressed a kiss under her ear before resting his head next to her throat. He listened to her heartbeats, and they laid there on the cot together, just breathing. He felt her pulse rush there, and breathed her in, filling his lungs with her scent, and she was his.

“You can bite if you want,” she whispered.

He pulled back at that. Her cheeks flushed slightly under his stare, but she held his gaze.

“I mean,” she said, clarifying. “Later. If you want to.”

He understood what she meant - that if he wanted to bite in an impulse while climaxing, he could. But he only shook his head in response, and stroke her cheek, watching her face. He didn’t know if he even could bite her, if he could ever mar that perfect skin that would only heal at a human, slow pace. Even if a beast inside him roared at her words, and hammered in his chest to be let out. He leaned in to kiss her gently, and they lay there watching each other.

The wind howled around them still, even now rattling the tent at them as if insisting they listen.

When the skin on her naked body started to get goose-pumps from the chill air, he stroked his hand up her arm.

“Do you want to go take a bath?” she suggested quietly.

He nodded.

He peeled himself off her, and could not help himself but to ghost his hand over her waist as they got up and went over to the baths. He cleaned them both of their spills with a cloth, and her cheeks flushed again when he kneeled down in front of her to glide the cloth between her thighs. That beautiful blush he’d come to cherish spread over her chest now, nipples pebbled in the chill air, and she was so beautiful. Steam rose from the heated tub, and he couldn’t keep his hands away from her waist as she entered the warm water, knowing she didn’t need him to steady her but completely unable not to.

Elide sighed as the warmth enveloped her. Lorcan entered the other tub next to hers, ducking his head under and letting the warmth of the water enter his sore muscles and surround him completely. When he emerged, she was laughing at him, his favourite sound, and he looked over at her only to see her resting her head in the back of the tub, eyes on him. His chest ached.

They soaked for a little while in silence, washing and warming themselves. It was still early. The wind rattled their tent, and he was thankful for the solidified construction, without which they’d suddenly be sitting here in each of their tub as the roof and walls tore away into the wind.

“We’re not going to move today at all, are we,” Elide said after a while, looking up at the ceiling as the tent rattled once more, as if it was insisting it could tear it down. She sighed.

Lorcan just rested his eyes on her. Her chest disappeared under the warm water, just at the swell of her breasts, hiding the peak of her nipples from him beneath the edge of the tub. Her skin was slick with water and steam, and heat was now returning to her cheeks.

“No,” he told her. “We’re not.”

He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. Because, even if it would doom them, even if it would cause death in the long run, even if their position in this war would be considerably weakened – a part of him was selfishly pleased. Just to be able to stay here with her for a little while longer.

He knew he was a piece of shit for even thinking it, for feeling it at all, but he was.

“We can’t give up,” she whispered, and he looked up. Her eyes were already on his face, her eyes wide now, and he realized she’d misread his expression of unhappiness to be about their situation, and not about himself.

“I haven’t,” he promised her. “I wont.”

He’d never give up on her. And he knew she believed him, because he didn’t think he’d ever meant those words more. 

Lorcan forced his face back under control. Enough of this. He wanted to make her happy. Wasn’t sure how he’d do that – but not looking thunderous was perhaps a start.

He changed the topic.

“What do you remember of Perranth?” he asked her quietly.

Perranth was up for discussion daily these days, as they debated how close they dared come to it. He knew she desperately wanted to see it.

“Oh,” she said, perhaps surprised by his question. The question made her face soften. “I remember lots of things,” she said. “I remember the town square - it was my favourite place to go to when I was little. My mother used to take me there sometimes, and we’d get apples from the marked.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “There’s a lot of beautiful brick houses and a big river running through the city. We’d watch the boats. I loved the grounds and the gardens around the castle – I would run all over, as fast as I could, playing with the dogs, and my mother would tell me it was unladylike but my father would laugh and not care at all, and so neither did I”.

His chest ached as she spoke about running and her parents. She looked younger somehow at the memories, and as if these happy memories of her childhood surprised her, too.

She continued. “I remember the stars at night, and staying up night after night and memorizing the pictures in the sky. I did the same with the town. I’d count it, name it, memorize it. I remember the autumn and winter storms making the windows rattle and the wind howling my name. And the scent of snow, and the sun warming my face. I still remember how it all smelled.”

Her expression had subdued somewhat, and Lorcan knew she was now talking of another time, a less happier one. These memories had been obtained from the window of a high tower, where she had been contained, immobilized, for years.

“I wonder if it's even there,” she wondered, eyes turning distant. “Now that the city has fallen.”

When she looked up at him, her eyes were clear.

”Do you think you would have liked it there?” she asked.

And he saw hope there in her eyes – hope she didn’t say out loud, hope that he would have liked it. That she would get to show him, that they’d get to find out.

He almost told her it didn’t matter to him where they stayed, if he liked it or not, that it could be a hole in the ground and it wouldn’t matter to him whatsoever. He almost told her nothing mattered at all as long as he’d be allowed to be with her.

“Yes,” he said instead. “I think I would.”

By the smile that returned to her face he knew it was the right answer.

They got out of their bathtubs after that. He wrapped a towel around her as she stepped out, tucking it around her naked body, and the look on her face as she looked up at him floored him completely. She was his. She clutched the towel around her, her cheeks flushed and warm, and he didn’t know what he’d done right to end up here but he must have somehow done something.

He couldn’t help himself, and gingerly cupped her face in between his palms and leaned down to kiss her. She stretched up to meet him, rolling up on her toes in attempt to even out their height difference. And he knew he wasn’t strong enough, could not let this moment go, could not let her get dressed and walk out that tightly secured tent entrance and into the storm. Not yet. Not yet, just a little bit longer. She sighed into the kiss, into him, and the selfish part of him won.

He hadn’t gotten around to his own towel, and now it became the furthest thing from his mind. His need for her returned in full force as she leaned into his body. He told himself he would be patient. He’d hold back, and put his own impulses aside. And he would have done, had she not released the towel to wrap her arms around his neck instead.

Her towel fell to the ground at her feet and her naked body stretched up towards him, and his resolve to hold back evaporated. He wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her back, rougher, lifting her up to him by her hips. Her arms around his neck tightened and she sighed into his mouth. He breathed her in, and moved them towards the cot. She clung to him, and he wondered not for the first time how he’d ended up with this, how she’d ended up choosing him, accepting him, knew he truly hadn’t deserved it. He also knew to never stir too deeply in those questions, as the answer would perhaps never be one he could understand. Somehow he was here with her, and he was the luckiest male there ever was.

A moan pressed out from her lips and into his mouth, and he broke away from her lips.

“Elide,” he said, not even sure what he wanted to say, but when she moaned like that…

The cot felt too small when he reached it, too narrow, and he changed his mind. Instead he dragged the nearest blanket towards them and slung it to the ground, lowered her onto it, and draped himself over her body.

She wrapped her leg around his waist then, and the core of her naked body lined up perfectly alongside his length. A snarl escaped him without his permission, and his hips jerked involuntarily, forcefully so, the length of him pushing up alongside her centre. A gasp escaped her at his blind reaction, and he nearly lost it. She was too much, and he needed to calm the fuck down. He slid himself down from her, away from her heat and slickness, pushing into the blanket as he buried his face in her neck and hair. He stayed there for a moment, just breathing her in. She stroked her hand down his arm, soothing him, and said nothing.

When he pulled back, his mind was clear.

“Elide,” he whispered.

She said nothing, just ran her palm over his hair and smiled up at him. Open, patient, waiting for him to collect himself. He pressed his lips back to her neck, and softly trailed kisses up her jawline until he reached her ear. He kissed that too, ghosting his nose over that beautiful, perfect, round shape. He trailed his nose back down her neck until he reached her collarbone, kissing her and tasting her skin. Her heart was still thundering in her chest. He lingered there for a little moment, letting her calm.

They hadn’t truly had time for him to actually spend time with her body as he’d like to. Not that it mattered what he’d like, not really, but he would like to show her, to linger. To please. Be selfish. Taste. The storm rattled the tent, reminding him they would not be able to go outside anytime soon. Reminding him he had time. A calmness settled over him, and his mind cleared some more and he knew what he wanted.

Lorcan slowly kissed his way down to her chest. Her skin was wet from their bath, droplets of water still clinging to her. He lapped it up, peeking up at her only for a moment before reaching her nipples and kissing them. She sucked in a breath of air when he took her breast in his mouth, when he allowed himself to linger there, to cover first one breast in kisses and then the other. His hand stroked her ribs.

“Elide,” he breathed against her skin.

She gasped when he let his teeth slide over her nipple, and he looked up at her. He bit gently, just barely – no canines, not breaking the skin – just a tease. Slowly he trailed his nose over her chest, skimmed his nose down the upper parts of her belly, before returning back to the other breast. And he stayed there, caressing her, getting to know her, listening to her shuddering breaths and the occasional whimper whenever he found a particular sensitive spot.

He mapped her body and stored it in his mind like a treasure. When he had kissed his way down her stomach to the slight swell of her lower belly, he looked up to find her gaze again.

Her heartbeat was still thumping unevenly, and she met his silent question with hazy eyes. He gingerly placed his hands over her hip bone, his weight resting on his elbows. She nodded. And it was the smile that softened her face more than anything else, the glimpse of adoration and want he saw there, that made him return and run his nose down her belly. He breathed her in. The scent of her arousal surrounded him now. With one hand he gently parted her legs, and she let him, moved aside for him, and he trailed open mouthed kisses down to the centre of her.

Her body jerked as he reached her, her heartbeats exploding in her chest, and he kissed his way down her core. He nudged his nose over her sides, breathing her in, and let his tongue lap at her in a few long sweeps.

“Breathe,” he rumbled at her, because her breaths were shallow. She responded with a whimper, but took a deep breath, and he continued.

He tasted her slowly, reverently. Nudging one of her thighs over his shoulder, he let both his hands slide under her thighs and backside to pull her closer. He wanted her close, wanted to hold her, take his time. The movement lifted her to him, and he felt her body shudder when he lapped at her again.

He savoured her, teased her, and let himself be completely selfish. Her moans returned, and he chased them, gave her what she wanted and relished in her sounds. He moved against her, slowly, until she panted and squirmed against him. It thrilled him deep in his bones, the knowledge that he pleased her, that she wanted him. That she was his to please, only his. And he was hers. Had been hers from the beginning.

“You smell so good,” he said against her, surprising himself with this urge to speak. “And you taste…”

He couldn’t finish, had no words left, but he lapped at her again and she whimpered, and she knew.

Gradually, he intensified the pace. When she started to arch against him, he angled her towards him, his hands splayed under her backside. He moved his tongue down to her entrance, and she squirmed and gripped the blanket into fists. He held her there, lifting her to his mouth and tasted her as deeply as he could. Not until she had started to tremble, her legs shaking around him, did he return to give her what she needed to tip over the edge.

A strangled sound escaped her when she came, and he felt her hand clutch at his hair, tugging as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it but needed to hold onto him. He languidly lapped her through it. When her whimpers settled and her body relaxed, so did his movements on her. He did not stop though, not truly, only kissed gently down her core and breathed her in and nudged her tenderly with his nose as her heartbeats calmed.

Her heart turned slow and heavy. He ran his palm down her thigh, soothing her, before kissing his way down the inside of her thigh and back. When she sighed, he smiled, nose stroking down the skin of her thigh. When he returned to her core his kisses were light. She drew another shaky breath, and he deepened his kisses.

Perhaps realizing he was not about to stop, he felt her look down. Her climax had made her responsive, and he knew if done right he could please her again. The taste of her brief confusion turned to something else, and her head fell back. Her foot trailed up his naked back, and he wrapped his palms around her thighs to drag her even closer. And he returned to her.

He was gentle, and slow, and it did not take long for her to arch into him, seeking more. When her climax slowly started to nip at her again – a new one perhaps, or the previous one returning to her – he slid a hand down her thigh. He could not help but tease her just a little, lingering there, and she whimpered. He knew what her body asked for when she arched, but he stalled his fingers, not quite meeting her silent request. She arched again, and he pressed a hand to her stomach, rumbling at her. And giving in, gently, he slid two fingers into her just as she wanted him to while his tongue made steady twirls on her core.

The sound that emerged from her lips was the best one yet, because it was his name that slipped past her lips in a breathless gasp when she came again. The sound made him shiver and clutch her closer to him, and he drowned in her again, drowned in her scent and her sounds and her need for him. He worked her through it, and kept his lips on her until she collapsed for the second time.

Withdrawing from her, he rested his cheek on her thigh and looked up. Her nipples were hard in the chill air, her forehead sweaty and her chest heaving. She had collapsed into the blanket, body slumped from exhaustion and her pleasure and overwhelming sensitivity. He allowed himself to stay there for a moment, just watching her, breathing her in, marvelling, before he kissed his way back up her body, pressing his lips softly to her stomach, her chest, her collar bone and neck. He wrapped his body over hers and pressed his lips under her ear, before pulling back to look at her.

She traced her fingertips over his face, watching him. The shyness that sometimes held her back had evaporated. She smiled to herself as she wiped his cheek with her fingers.

“I think I need to bathe again,” she whispered.

He stroked her damp hair away from her face, drinking in her expressions.

“Take another bath,” he said. “Get your warmth back. I should go out.” He looked over his shoulder towards the tent entrance and the rattling wind. And, after a moments pause, he added. “I’ll come back for you when you’re done.”

Because, territorial he might be, but he felt his stomach drop for a second by just imagining her wandering alone out into that snowstorm outside to search for him.

“What about you?” she whispered, her eyes running briefly down his chest.

Wondering if she was not to return the favour somehow. Quietly asking him if she shouldn't reciprocate what he’d just done. There was a small tint of uncertainty in the air as she probably thought about just how to do that.

Lorcan shook his head, and traced his thumb over her cheek. He let his eyes rest in hers for a few moments before he answered.

“It’s not a trade,” he said, stroking his palm down her hair. After a long moment, his eyes moving down to her lips, he added quietly, “It’s my privilege.”

Her eyes were wide, watching him. He stroked his palm over her hair again, and slowly, her uncertainty seeped away and was replaced by curiosity. A soft smile crossed her face.

“I do remember you promised me once to make it up to me,” she said. And he knew she was remembering his promise from some nights ago, that time she had gently turned him down. “I guess now we are even,” she added.

He smiled at the light in her eyes, and revelled in the fact that this was so easy, that he could so quickly reassure her, at her confidence. He shook his head.

“No. I still owe you,” he murmured. “This was different.”

Her eyebrows rose at that, mischief twinkling in her eyes now. “Oh really?”

“Mm.”

“How?” she demanded.

He pressed his lips to her throat. “I tackled you right out of the bath. It was purely selfish.”

She turned, trying to get a look at him, but he kept his lips to her throat in another kiss.

“You call that selfish?” she challenged.

“Mmm,” he rumbled.

He meant it, too, because tasting her just as he would like to, teasing her- She had allowed him to utterly cherish her body.

“And I like the idea of me owing you,” he added in an afterthought.

He secretly intended to owe her that little promise indefinitely.

As if she knew exactly that, she laughed. He relished in the sound of her laughter, and pulled back to watch her face.

She looked happy.

“Come,” he said, pressing his lips to hers one last time before withdrawing from her. “You’re cold.”

She followed, and he helped her back to the bath, steadying her waist as she climbed in – it could be dangerous and slippery, could it not – and it took all of his strength to tear away from her.

He dressed and ventured out into the storm and away from her without looking back.

Chapter Text

Lorcan didn’t trust the wind.

After seeking out Gavriel and Fenrys to discuss their options, he went back for Elide to accompany her to the war tent. She was already wrapped up in her warmest clothes when he arrived, ready to join in with the rest. Even if he shielded them both, a part of him was truly concerned the wind would pick up her small body and carry her away from him into the storm. But the wind thankfully never did, and let him have her.

For now, it whispered. He heard.

The day of their standstill passed in slow motion. They could only ban all flying, send out scouts on foot, and help soldiers barricade against the weather. They spent the morning in the war tent. Elide was mostly sitting quietly by Lorcan’s side, and at one point her eyes lingered on him for a second too long, her cheeks slightly pink. He knew she was thinking of their morning together, her scent pleasant and light, and for a moment Lorcan forgot the wind whispering his name outside.

The debates in the tent were low spirited and frustrated. They truly had only piss poor options ahead and they all knew it. Earlier, Lorcan had quietly showed Elide the map on the big table in the middle of the war tent – their position, their destination, everything. He knew she couldn’t read it on her own, and he’d pointed everything out to her so that she could see for herself the position they were in. She’d followed his explanations intently.

Fenrys left them to scout the area ahead until noon, only to inform them when he returned that he had no news whatsoever but white fog. The royals grew cranky, as usual, and Rowan grew overly defensive.

When Elide left with Yrene to help her in one of the healer’s wagons, Lorcan escorted them both there. It was possessive of him perhaps, but he did not like to gamble with the idea of something in the winds whisking her away from him. Elide had eyed him, and with just a glance let him know she thought he was acting ridiculously and to please contain his territorial bullshit. So he’d tried. He’d try. Even if he was right.

Lorcan left after that to scout their surroundings. The fae males of the group would have more success than soldiers in this weather, both in sight and movement, but even with his powers to shield him from the winds Lorcan made little impact on the snow which was now reaching well over his knees. Like Fenrys, he discovered absolutely nothing about their position ahead. The only comfort was that if something was out there it would be madness to make a move on them in this. Lorcan struggled even finding his way back to camp.

When he returned to the war tent, it was night and dark had fallen. The tent had turned infinitely more pleasant, as people had started to return to their private tents for the night. The debates, which had grown increasingly desperate and illogical throughout the day, had evaporated altogether. Lorcan found himself glad to be surrounded by the people he despised less.

He was glad to see Fenrys had been looking after Elide in his absence, the bastard. He was sitting by Elide's side, leaning against the tent wall, and when Lorcan entered the tent shaking the snow out of his hair the two of them had been in deep discussion. There was a serving of dinner in the centre of the tent waiting for him, and he returned to sit by her other side. He ate in silence, and listened to their conversation. Elide asked Fenrys all sorts of things, and to Lorcan’s surprise Fenrys shared willingly. He seemed not at all bothered by her careful questions, not even when they touched upon his brother, and he’d seemed flattered even by her interest.

Lorcan wondered if anyone had bothered to ask Fenrys these personal questions before. He had indeed never bothered.

After finishing his food, he leaned back and felt the wind stroke against his back in a threatening purr. He had no need to participate, but closed his eyes and listened to their quiet conversation.

It was late when Gavriel left for their last sweep of their surroundings for the night. Considering the conditions, Lorcan decided to wait until he got back before going to sleep. Time passed, and when Gavriel still had not returned, Rowan left the tent to look for him.

“I'll come too,” Aelin said, following him.

“I can go,” Lorcan offered.

“No,” she retorted grimly. “Screaming into the wind sounds like exactly what I need.”

The two of them had slipped outside, allowing cold air into the tent for a moment before shutting the entrance tightly behind them and leaving Lorcan, Elide and Fenrys alone to wait.

Elide had stared after her, worry painting her face. Her hand absent-mindedly landed on Lorcan’s thigh, and he gripped it.

“Your hands are cold.” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth to blow some warmth into her skin. “Do you want to go back to the tent?”

It would be warmer in the smaller space. And he added, knowing it would not matter but saying it anyway, “I won’t be long.”

She shook her head and peered up at him while he warmed her hand. “I’ll rather wait here.”

“Don’t worry about Gavriel,” Fenrys snapped from her other side, “if that’s what you’re doing, he’s fine.”

Elide had smiled at that. 

"I know that. I’m just not sleepy.”

That, as it turned out, had been a flat out lie. It had only taken her two, innocent, open ended questions for Fenrys, before Elide’s head had slumped down on Lorcan’s arm as she started to nod off.

Lorcan looked down her, and Fenrys let his words trail out as he noticed too.

“Not sleepy my ass,” Fenrys commented. “You’re just keeping me talking, aren't you?.”

But, as Elide kicked off her shoes and curled into Lorcan’s side, the look they both sent her was of utter fondness.

“Come here,” Lorcan said, sliding her down his side to comfortably rest her head on his thigh. “You’re too stubborn,” he added under his breath.

She ignored him completely, not opening her eyes, but placed her hand on his thigh nonetheless. She stretched out her broken leg, then abruptly retracted it as if she’d forgotten Fenrys was right there.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as her foot grazed him.

“It’s fine,” Fenrys said quietly. He halted her leg and placed it back over his knee so she could stretch it out. He looked up at her at the brief contact. “You are cold.”

And carefully, he left his hand to rest on her broken foot, warming it. Elide was already asleep.

Lorcan eyed Fenrys’ hand on her ankle for a few seconds, before concluding it was fine. It was cold. He would carry her back to their tent soon anyway, if she didn’t wake. A part of him roared in his chest that he could.

They sat in silence for a long time, the wind rumbling against their backs. Lorcan kept hearing his name on the wind. He did not really mind sitting here on the ground next to Fenrys with Elide sleeping between them, just waiting in silence.

He’d been surprised by Fenrys eagerness to talk earlier. He wondered if it was Elide’s honest curiosity that had made her ask questions, or if she had simply sensed that her questions would be welcome.

He wondered if he really knew Fenrys at all, even after spending decades with the male.

“What are you doing after all this?” he heard himself ask, surprising even himself with breaking the silence.

Fenrys looked over, brows raised.

“After the war?” he clarified. A few moments passed. “I don’t know,” he finally said. His eyes grew distant, then he snorted. “Perhaps Aelin needs a guard dog in her fine castle.”

While his deflection was meant as a joke, his eyes had turned dark. Lorcan wondered how only a few moments of conversation with him could make the light in other people’s eyes snuff out and die. A long moment passed without them speaking.

“What about you?” Fenrys finally asked, breaking them both out of their contemplation.

Lorcan looked back down at Elide, now sleeping deeply in his lap, and said nothing.

He knew who he’d follow to the end of her numbered days in this world. Only he didn’t know how he’d do that just yet.

She would die. One day, she would die. He could not accept it.

For a moment he wondered if he could tell Fenrys of his suspicions, how he thought she was his mate, and actually voice everything that roared inside. But he said nothing at all, only looked down at her, and sorrow filled him as he wondered at the cruelty of this world to leave him a mortal mate when he himself was not.

He did not know how much time had passed, but became aware Fenrys was watching him.

“You’ve completely faceplanted,” Fenrys said quietly, and he too looked down at Elide between them.

His voice was serious, and he was probably sensing very well the debate of life and death in Lorcan’s mind.

Lorcan said nothing.

Fenrys' hand tightened around Elide's ankle, as if absent-mindedly shielding the slight slip of skin showing over her sock from the cold. The next second he froze, before he slowly removed his hand and stared down at her leg. Lorcan understood what had happened before Fenrys looked up, knew Fenrys had noticed the thick scar and pale skin, and recognized it as the unmistakable mark left from the shackles she’d once carried. When Fenrys' gaze turned to Lorcan, it was anger and disbelief threatening on his face. He searched his eyes, silently demanding that Lorcan deny it.

Lorcan said nothing.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Lorcan steadily met his gaze. The wind rumbled above them, around them, if it even was the wind anymore, if it wasn’t Lorcan, Lorcan’s wind and the threat of death making the storm slice even more violently through the air. Whatever expression he’d found in Lorcan's face must have been answer enough, because Fenrys tore his eyes away. He stared back down at the unnatural pale skin where the shackles had once been, before he barely traced his thumb over the unmistakable mark left from metal continuously digging into skin. His lips turned downwards.

Fenrys knew of her broken leg, same as everyone else, had seen her limp. But Lorcan realized Fenrys had never seen the marks from her shackles and, he suspected, knew little details of her past life other than what he’d briefly registered in passing of a cruel uncle and a leg that was never healed.

When Fenrys finally spoke, it was only one word.

“When?”

Fenrys was probably reading a lot into that scar, was probably imagining her life chained and horrible acts committed, thoughts Lorcan could not allow himself to fully form. He still hadn’t asked Elide of her experiences in Morath, not since that one time long ago, had not even asked her about her time in that tower. He knew it was weak of him. And he could not answer Fenrys’ question, not really, not in the right way. So he shook his head, and said,

“Ask her.”

And, not to be a complete hypocrite, he vowed to himself that he too would ask. Not now, and certainly not tomorrow, and not about the scars. But one day, one day after everything else, he would ask her to tell him. Because he wanted it, wanted everything, wanted all of it. Even if he dreaded it.

They didn’t speak after that. Only sat silently, listening to the wind. It whispered and taunted him, threatened and purred against his back, fickle and unreliable.

Fenrys had wrapped his hand back over the slip of skin showing on her ankle. Occasionally he traced her scar with his thumb.

When Aelin, Rowan and, finally, Gavriel returned, Aelin smirked at the sight of Elide sleeping between the two of them. Lorcan knew what she might see, and that she would be completely right in her assessment too, and she echoed his thoughts moments after.

“It looks like the Lady of Perranth has two of you wrapped around her little finger, not just one.”

She was probably correct, and Lorcan didn’t care.

Fenrys grinned up at Aelin. Lorcan noticed the mask of unbothered confidence that slipped onto his face for what it was – not entirely genuine, but an effort to smooth over his own expressions.

“Jaelous?”

Aelin grinned back. “Indeed I am.”

Rowan huffed, rolling his eyes, and Aelin turned her attention back to him. Lorcan ignored them all.

“Anything?” he asked Gavriel, who shrugged. He looked thoroughly frozen, frost clinging to his brows.

“I almost got lost,” he responded. “It’s a nightmare out there.”

And, as they had expected, there were no news.

Lorcan eyed Elide for a moment, still sleeping deeply in his lap, before he gently lifted her up to his chest as he rose from the floor. He nudged her arms around his shoulders, placing her head carefully by his throat, and placed his arm under her backside. Careful to keep track of her ankle, he slung their warm clothes over her sleeping form and hoisted her up in his arms, ready to leave.

“Hey,” Fenrys said behind him, and he turned to find him holding up her shoes. Lorcan picked them up in his free hand. Their eyes met, and he knew Fenrys had not forgotten.

Without a word to anyone, Lorcan carried Elide out into the storm.

The wind nipped and howled at them and tried to get at her in his arms, but not for long, and his shield held. It was a short trip to their tent and she didn’t wake. He barricaded the tent opening and carried her over to his cot, covering her with blankets while he loosened his weapons and slipped out of his clothes. He carefully unstrapped her weapons from her sleeping body and removed her jacket too so she’d be more comfortable. He laid down on his back, sliding her over to drape over his body like had now become routine.

Delightful, unexpected, precious routine.

She stirred when he settled underneath her, pressing her eyes together and squinting at him in the dark as she pieced together where she was.

“Was Gavriel okay?” she murmured, expertly doing exactly that and knowing he would not be here with her had Gavriel not returned.

“Mm,” Lorcan said. He stroked his hand down her back, trying to soothe her back to sleep. It calmed her heartbeats, and he felt her body settle into his.

“I love you,” she whispered in the dark, before she fell asleep.

And he loved her too, but said nothing, stroked her back in soothing circles and held her. She was his, and no one would get to her - especially not the wind.

Chapter Text

That night was their last full night of sleep for a while.

Lorcan had come to cherish these narrow cots, their tent, the baths, this private space and the early mornings he had been allowed to spend alone with Elide. The feeling of her naked skin against his, her breaths against his neck at night, holding her and watching over her while she slept. He missed it especially when it was gone.

Lorcan tore from the cot and from Elide’s embrace the next morning when the wind threatened to undo their camp altogether. Throughout the morning the wind declined in strength, but the snow still made it difficult to move around camp. Lorcan managed – he was taller than anyone – but for Elide and several of the others the snow made it nearly impossible.

He carried her on his back to the war tent that morning, her breathless laughter in his ear and her hair tickling his neck.

They would have been stuck for days to come, had it not been for the visit from the stag – the Lord of the North - and the Little Folk that day. Their voices drifted to them in the wind, telling them to follow. So they did. In record time they set the whole army in motion, packing and arranging as fast as was possible, leaving half of their supplies behind as they began moving towards Orynth.

Lorcan did not know what to think of the white stag and the Little Folk. But he had spent his life living by the gentle nudges from Hellas, silently telling him to wait or go. And this, he thought, was not so different. So they hurried, and they followed.

Elide had slipped away from him in the chaos to travel with the healers in one of the wagons, and he was glad she was protected from the wind and the weather. He sometimes sent tendrils of his powers out behind him to feel for her, and let a mild breeze caress her cheek every now and then. His wind brought her scent back to him, just a hint of it, a taste on his tongue telling him she was safe, and he indulged in this small reassurance.

He wondered if she knew it was him when she felt the wind stroke her cheek, but he thought not. She probably would’ve told him off if she knew. He smiled to himself at the thought.

He’d overheard a conversation between Aelin and Elide the day before that stuck with him as he rode ahead, huddled against the wind.

“You see why I need you now?” Aelin had told Elide under her breath after Elide had questioned Aelin’s plans. “That’s a good point. I told you I need your unbiased opinion.”

Elide had shaken her head. “You know, I planned on doing your dishes once.”

Lorcan had snapped his head up at that, but neither of them had noticed him.

Aelin’s brows had furrowed. “What?”

Elide had smiled, shrugging. “It was before I met you.”

“And you thought dishes was the way to go?” Aelin pressed.

Elide’s smile had broadened. “I know. Lucky for me you eat with your hands.”

They had both laughed, and Aelin had made a comment about it being the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Lorcan had turned away from them, not revealing he had overheard, but had stored it away in his mind.

He was quite sure Elide’s confidence and self-awareness must have increased since the time of which she spoke, and that the girl who had once planned to do Aelin Galathynius’ dishes was no longer the woman now sitting in the wagon behind him. He knew that she enjoyed finally being herself here, enjoyed making new friends, creating her own little family in the middle of this strange combination of humans, fae warriors, royalty and bastards. He wasn’t too worried about it. But he tucked it away anyway, the knowledge that she once had felt so small, so helpless, so alone, so subordinate that dishes had seemed her only skill. It only made him hate her uncle more.

Lorcan tucked it away, and rode ahead, and only occasionally reached out on the wind to make sure she was still there.

They followed the Little Folk into the night, the white stag showing the way in the dark like a torch. Only when it was too dark to continue did they stop. They did not eject all tents, not when their break would be reduced to only a few hours. Besides, much of their gear had been left behind in their hurry to move. Instead their closest group of leaders and allies stayed together in the shared spaces, keeping to the bigger fireplace in the war tent, and alternated between sleeping, eating and keeping guard.

Elide spent those few, precious hours sleeping in Lorcan’s arms – he made sure. In the war tent, by the fire, she curled up between his legs as he sat behind her, her cheek resting against his chest, and slept. Lorcan leaned against the tent wall, and with one arm wrapped safely around Elide’s sleeping form, he too slept. Next to them others ate, slept or tried to, and waited.

Lorcan knew Fenrys had not forgotten his revelation about Elide’s past. He knew in his soul that Fenrys would ask her about it, but there had not been any occasion for him to bring it up, not in the state of urgency that now filled the camp. At least Lorcan thought not, and it was none of his business either. He only noted that during their brief stops, Fenrys often rested next to them in companionable silence. He too nudged Elide to eat extra portions, and procured extra blankets for her sometimes. And Lorcan knew he had not forgotten.

Lorcan sometimes wondered if he knew the male at all. He had started to suspect that this uncharacteristic and strangely caring behaviour revealed more about Lorcans lacking knowledge of him than it spoke of Fenrys’ personality. 

At times Lorcan felt the camaraderie extend to himself in a way he was completely unaccustomed to. They mostly sat in companionable silence when neither of them could sleep, and for the first time Lorcan wondered if Fenrys no longer loathed his company, but perhaps even sought it out. Of course, as soon as the absurd thought had occurred, Fenrys deliberately pissed him off and Lorcan wanted to throttle him and the sentiment was long gone.

Strangely, Lorcan did not mind the attentiveness shown towards Elide. In a way he appreciated it. He knew this attentiveness from Fenrys was originating from a place of loss and hopelessness, and Lorcan could perhaps more than anyone relate to the desperation of keeping a bright light aflame and close. And Elide was nothing if not that bright light.

He noted too that Fenrys sometimes still forgot himself, blinking instead of speaking, and knew he truly mourned his twin even if he never spoke of it.

For several nights, this was their life. They hurried and barely slept. The next few days passed in a blur, the battlefield steadily approaching. Stops were only for brief meals and a few precious hours of sleep when the night was at its darkest. They fought the cold and followed the stag. And somehow, completely unexplainable, they found themselves approaching their final battle at an impossible speed. The question still was, was it enough.

Apart from Elide sleeping in his arms those few precious moments while the night was darkest, Lorcan barely saw her. He knew she was safe in the wagons with the healers, safe from the wind, and he made sure to let a light breeze graze her cheek every now and then, just to make sure.

As they propelled towards Orynth, the fae warriors started diving into their powers. Lorcan too started digging into his well, drawing it up, preparing. He could sense the mood of the camp shift. It was like electricity brimming, and the hair on his neck rose as the air filled to the brim with expectation and dread.

He felt death lurk ahead, like a sweet smell of rot in the distance. His powers hummed with it, the beast in him lifting its ugly head and sniffing. Getting ready.

It was familiar, known, almost comforting. This he knew.

“You okay?” he asked Elide one morning while they packed and ate simultaneously.

She had grown more quiet and serious as the days passed, for the brief glimpses he saw her, clearly sensing the mood in the camp and their situation ahead. They had barely spoken. Had it not been for his ability to check on her throughout the day to make sure she was there, had he not been able to support her leg with his magic and feel the faint taste of her skin on his tongue, he would have been- He would’ve- He didn’t even know. He’d go mad.

She said nothing, but nodded, and briefly smiled up at him while she readied her pack. Her smile did not meet her eyes. As soon as they left the tent she was swept away again.

It still tore his chest open every morning when she walked away from him. He caught himself longing for their days sharing a cot, their private mornings, baths, nights. Her naked skin against his. He slept poorly now, barely at all, and he was sure the lack of her weight draping over his chest was the reason for it. He could only make sure she ate, and warm her hands, and hold her when he could. Her gaze was blazing in his sometimes, and it was enough.

It was during one of these last, short stops – few, precious moments with Elide in the dark alongside the rest – that she huddled closer against his chest. The space around them had people sleeping and talking in hushed voices, all of them trying to sleep or struggling to.

“Are you dreading it?” she asked him out of nowhere, her voice barely audible by his throat.

They had not spoken at all that day, had barely told each other hello that morning. When she came to him that night she had only pressed her lips briefly against his, before crawling into his ready embrace and tried to sleep. Neither of them had managed.

Lorcan didn’t need to ask her what she meant.

“No,” he answered truthfully. “I’m not.”

Because he did not dread the battle, not really. He dreaded letting her go, dreaded what may happen to her if they did not win – but he did not dread the battlefield. Battle he knew. Battle he was good at.

It was her that was new.

“You’ll be fine,” she told him sternly, as if he’d suggested otherwise.

He said nothing. Wasn’t sure where she was going with this, other than her scent now being tainted with something not quite like nerves, but similar. Nerves and... something else. He breathed her in. Unease. Distress. Upset. She was upset.

“Promise me,” she added after a moment, breathing the words against his throat.

And he heard it there in her voice, that silent plea for him to reassure her and for him to not be hurt. For him to come back.

He turned to look down at her. Her wide eyes found his in the dark. And he knew she was worried, was afraid – for him. For him not returning to her, for him not surviving, for him not coming back to her after.

“I promise,” he whispered. And he added, reminding her. “I will always find you.”

A small smile crossed her face, and the nerves in her scent retreated slightly.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, before nuzzling back into his throat. Lorcan tightened his hold around her.

A voice drifted towards them from a few meters away in the dark.

“Don’t worry, Elide,” Fenrys said from where he laid on his back on the ground next to them. Lorcan cast a glance over at him. Fenrys’ eyes were closed. “It will take more than this to snuff that old brute. He’ll be just fine.”

Lorcan felt Elide’s smile against his throat.

He didn’t sleep much that night. Like so often lately, his mind began to wander, and so he stayed awake for a long time listening to the howling wind around them and the shuffling from restless neighbours, and he ruminated.

The next few days would be imperative. The plan had been thoroughly mapped out, all their roles and pathways laid out bare and clear for everyone to see. Still, he knew things never went as planned in these situations. It was impossible to prepare for every possibility.

Elide would, together with the rest of the healers, be protected in the middle of their army until ruks would fly them to safety behind the castle walls. She would join the healers and help set up a wing for the wounded. As long as the castle walls held. As long as they reached Orynth in time. In best case, she would be protected behind thick walls, and she would have a castle at her disposal. He was not so worried about her in there. He was worried about what would become of them all if the gates caved, if their defences crumbled, if the force became too much. In the end, it might very well come down to him. Not him alone, but every one of the soldiers standing on the outside of those walls.

And after, if it all went well… Well, there was Maeve, and he would track her down and he would end her. But after that it would be over. This life, these days on the road, this life of moving from place to place. He had been living this life for a long time. He was not sure how to live it differently.

His home had always been in Doranelle. It had always been his base, the place he occasionally returned to and knew like the back of his hand, a place he’d both loved and loathed. There was nothing left for him there now. He peered down at the girl sleeping in his arms. He had a new home. He’d follow her to the end of the world if she’d let him.

He wondered if she would. She was, after all, a lady. A lady and a ruler. He was a bastard brute, a ruthless piece of shit really. A piece of shit who’d stumbled upon her in the woods by accident, and she’d graciously accepted him into her life like a stray.

He knew she loved him. He knew that. He knew she wanted him. That did not mean she always would. It did not mean he was fit for her life, in the end. He knew that as good as anyone, could see it clear as day. He had come to suspect their bond, which he felt so intensely, might be different for her, her human body perhaps feeling it less keenly if at all. Would she want him for the rest of her life?

He had not asked. Perhaps he should.

He knew she worried about their difference in mortality. She’d said as much, and he’d felt it sometimes in her gaze and in the words she didn’t say. For as long as we may have, she’d said once. He knew she knew it could not last, suspected she sometimes dwelled on that reality. He was scared to think how much.

Perhaps she was fine with that, when it came to it. Perhaps she would not want him to accompany her for the rest of her life, when given a choice. Not when returned home, safe and settled in her own, free life. She would have no use for him then.

He was aware his thoughts were spiralling, was aware these were not her thoughts. But in the end, it did not matter. It did not matter one bit whether she wanted him for eternity or only for now, when he could not give her eternity. It was not his to give. He could only follow helplessly from the outside, watching her as she withered and died with age while he did nothing.

He wanted to follow her, he realized. He wanted to follow her, no matter where, even in death. The wish itself was not new. He’d been ready to die before, not long ago. But this was different. Would she accept him? Would she want him to follow?

Lorcan jolted awake. He must have fallen asleep, and Whitethorn’s hand was at his shoulder. It was still dark.

“Come,” Rowan said, his voice hushed. “I need to show you something.” He nudged Fenrys' shoulder on the floor next to him with his boot. “And you.”

During their last stop before the battle, the whole camp was brimming with tension. Aggression, fear and power was simmering all around him, the wind stirring it, power sizzling. Lorcan did not need Hellas to know that the following hours would be the point of no return in his life. Whatever happened, his life would never be the same.

His stores of power were full. Their plan was crystallized. They were as ready as they could be.

He found her for the last time just before they were about to move towards the battlefield. She was just where she was supposed to be, standing by the healers wagons. She was ready, weapons sharpened and strapped to her body, looking perfect and solemn and waiting for him. She knew he’d come.

“Stay in the wagon,” he said, looking down into her eyes. His thumb brushed over her waist, one final touch. “Follow the plan.”

“I will,” she said. Then adding sternly, “You too.”

Time stood still for a second as he gazed down into her dark eyes.

“You’ll be fine,” she said seriously, reminding him and herself both. Her eyes searched his, waiting for him to confirm back.

“I will,” he agreed. It was not himself he was worried about.

Their gazes held for another moment. He could drown in those eyes. He would if he could.

“Remember your promise,” she whispered, reaching her arm up to brush her fingertips over his lower lip. She searched his eyes for confirmation that he remembered her plea and his promise to find her.

He nodded. “I will.”

She seemed content with that, and her confidence in him filled his chest. As long as he lived, he would keep that promise. He would find her. And he would do his damned best not to die.

“Be safe,” he whispered.

She nodded silently. Promising him this, too.

She placed her hands on his arms, and leaned into his body, her eyes closed. He curled himself around her, his hands ghosting over her waist, and leaned down to press his lips to the top of her head. He breathed her in, holding her to him for a moment before straightening. She stroked her palm across his chest, sliding it down his arm and locking eyes with him. Lorcan filled his lungs with her scent once last time before she turned and walked away without another word. There was no fear in her heart. Her brave, little heart. 

He watched her as she walked away from him and ignored the feeling that rippled in his chest. And as pain slashed through his body, Lorcan promised himself that if he lived to see her again he would never let go.

Chapter Text

Lorcan watched Elide take her final breath and die before his eyes, and knew his own life was also at an end.

When they reached the battle, it was mayhem. Horror was already upon the battlefield and in the air above, and they had travelled straight into chaos. Wyverns crashed from above and the boom of wings thundered around them. Light flashed and creatures screamed. Blood rained from the air. It was already in the final hour. It was already nearly too late.

Lorcan had stopped existing as they plunged into the fray, had become only death and violence and energy, and acted purely on deeply settled skill and instinct. Together with the rest of them, flanking Rowan, they had ploughed their way through the masses and sliced a path towards the castle ahead. Dimly aware of their army unfolding around him, of Aelin reaching the castle ahead on that beast, of Rowan and Fenrys beside him and of ruks above, he had stabbed and slashed and killed.

The field had reeked of death. He’d felt it in his powers, on his tongue, in the wind. They had pushed for the castle walls, pushed after Aelin, who was an absolute menace ahead. The chaos had separated them at one point, he did not know where either Gavriel or Chaol was, knew Rowan had gone for Aelin, but he’d kept by Fenrys’ side and pressed ahead.

His blood had thrummed with the deep magic of his blood oath as he became that oath. The blood in his veins was his order, his promise, to protect Terrasen. It was their one and only task. He had. He would. He did. Lorcan’s whole body sang with it as he did just as his blood oath commanded, as he fulfilled his promise. He did not exist beyond it.

They had finally entered the castle grounds and reached the inside of the wall. He did not think of Elide or her whereabouts, if she had arrived inside the walls yet or not, he’d assumed she had, and he had felt better now knowing he was located between the masses and her. Like their plan was, like his intention was, they had so far achieved the absolute necessity for survival. It felt better knowing he was now a shield between her and the soldiers pouring over the walls. But he did not let himself think of it, of her, at all.

When relocating Rowan, they had learned that Gavriel was dead. Gavriel. Dead. Lorcan did not allow himself to think of that, to understand or process the meaning of it. The implications and reality. Lorcan had let his power thrum around and ahead of him, let the blood oath sing in his veins, and tucked it away for later as he’d removed the oxygen from the lungs of their enemies.

When they saw flames rise on the other side of the wall, he’d known they had reached the pit. They’d followed Rowan, taking on the wave of soldiers that threatened to swarm them. Lorcan let his powers lose, let them flow freely where he asked it to and let death roam.

He had known it in his bones when Maeve was outside those gates. Had felt it in his blood, as if the echoes of his severed oath clanged through his body, alerting him. He knew what he must do. Knew it would all come down to this very moment, this day. Knew he would not let her walk away from him alive. Not this time. Not again.

When it was time, he’d turned back towards the castle one final time, and for a short second he’d allowed himself to think of the woman he loved inside those walls. He had promised to return to her and he would do anything, everything, to keep that.

He gave her a farewell in his mind, in case he would not. A farewell and thank you. She had found him and awoken him and shown him worth. If nothing else, he would give his life to defend that.

Seeing Maeve made his blood boil with hatred. She looked like he remembered her now, cruel, cold. They found them in the nick of time. When they reached her, Aelin was already depleted. Fenrys had no hesitation, and went straight for Maeve’s throat. She cut him to the side, a violent slash down his face, once, twice. Lorcan too sent her everything he had, and their powers clashed. His death swarmed her, and his blood thrummed, feeling her presence. The severed pieces of his old, broken oath rattled loudly.

She would not live. He refused it. He’d go down with her if he had to. The rest ceased to matter.

But she was too quick, like a viper, like he knew she was capable of. Before he could block her, poisonous blackness reached him, was in him, paralysed him, like he had experienced hundreds of times before. And he knew they had already lost.

He knew what awaited. Had endured her torture and her games one too many times. She was an expert at twisting minds, and she was already inside his.

Yes, he heard her sickening, familiar voice croon inside his head. Felt her mind glide past his ears, lips against his ears as she whispered to him, felt her fingernails stroke over his chest and shoulder, too familiar. You already know I’ve won. You are a fool for turning on me. 

He hated her. Hated himself for wasting his life on her.

I will make your regret it, she whispered. 

Lorcan stood helpless as his nightmares unfurled in front of him, as he was surrounded by darkness. The world around went quiet. He saw the city he had tried to imagine but never been a part of, his future home. And he saw his Elide, her face now twisted with disgust as she watched him. She hurled words at him, sneered at him, confirming all of his spiralling thoughts late at night.

Did you think I’d sully myself with you? she spat.

Her disgusted look made him flinch. He’d seen that look before, dreaded it ever since.

I think you might be my mate, he said meekly. The one thing he had not dared tell her yet, had not dared acknowledge in fear of her reaction.

Mate? Why would you ever think you were entitled to such a thing after all you have done?

Her words were cruel, her face disgusted.

He knew he deserved it, knew he was nothing.

You are nothing, she echoed.

And he saw, as clearly as the day was bright, that she was no longer his future. No longer his. She would be somebody else's, and she would live her life without him in it. He was no longer necessary, was no longer wanted. Not deserving. He felt it deep in his bones, the truth of it, and his stomach plunged with dread.

Pain slashed through him, rousing him from his despair. Fire burned his chest. The pain made his focus snap back to his body, and his mind cleared somewhat. He realized it was not unfamiliar, somehow, this feeling. Had he not seen this expression on her face before, had he not heard her call him a monster once? Heard her tell him to die for all she cared? And he had found his way back to her again, had he not? He had gotten her back, and he would again. This was not the end. They had been through worse, had they not? Even if he was nothing. Even if he deserved nothing.

His chest burned. He honed in on the pain now burning in his body, and it returned him to the world. As his thoughts cleared, so did the darkness, and he could see Maeve again, could hear the battle raging around them.

He remembered what was happening, where he was, and like a wounded animal, Lorcan roared.

Sensing him grasp for control, Maeve lunged at him again. The darkness snapped back around him. The surroundings shifted, and the world quieted once more.

He was now looking into eyes he knew so well, eyes that were old and tired, eyes surrounded by wrinkled, thin skin. Hair once dark was now white as the foam on the sea. Breaths that were supposed to flow easily now rasped and echoed. To his horror, he realized that he was watching Elide’s deathbed.

He looked down to see his own hand, unchanged, as it reached for her fragile, wrinkled hand. Her skin was like crumpled paper, her fingers so thin they might snap by the lightest of touches. She was clearly in pain, shallow breaths rasping out of her fragile body. She was old. He was not. And he could do only this, only stand there helplessly and watch her, frozen on the sideline.

He thought he might be sick. A cough rattled her chest, and this was his Elide, her eyes, her face beneath those wrinkles. His future. She was dying.

And right that moment, Lorcan realized what he must do. What needed to be done. To truly live, he would have to die. To live was to die. He had been roaming for centuries, but he had not lived, not like she had shown him possible. And that was it. So easy, and impossible. To find life he must also accept death. It was the cost of a mortal life, it was the cost of living. And Lorcan wanted to live, he realized. He wanted to truly live, desperately so, he wanted to have that life she had silently and steadily shown him. He knew what he must do. That to be with her, truly, he would need to die.

He could see his life with her unfold in front of his eyes, by her side this time, not idly watching, but participating. Sharing it. Sharing her life, her home, her bed, her everything, her age, even her death. He would not be frozen on the sideline. He would join her, fully, in life and in death alike.

The spiralling, sinking feeling of led in his stomach that had so often hunted him when he laid awake at night, lifted. Lorcan was not afraid of death.

He knew death. Death was his friend. Death had always been there for him, had been there when no one else had.

It seemed almost ironic that he had not understood sooner, that death had been the answer all along. Death, his oldest friend, the essence of him and his only strength. The answer had been death, not to others, but to himself. He would turn around and face it, with her, when the time came. He’d welcome it to take him, gradually, alongside her.

He felt the air shift and rumble around him, as if a purr rumbled through the air for his ears alone. Like a warm breeze, it ruffled his hair, stoked his cheek in a caress. And it was Death, whispering his welcome. Accepting him. 

Lorcan focused again on the burn on his chest, on the pain and the anger. And again, the world cleared, returning him to battle and the chaos. He felt Maeve’s hold slip from him like waves on the beach, lashing up around him but unable to bring him under. He felt her lunge for his mind again, but it did not catch. His mind cleared as he, for the first time, unclasped himself from her iron grip and returned to a place she could not follow. She could not reach him any more.

And that was it. That was when they had opened the portals to the other world, and that was then they had killed her.

Fenrys first, stabbing Maeve's evil heart, before Aelin separated her miserable head from its body. The moment her head rolled around on the ground towards him, Lorcan knew this was it. They’d made it. They would make it. She would burn. He would not die.

Not yet.

In the chaos and dirt and the noise and the blood he could see his life with Elide unfurl in front of him. He was not afraid of this. She was his life. He would share in hers. He would be hers. If she’d have him, if she’d allow it, if she wanted him. He’d ask.

He knew he could not join her in death if she did not want him in life. And while she wanted him now, she might not in a year, or two, or ten. He was a bastard brute. He was death and violence. He would not blame her if she needed someone else by her side. 

So he would ask. He would ask her to spend the rest of her numbered, human days with him. And it would be the most selfish act of them all, this request, for him to be able to keep her and have her all to himself. But Lorcan was selfish. And if she accepted, he would join her, he’d find a way, he’d bind his life to hers and steal her heart for his own. He did not yet know how, but knew deep down he’d be able to.

Death would help him. Death would always help him. If anyone at all could, death would always be there for him. Death would want him, this final gift and surrender. Death purred in the air around him, stroked over his cheek in a warm breeze, confirming. 

Lorcan was ready. And he thought to himself, he was pretty sure she would accept him. A strange, tickling, foreign feeling erupted in his stomach.

He could not wait, actually.

He did not have the luxury to dwell on his newfound revelations, his longings to see her, ask her, tell her, share her heart. Around him, chaos erupted. Grief and sorrow soon reached him like a tidal wave unable to be controlled or stopped.

As the army of their enemies fell apart around them, they knew Erawan must have fallen as well. Yrene's name filled the air in salute.

It was done. It was over.

It took a long time for them to reach the inside of the walls. Night had fallen, and the moon was rising above them. They lingered outside for a long time, seeing the masses of their enemies fall to the ground and making sure they did not rise. The healers would get to them, eventually. It would be a long process, cleaning up this city and the people in it.

Lorcan was unharmed for the most part, only had an aching body, some scratches and plenty of bruises. Down his pectoral and shoulder there was a long, angry burn from Aelin’s sword, when she had slashed through them all, trying to wake them up from Maeve's mind control. Other than that it was safe to say Lorcan had been through worse. The others were also mostly unharmed, the exception being Fenrys who had definitely taken the brunt of it. Nothing beat the bloody strips that was now Fenrys’ face. He completely refused for it to be healed, said he wanted the scars, and only snarled viciously at Lorcan when his gaze lingered on his face for too long.

When they finally reached the inside of the castle walls, news from scouts reached them, from other cities, of Perranth Lorcan noted, and it was all the same – of enemies collapsing and retreating. Distant shouts of Yrene’s name reminded everyone who was the cause of that.

When entering the castle, Lorcan had spotted Yrene and Chaol as he strode past the two of them sitting on the lower part of a stairwell. It looked like Chaol’s feet had given out, but the two of them were otherwise unharmed, and they’d both nodded at him as he strode past. He’d nodded back, acknowledging Yrenes impressive achievement of defeating Erawan. Only when he heard from Yrene talking behind him, and his ears picked up Elide's name, did he halt.

“-but it was Elide who stabbed him, and then-”

“What?” he’d reeled, making the pair of them glance up from their embrace. The string around his chest tightened.

“She’s fine,” Yrene had hurried to say in response to his thunderous expression, as he strode back and towered above them. “It was all her idea, she found a way to trick him, it was brilliant.”

Lorcan soon learned who him was, and he found himself both immensely proud of Elide, surprised by this turn of events, and at the same time, not surprised at all by her cleverness, her cunning and her knack for fixing impossible things.

Saving him when he was mortally wounded and buried under a pile of dead bodies on a battlefield, awaiting certain death? Picking up his axe and slamming it into the ilken with a sprained wrist instead of fleeing? Jumping blindly after him to shield his back, and sparing him from the death blow from the wolf now biting into her artery? Tricking the cruellest warlord to the top of a tower and stabbing him in the gut? She was absolutely magnificent. He had no words.

When he caught up with the rest eventually, their story trickled away as other stories trickled back. The news from he battlefield reached them like jolts of electricity to the heart, of loss and numbers gone. News of the army evaporating, of the witches, of beasts and the siege. Yet no news hit Lorcan more than the realization that Gavriel was dead.

Gavriel had been one of few people in the whole wide world who had not seemed to mind speaking to Lorcan, and with a pang Lorcan regretted not acknowledging it sooner. Gavriel had become a presence Lorcan had counted on without realizing it. They had endured Maeve for a long time together, always fought side by side. He regretted not appreciating Gavriel’s open minded and milder ways. Gavriel was perhaps the closest Lorcan had come to tolerance and accept in his life, and he had not even realized it. He had never expected it to hurt, the loss of this temperate and solid presence, but it did.

Gavriel’s body had been placed in the lower levels of the castle, and Lorcan followed the rest of them as they went to see him. He watched silently as Aelin gave him the last blood oath, kneeling, waiting.

When Fenrys and Rowan left, Lorcan found himself alone by Gavriel's body. One final time he stood vigil, allowing the grief to hit him, allowing himself to remember and see and feel and regret it all, and he wept for the brother and friend he nearly had.

She found him there. He had stayed by Gavriel for a long time when she did, knees frozen in place, stayed until she found him. Somewhere inside him he’d known she was fine, knew she would come, like that string always tucked around his heart hummed with her, letting him know. Perhaps she too had followed that tug. He wondered if she felt it at all, or if that was just him.

He heard her approach before he scented her, and even if he had already known she was fine, something unclenched in his stomach as Elide's scent reached him and he could see her for himself. She appeared in the doorway, like a breath of fresh air to his lungs and she was so lovely. They had made it. They were alive. They would have time together. They would talk, and sleep, and eat. They would live. She was his. Wasn’t she?

He rose from the floor, knees and back aching as the exhaustion from battle started to catch up to him. He turned away from Gavriel, not looking back, and went to her. When she opened her arms for him he could not hold himself back at all, and only pressed her to him in an embrace. She was alive. He was alive.

Her scent washed over him in gentle waves and he leaned his face down to her hair, letting it comfort him, feeling her warmth and heartbeats against his body. She was in his arms. She was well. He would live his life with hers. Would he not?

This brilliant woman. This brave, exceptional woman.

“I hear that you’re to thank for Erawan's destruction,” he said into her hair.

She pulled back, her eyes roaming over his face as she leaned back to look at him. What she saw made a frown appear on her forehead - he must look awful. Without looking away from his face, her hand wrapped tightly around his, she turned to lead him away from the dark room.

“Yrene is,” she answered, walking ahead and leading him down the hall. He let his power gently wrap around her ankle, supporting her leg, and she smiled over her shoulder at him. He followed, tightening his hold on her small hand in his dirty calloused one. “I just came up with the idea,” was all she said over her shoulder.

He did not know how long he had stayed in that room alone, or how many hours had passed since the battle had ended. He only knew the adrenaline and shock had started to cease in him, and he was truly starting to feel his exhaustion, his body protesting from the battle, the cold and lack of sleep. He let her lead them up from the passageways below the castle, up several floors until they reached a quiet hallway with large windows overlooking the city. The cold temperature of the night air hit them from a broken window nearby, along with the noises from the now celebrating city below.

She turned to him when they reached the windows. He did not let go of her hand.

“Without the idea, we’d be filling the bellies of Erawan's beasts,” he argued, returning to their conversation and not allowing her to deflect.

Elide actually rolled her eyes at him.

“It was a group effort, then,” she said, deflecting anyway. He felt his lips twitch. Her eyes returned to his, serious now, roaming his face. “Perranth – have you heard anything from Perranth?”

He told her everything he knew - that the enemy soldiers were gone, and that healers were planned for the following day. He held her hand in his while he spoke, and stroked his thumb across her smooth palm.

“Thank Anneith for that,” she said, when he finished. “Or Silba, I suppose”

“They’re both gone. Thank yourself.” he reminded her.

She only shook her head, and waved his words away. She turned to look out over the celebrating city below. He looked closer at her face, at how tired she looked, with deep blue circles under her eyes and hair covered in dust. Still she was beautiful. She was his.

Wasn’t she?

Something resembling live snakes coiled in the bottom of his stomach. The distance between them felt unbearable, and Lorcan leaned down and pressed his lips intently to hers, returning her to him from her reverie. When he pulled back to look at her, her eyes were wide, roaming his face, her heartbeat quickened.

“What was that for?” she whispered, perhaps sensing something new in his intent gaze and in his urgency.

His own heartbeat quickened in response. And he realized it was not enough for him to ask, he could not ask her for her life, her hand, because what he wanted most of all was for her to ask him. For her to want him there, for her to express it herself, what she wanted. He wanted her to want him. So he did the most selfish thing he could think of, he let himself be selfish, and asked her for what he most wanted to hear her say.

“Ask me to stay,” he breathed.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at his face. Her hand clutched his a little harder. And nerves, actual nerves coiled and stirred in his stomach. Because this was it. This was everything.

“Stay,” she whispered back.

Joy surged through him, joining the nerves coiling in his belly, his heartbeat quickening. But he was not done.

“Ask me to come to Perranth with you,” he asked of her next.

Because he wanted her to say it. Needed her to say it, to ask him. Needed to hear her say this was what she wanted.

“Come to Perranth with me,” she said back without hesitating, her voice cracking.

He stored her words his chest, and nodded. He felt the smile on his face, watched her smile bloom in response to his own.

But still he was not done. The nerves in his stomach coiled more than ever for his next question.

“Ask me to marry you,” he said, his voice now cracking too.

A short laugh escaped her, making his heart halt in his chest, and he watched her eyes fill with tears that silently started to stream down her beautiful face.

“Will you marry me, Lorcan Salvaterre?” she asked him, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

A grin slowly spread on her face, and he scooped her up into his arms and kissed her. He trailed kisses over her mouth, her cheeks, her nose and forehead, and squeezed her to him, completely unable not to. She laughed again, and he thought his chest might burst. He felt light, elated, almost weightless, the tiredness in his bones long forgotten. And, as if the only response possible would not be yes, and as humour and elation swept through his body, he responded back,

“I’ll think about it.”

She laughed, and smacked his shoulder.

He cherished the radiant happiness on her face, the sound of her laugher. Free, effortless. It was the first time he had made her laugh like this, her laughter seeping out of her like this, unstoppable – because of him. Because he had made her happy. He drank in her face, the joy in her eyes and the feel of her in his arms.

Watched as a thought crossed her face, and she burst into another fit of laughter.

“What?” he asked, curious now.

He gently sat her down, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

“It’s just… I’m Lady of Perranth,” she grinned up at him. “If you marry me, you will take my family name”.

Lorcan stared down at her. He had not thought this far, had not cared about the implications of any of it. Her family name?

She tried to contain her laughter, as she elaborated.

“Lord Lorcan Lochan?”

Her face was brimming with silent happiness. Lorcan blinked at her, let her words register, let her happiness sink into his own bones, let his own, new, name sound in his ears. Then he too burst out laughing. He could not remember the last time he had done so, the last time he had felt this happy. It was probably never.

He swept her back up into his arms, clutching her to him. Her laughter seeped into his bones as he spun her around, and he stored it in his chest alongside her words.

“I’ll use it with pride every damned day for the rest of my life,” he told her, breathing into her hair. He slid her down his body, letting her back down. He brushed back her hair from her forehead, his eyes roaming over her face.

“I will marry you, Elide Lochan,” he promised her, solemnly now. “And proudly call myself Lord Lorcan Lochan, even when the whole kingdom laughs to hear it.”

He curved his head down to kiss her, and she reached up on her toes and craned her neck as he curled his palm behind her neck. He kissed her softly, before pulling back to look at her face again.

There was one thing yet to settle.

“And when we are wed,” he whispered. “I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.”

His last, most profound question, the ultimate selfish request. To have her for life, to share her life, to steal away her companionship and have her share her precious heartbeats with him. For her to gift him her loneliness and save him from his.

He watched as she covered her face with her hands and sobbed. His heart thundered in his chest and he could not gauge her reaction, her response, so he gently peeled back her palms to see her face. He thought she might cry from happiness, but he needed to know, needed her to respond, needed to see her face. Needed to be sure.

“If you would like that?” he finished, eyes locking onto hers and waiting. Waiting for her final say on his life.

His heart thundered as she slid her arms up his chest and over his neck. And she smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on her face, full of happiness, cheeks wet and with new tears ready to spill.

“I would like that more than anything,” she whispered back.

He lifted her up in his arms again, spinning her once more and kissed her face all over. Her fingers curled by his neck, in his hair, and she clung to him, and he held her. And Lorcan had never before felt such joy as he did at that moment, never before felt so elated, weightless. Had never known this was possible.

I would like that more than anything.

She leaned her forehead against his and looked at him. He stroked away her tears with his thumb, as new ones trickled down her cheeks. And he held her, and breathed her in, and she was his. She was finally, wholly his.

“You are so handsome when you smile,” she whispered.

He nearly snorted out a laugh, but didn’t, only pressed his lips to hers again and breathed. He would never part from her. He would spent his life with her. She had accepted him. She would marry him. And he was hers.

I would like that more than anything.

He did not know how long he held her in his arms, and only put her back down when a shiver ran through her body from the cold air.

“Come,” was all he said. “Lets’ get you warm.”

He did not let go of her hand.

Chapter Text

For the first time in his life, Lorcan knew he was truly happy.

Elide had accepted him. She had said yes. She was his, and he was hers. And he would join her, in life, to the end.

After agreeing to share her life and her heartbeats with him, after altering his whole world and sealing their fate, they simply went to eat.

Dawn was nearly upon them. They walked together to the dining hall, and Lorcan made sure she both ate and drank something while they warmed by one of the fireplaces. He ate, too. He could not tear his eyes away from her, could not keep his hands from finding their way back to her over and over. He held her hand, ghosted his fingers over her back and her waist, stroked his thumb across her cheek and kissed the top of her head. She looked so happy and was so beautiful. And she was his. Just for a moment he let himself forget how his body ached, how exhausted he was, and he simply let his fingertips glide through the locks of hair falling over her shoulder and revelled in her.

The healers were busier than ever before around them. Yrene was somehow still on her feet, and wounded people were waiting for help amongst the chaos. The hustle and bustle around them tore Elide away from him too soon, and she hurried off to help Yrene and some of the healers, just for a moment.

Lorcan stayed back, but kept close. He would not go anywhere without her. And he knew that while the job ahead seemed endless to her, and going to sleep impossible, they all must. Neither of them had slept for two days straight, and honestly he’d been sleeping poorly for a while before that. So sleep they must, all of them, and soon, to be able to function at all. So Lorcan kept close, and he spent the next few moments alongside Aelin and Rowan, managing the chaos of the great hall the best they could while he waited for her to return to him.

It was only when Elide spotted Fenrys that she stopped in her tracks. She stared at him from across the room, frozen, as Fenrys entered the hall and slumped down on the floor next to a fireplace close to Lorcan. The wounds on Fenrys’ face were no longer open crates, but had settled into two, broad, angry lines that were running down across his face from his brow to his jaw. He looked utterly haggard. Crusted blood still covered him, a fresh trail of it still running down his neck as new skin still struggled to weave together.

Lorcan kept back and watched as she drifted towards them. She said nothing, only knelt down in front of Fenrys’ slumped figure and silently looked up into his ruined face.

“Tried to sleep,” Fenrys shrugged, not quite meeting her gaze. “But I was too damn hungry.”

He waved a piece of bread in his hand, and looked away.

Elide didn’t respond at first, only watched him with a serious expression, before she reached out to stroke her fingertips carefully alongside the newly formed scars on his cheek. He let her, and their eyes met.

“I’m so sorry about your face,” she whispered.

“I’m not,” he said back steadily, keeping her gaze and allowing her hand on his cheek. She traced the angry red lines across his face one more time, from his brow stretching over the nose to his jaw, before she lowered her hand.

“Heard you did great,” Fenrys added quietly.

Elide only waved him off, shaking her head as if it was nothing.

Lorcan approached them then.

“You look better,” he said, eyeing Fenrys’ face too. It would definitely scar, but was no longer an open wound.

Fenrys eyes shot up to him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Wish I could say the same about you.”

Lorcan snorted, and the corner of Fenrys mouth lifted – probably in a snarl though.

Elide only eyed them, frowning.

“We need rest,” she said simply. “All of us.”

Without another word, she rose from the floor, turned her back on them and left. When she returned she’d brought supplies, and Fenrys reluctantly allowed her to clean the wounds on his face – she did not allow him to refuse when he tried. She quickly and efficiently cleaned the blood away from his face before she too sat down on the floor beside him, her eyes closed.

They stayed there for a moment in silence, resting against the wall while Fenrys finished his food, and let exhaustion creep back in.

When they overheard Aelin plan to bring Rowan higher up to get a view of the city, Fenrys nodded his head towards them as they exited and started getting to his feet - a silent suggestion they follow. Lorcan, who’d been standing against the wall, reached a hand down to Elide, his hands ghosting unnecessarily over her back and waist as he helped her to her feet. Her face glowed as she craned her neck to look up at him. His stomach dropped for a moment when their eyes met, and he saw the happiness still shining in her eyes, a soft smile on her face.

I would like that more than anything.

When she turned to walk ahead of them, and when his fingertips slipped away from her, Lorcan caught Fenrys’ eyes already on him. A knowing smile now played on Fenry’s lips as he’d watched their silent exchange. Fenrys’ gaze followed Elide as she walked ahead of them, eyeing her light steps, and Lorcan didn’t care, didn’t even bother to snarl at him to retract his eyes. But Fenrys said nothing, and they silently fell into step behind her.

They followed Aelin and Rowan to the north tower at dawn, just as the sun breached the horizon. It was the balcony where Erawan had died, where they had tricked him to his death, a stain of blood and the stench of fear still on the stones. The broken city below them was bathing in crisp light from the morning sun.

Lorcan kept his hands on Elide’s waist, completely unable to keep his hands away from her for long. He rested his palms on her waist, ghosted fingertips over her stomach, her sides, her back. When Aelin caught his eye, and no doubt his hands on her, she gave him a look so potent he recognized it as nothing less than a death threat – clearly stating she would have his balls for breakfast if he ever took a step out of line with the woman currently in his arms.

Lorcan rolled his eyes at her. They were all idiots, the lot of them.

“Did anyone bother to sleep?” Aelin said sharply, looking them over as they approached. More people had trailed in after them, and the whole court it turned out, had followed.

While her words were true enough, their implications fell short of reality. Only Fenrys had lifted a hand at her question. And, to Lorcan’s surprise, what followed next was not new demands for action or plans, but rather light banter about the future, of pink rugs to cover up blood stains, of concert halls and he didn’t know what. He somehow found himself in the middle of what turned out to be the first, and the silliest, most absurd, impromptu court meeting, right there on the balcony at dawn, after days with no sleep and in complete disorder.

When Fenrys made a snide comment of Vaughan at least being less miserable than Lorcan, he didn’t even get to sneer back before Elide had reached over and forcefully smacked Fenrys’ arm. Lorcan felt humour rush through him, and Fenrys’ laugher filled the air – actual laughter. Lorcan wondered at the feeling now thrumming in his veins. His body felt strangely weightless.

Together they had watched the ruined city below and the people celebrating in the streets. The rest had been yapping along around them, and he’d simply listened and held her. Elide had accepted him. She was his.

I would like that more than anything. He would never leave her side again.

Lorcan rested his hands on Elide’s waist, and for the first time in a long time, he had cherished a sunrise.

After this first, unceremonious meeting with the inner circle – the court – they all went their separate ways.

“Go,” Aelin had said. “Please, for the love of whatever god, go. Try to sleep. We will find proper rooms for everyone and all that later. But for now find some place to rest, you all look half dead.”

Elide had slipped her small hand into Lorcan’s, and guided him down the corridors of the castle.

He followed, and the prospect of laying down had made him realize how exhausted he truly was. They would sleep, and they would be alone again. And he would marry her. He stroked his calloused thumb down her palm as she led him down a hallway. She was his mate, and he would marry her.

He felt Death purr in his ear, energy shifting in the air around him, agreeing.

Elide chose a room far away from the crowds and the noises below.

“In here,” she simply said.

She let go of his hand when they entered, and locked the door behind them. When he saw the large bed in the centre of the room, made with clean sheets and what looked like soft pillows, Lorcan’s knees nearly buckled. He felt himself sway slightly. Alone with her, at last, the relief and exhaustion returned to him full force, and threatened to overwhelm him completely.

He vaguely registered Elide was inspecting the room.

“There’s a washroom,” she said. Her voice filled with longing. “Perhaps I can even wash my hair.” She walked over to the large window, looking out at the city below for a few moments. “I wonder if the people staying here died on the battlefield,” she said quietly.

Her tone made him return from his stupor. Lorcan walked over to stand behind her.

“This room has been empty for a long time,” he said gently. Long before this battle.

She peeked up at him. “How do you know?”

“I can smell it.”

He stroked his hand down her hair, and she leaned back against his stomach. He wrapped his arms gingerly over her front, holding her there.

“I’m sorry about Gavriel,” she whispered.

It weighted heavy in his chest, that realization. Not forgotten, but too raw and painful to attend to at the moment. He craned his neck down to ghost his nose over her hair.

“Yeah,” was all he could say. Another moment passed between them. “I’m sorry about your witches,” he finally whispered back.

He had heard of the sacrifice of the Thirteen. He knew she mourned them.

“Yeah,” she echoed, her voice sad.

They stood there in silence for a little while, just breathing.

When she turned in his arms, her eyes were clear. He lifted her chin up to better see her face.

“Sleep or a bath?” he asked.

She didn’t hesitate, only looked him once over and said, with emphasis, “Bath”.

He almost smiled. He must look awful.

There was, in fact, no tub. Instead they found a large barrel of clean water, soap and plenty of linen. The water was tepid - it would be a quick wash. They took turns washing their faces directly from the barrel before they stripped in silence. Lorcan only looked up when he heard her inhale sharply next to him. She was wearing only her shirt, which was dirtied with other peoples blood – not hers, he had made sure – and she was staring at him. She hesitantly reached out to trace her hand across the blackened skin on his shoulder and down the dark pattern of bruises now covering his torso.

“You’re hurt,” she breathed.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

She frowned. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

She eyed him.

“Not much,” he amended.

She stroked her hand over his pectorals and his skin prickled in the wake of her touch. He nodded towards the barrel behind her.

“I bet you could fit in that, if you want a quick soak.”

He liked the thought of her climbing into the barrel for some reason. It seemed fitting somehow.

Elide huffed out a breath of air. “Don’t be silly.”

He arched a brow. He was many things, but he was not silly.

Her eyebrows rose in response to his quiet challenge. “You wont fit in there.”

Again he said nothing, but circled his hand around her waist, closing the distance between them. He certainly would not.

“Where would you bathe then?” she pressed, reading his silence correctly.

He shrugged. “I’d use it after you.”

She stared at him as if he’d just announced he would like to go spend the night with Fenrys.

He swept his gaze down her body. “You’re not that grimy,” he pointed out. She hadn’t been down in the mud like he had.

She huffed out a breath of air, and rolled her eyes. Don’t be silly.

“You could wash your hair,” he continued, peeking down at her from the corner of his eyes to gauge her reaction.

And there, in a flash behind her eyes, he saw that longing he had heard in her voice previously, and he decided she would be able to do just that.

In a smooth movement he lifted her up by the waist and placed her over one shoulder. She squealed his name as he walked over to gently place her into the barrel, careful with her ankle. And he tried to keep his face straight, he really did, when he looked down at her standing there in the barrel with water up to her thighs and shock on her face. The edges of her shirt floated in the water around her. A short, incredulous laughter escaped her as she looked down at herself.

“You are definitely not going to fit in here with me,” she said, as if there had been any doubt about it.

Once again it hit Lorcan that he was happy, so happy he could burst.

With one finger he lifted her chin up towards him. Light shone in her eyes, and her expression softened by whatever she saw on his face. He nudged the collar of her shirt – a silent question – and she didn’t hesitate as she reached down to drag the shirt over her head. Her hands moved on to the band around her chest. She held his gaze as she untied it, throwing it to the ground, before slipping out of her underwear too. And she was naked before him, and she was the most beautiful creature.

He let his gaze slowly trail down her body, knowing he could, feeling his nose flare and the frown settle on his face as he took her in. When his gaze returned to hers, he traced his knuckles down her cheek.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked. His voice was rough.

She blinked, his question clearly taking her by surprise. Some emotion crossed her face, and she nodded.

“Yes please,” she whispered.

The barrel was a perfect fit. Water filled to the brim as she sat down, and Lorcan knelt down in front of her so their faces were almost level. Droplets of water trickled down her skin, her chest, and he allowed his gaze to wander down her body, just for a moment.

She closed her eyes when he worked the soap into her hair with his hands, and he felt her relax into his touch. When she opened her eyes, her lids were heavy. They watched each other for a long time, eyes roaming each others faces, while he washed her hair and held her head gently in between his palms.

“Lorcan Lochan,” she whispered.

His stomach made a somersault. She did not say it with humour in her eyes, not this time, not because it was ridiculous. She said it as if in awe that he would want her name at all. And he must have smiled at her, because her gaze rushed to his lips and a smile spread over her face so beautiful it floored him. You are so handsome when you smile. She was his. She was all his.

A shiver ran through her, and he blinked. It was getting cold.

“Tip back,” he directed, nudging her head. She did, and he rinsed out the last bit of the soap from her hair. When he was done, he rose to his feet and silently reached out the bar of soap for her.

He returned to the bedroom to light the fireplace while she finished washing, hoping the fire would quickly warm the large room. When he returned to her she had already climbed out of the bath and had wrapped a large linen around herself.

“Thank you,” she whispered, craning her neck to look up at him. Her lip shivered slightly.

“Go get warm,” he said, and she did, leaving him alone in the bath.

Lorcan undressed and washed quickly. He pushed his head under water, scrubbing violently at his hair to get the dirt out, rinsing away the crusted remnants of blood from his neck. He lifted the barrel to pour water over himself, pausing only a couple of times to soap up before rinsing it all off. When he had finished his skin was raw, the dirt and blood forcefully scrubbed away. 

He half expected Elide to have fallen asleep when he returned to her, but she had not. She was sitting huddled under the sheets, staring into the fire now crackling in the corner of the room. Waiting for him. And finally – finally – he could do what he had wanted for so long.

He dropped his linen to the ground and slid in under the covers beside her. He had barely reached for her before she was already there, naked, her body crawling over his chest as she draped herself over his torso. The sheets were cool and her body was cold, but he was warm. She curled her hands around his neck and clung to him, her cold nose pressing against his throat.

He pulled her closer, breathed deeply and let her scent fill his lungs. He felt their heartbeats mingle as one, and he held her. She was finally here with him, alone with him, her naked body pressed against his own with nothing between them. His body reacted to her, and honestly had done so ever since she had undressed before him. The beast in him roared for him to move her hips down, for him to sink into her, but he breathed deeply and laid still. The beast in his chest eased a bit when he wrapped his arms tightly around her body, holding her as close as was possible, skin against skin.

They laid like that for several long moments, just breathing, and he knew he would very quickly fall asleep like this. Her temperature got gradually warmer, the bed felt like the softest he had ever slept in, his eyelids seemed impossibly heavy and there was only one way left for his mind to go, to fall. His mind turned foggy, sluggish, as if sleep was already claiming him. He felt his pulse lower, and only waited for hers to do the same.

When her pulse did not calm into its normal, steady beat alongside his, he managed to crack one eye open to look down at her. Her eyes were closed, her head resting by his neck. She looked almost asleep, and he only knew she was not because of her heartbeats. They were not racing, but were not the usual slow, steady beat before sleep either.

Her brave, strong heart.

“Elide.”

She opened her eyes instantly, proving him right.

“Why are you still awake?” he murmured at her.

Her scent was contented, calm, and yet-

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “My mind is tired, but my body feels wired still.”

He stroked his palm down her hair, smoothing the damp strands away from her face. He tried to think back to the last time they had slept like this, alone, and had to pause to remember. So much had happened since they last had space to process anything. He was not surprised if she was overwhelmed, had long been impressed with how she had handled everything.

“It’s normal,” he whispered back, smoothing away her hair again.

So many things had happened in a short amount of time. She had stabbed Erawan in the gut. For a week they had hurried on in a storm. Not long before that they had left her uncle to die. Not to mention – them. This. Not long ago she had not even been speaking to him. The times of the circus and knife throwing, of running from the ilken, the boat, of searching the lands for Aelin in silence - it felt like another lifetime.

A year ago he had not even known she existed. Now here she was, holding his world together.

“You just need to relax your body,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I’ll help you.”

He started stroking his fingertips down her back in soothing motions. As he intended to until she fell asleep.

“But you’re exhausted,” she whispered, realizing his intention.

“So are you,” he said against her temple, continuing to stroke his fingers up and down her back. He would not go to sleep without her.

Her eyes locked on his for a moment, before she stretched up to press her lips to his. She kissed him softly, and he breathed her in. When she pulled back from the kiss, he held her there.

“My heart,” he breathed, and their eyes met.

It slipped from his lips without his intention as he lifted one hand to stroke over her hair again. He did not know where the endearment came from, only knew it was there on the tip of his tongue, spilling out of him, unstoppable. And perhaps it was fitting, so fitting, since she had just accepted to share her heartbeats with him. She held his gaze as she rested her head by his neck. He stroked his fingertips up and down her back, listening to her pulse.

“Breathe,” he said, and she inhaled deeply. And they laid there for a while as he stroked her back and listened as her heartbeats slowly, so slowly, calmed.

She rested her eyes on his face for a long time before her eyelids started to drop and she fell asleep. Only then did he stop, and only then did he close his own eyes. And he, too, was gone, asleep before he knew it with her name on the tip of his tongue.

Chapter Text

When Lorcan woke, he did not know where he was, barely knew who he was, but he knew the space next to him in bed was empty.

Sleep had been a cocoon of fog and bliss and exhaustion. He’d been gone from the world as soon as his eyes closed and had slept in a way he rarely did, in heavy, dreamless sleep. It was the touch of depletion that had clamped his body down so completely it felt like he had lost his foothold in this world. He only remembered a feeling, once, in a blur of waking, vague and foggy, of a need for her, of making sure, that had made him reach out and make sure Elide was still there with him in his sleep. It had been sudden and demanding, pure desperation seeping through his skin. And she had been there, apparently, because he had fallen back into sleep with her scent in his lungs and his nose buried in her hair.

When he woke, the room was dark. The light of dawn that had been shining through the window when they went to bed was gone, and the space where Elide had slept was empty. Lorcan jolted awake, pulse already beating in his temples. He had no time to do anything however, before the door to the bedroom opened and Elide appeared. His frantic desperation eased by the sight of her.

“Oh,” she said, noticing him. “I tried not to wake you.”

“Where were you,” he blurted, becoming aware of his tone but unable to help it.

She sent him a look, clearly noting that tone. She closed the door behind her and locked it.

“I was only down the hall.” To relieve herself, he realized, his heart still thumping. She had wrapped the linen from the bath tightly around her. Sensing his agitation, she added, “There’s no one else up here. We’re alone.” Trying to soothe his panicked state.

He drew a deep breath and tried to calm the heart that was still thundering in his chest.

“Come here,” he said, intending it as a question, but realizing it sounded much more like a demand. But his voice was milder than before, and her face softened a bit at the strain evident in his voice.

“I’m okay,” she told him gently, but walked over to the bed like he asked.

He reached for her, and she yelped when he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her back into bed. Her linen fell to the floor as she tumbled onto him, and he slid her back against him, dragging her over his torso. He tucked her head back under his chin.

A breathy laugh escaped her. When he peered down at her he saw she was laughing at him, her eyes crinkling up in a smile.

“I’ll allow it this once,” she told him against his throat, her eyes full of light. “But you’re going to have to ease up on this territorial behaviour in the future.”

He could not laugh back, could only watch her and stroke his hand down her hair, still feeling the echoes of his own panic. But he saw it there, in her eyes, in that word. Future. He saw it in the light shining on her face, how happy she was just at that moment. Happy because of him. She reached up to kiss him, and he kissed her back slowly, savouring, letting his pulse calm and his reason return. He knew she was right.

She pulled back, her fingertips tracing down his cheekbones.

“I’m surprised you woke,” she said, eyeing his face. “You’ve slept like the dead.”

He grunted. He had.

Elide peeled her body away from his to look down his chest. His bruises had turned from black to yellow and blue, most of them disappeared by now, and only an angry red line was left where he had been burned. Lorcan pressed his lips to hers again, and she rested back into him. He held her there.

They stayed like that, kissing until the chilly evening air started to nip at her skin. Lorcan only reached down to drag the sheets back over them both.

“Shouldn’t we get up?” she questioned.

He grumbled at her neck, clearly stating his opinion on that, and she laughed again. That wonderful, light, joyful laughter he had once thought he would never be able to tease from her.

“I need to go help Aelin and Yrene,” she insisted, stroking her hand over his cheek.

“Aelin and Yrene are both sleeping,” he mumbled. “As should you be.”

He didn’t open his eyes, only burrowed deeper into her neck, fully intending to stay there forever.

She indulged him for a little while, and they stayed in bed in slumber and gentle kisses for a few quiet moments.

Far too soon she stole from the bed and away from him though. He found her in the washroom trying to comb through her hair with her fingers. She was a sight to behold, standing there naked before him, her skin pale and perfect in the dim room. He debated simply picking her up and returning her back to bed with him.

He was still debating it when her eyes met his in the mirror. She sent him a soft smile, reading his thoughts as if he’d shouted them.

“I know it’s late,” she said, voice gentle. “But we need food, and our things. And perhaps we will bump into Yrene,” she added, as if in afterthought.

He felt his lips twitch at her poorly veiled quest for her friend. But who was he to object.

Their grimy pile of clothes from the day before were in a damp heap by her feet, and he grimly realized he’d left her with neither clean clothes nor water.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

She smiled.

He returned to her with fresh clothes from an empty bedroom next door. He’d ventured out into the hallway, stark naked and bringing only his knife – just in case - but, as he already knew, they were alone. He’d raided drawers until he’d found her a soft pair of pants and a thick cotton shirt that he thought would fit her, and some clothes for himself.

They dressed in silence and left the room together.

Outside it had turned night, and the great hall was quiet. They found food, and after some searching and scenting on his end, Lorcan also found both of their bags stowed away next to the healer’s equipment. They ate together by one of the fireplaces, the hushed voices from people still awake echoing down the hall around them.

They saw none of the people in their closest circle, and Lorcan was glad of it, even if he lost Elide for a moment to the healers afterwards. It took Hafiza, the head Healer on High, to sweep her from the hall, telling her she wasn’t needed and to rest while she had the chance. Yrene had in fact gone to bed, and Lorcan did not need to glance over at Elide as they walked back to their room to know that she would rest easier now knowing her friend did the same.

It had not surprised him in the least that the rest of their group was still out, and he doubted his fellow fae warriors had left their beds since they last parted ways. Lorcan himself had not been completely drained, but he knew Rowan had been. Aelin too. And Fenrys, with the wounds on him… Healing accumulated massive amounts of energy. It was not uncommon for fae warriors to sleep for days on end after a battlefield. They would all be out until morning. Elide had not known any of this, but seemed content knowing the castle had quieted.

Lorcan felt the exhaustion quickly return to him. His muscles still ached, his body was sluggish and heavy, and his powers felt like molasses on his fingertips, imprecise and sloppy. He wanted nothing but to return to bed with her body flush against his own.

She must know that, because when they returned to their room Elide took his hand in hers and led him towards the bed. Without a word she turned to him and started unbuttoning his shirt. He rested his eyes on her face and let her. She slipped the shirt off his shoulders, lightly trailing her fingertips over his bruises in the process, before she unceremoniously started to untie the string of his pants.

He felt his pulse increase and his temperature rise at her matter of fact movements, but held still and watched her while she removed the rest of his clothes. When he stood naked before her, she craned her neck to look up at his face. Keeping his gaze, she slipped out of her own pants letting them fall to the ground. She reached her arms out for him, a quiet demand, and he gingerly lifted her by her hips. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He brought her back to bed with him and draped himself over her body, and the beast in his chest purred and rumbled.

He loved her so much his chest was in a constant ache, and he wondered if she knew that. He longed for her. Had an impossible, insatiable craving for her. She kissed him eagerly, her lips opening to him, her tongue stroking his. He didn’t know if it was the tension lingering after the battle, the elation of their promises, or simply because he had missed her body on his, but in matter of seconds heat rose within him and he could not stop his hands from stroking down her side and up her ribs.

“I missed you,” he heard himself mumble into her mouth, his quiet words so at odds with his own inner turmoil.

She deepened the kiss and clutched her fists in his hair, dragging a deep rumble from his throat and out of his mouth when she tugged. He rolled them over, onto his back, and she draped herself over him. She rose up on her elbows to straddle his stomach, and when he nudged her shirt in silent question she lifted her arms for him to drag it over her head. Her hair cascaded over him, and her scent surrounded him as he returned to her lips. The scent of her arousal reached his nose, and she was naked above him like a dream. She roamed her hands over his torso, and it felt like desperation was leaking between them, pushing for more.

Lorcan tried to hold back. He truly did, there was no need for this haste in him, even if it burned him up inside. He reminded himself she was new to this and that most was still uncharted territory. He knew he needed to be careful, that his massive need for her could hurt her if he was not careful with it. And he wanted to treasure this, wanted to preserve every moment of it. So he calmed them, softened their kiss, and leashed his desperation.

Elide huffed at his restraints and placed his large hands right back on her naked body. She seemed almost equally wanting for him as the beast in him was for her, something he realized with a rush of adrenaline when she fisted her hands in his hair again and tugged. Her tongue clashed with his and delicious heat pressed against his abdomen. He tried to soothe her urgency, tried to soothe his own, but the effort did not seem to register. When she reached behind her, wrapped her hand around his length and started moving her hand on him, he broke away from her lips.

“Elide.”

He felt the frown settle on his face at the pleasure that tore through him by her touch. He let one hand travel down her breasts and stomach, and his fingers found her centre. He touched her slowly, unhurriedly trailing his fingers over her, inside, found the spot that would make her melt. She rested her forehead against his, and he took deep lungfuls of her.

When her pleasure intensified, she hid her face by his throat. He nudged her back to him, skimming his nose down her cheek and moving their foreheads back together.

“Let me see you,” he breathed.

He held her gaze while he rolled his thumb deftly against her, just where she was most sensitive, and she did as pleasure rippled over her face. He did it again, and her lips parted from the sensation.

She was breathtaking.

“Sit right there,” he whispered.

His hands at her waist, he shifted her weight onto her knees and scooted down between her legs.

He didn’t think she realized his intention until his lips had reached her thigh, kissing his way up soft skin. A breath gushed out from her, on her knees above him now, and he sent her a tentative look. Her eyes widened, and perhaps she still did not quite see, so he gently lifted his neck, kissing his way up until his lips met the centre of her. She inhaled sharply. He kissed her, slowly, steadily, just to show her.

She wobbled a bit above him.

“Hold on,” he told her, smiling despite himself.

She reached for the headboard in front of her.

“Now come here,” he breathed, laying back down and looking up at her face. Waiting for her to lower herself onto him.

She resisted though, still hovering away from his face.

“I-” she started, unable to finish.

He skimmed her thigh with his nose before pressing his mouth back up to her centre again. He would show her then, slowly, why. A moan escaped her when he dragged his tongue over her, and she clutched the headboard.

“I missed you,” he breathed against her.

He slowly eased her into it as he started to taste her like he had dreamed of doing for days and days. Another moan escaped her, and her thighs trembled.

“Now come here,” he tried again.

He lowered his neck back down to the mattress, scooting down, and with one hand at her backside gently nudged her to follow. As if he had unlocked something, she almost fell after him in combination of unsteadiness and keenness for him to keep going. He laughed into her, and waisted no time doing just that. He let one hand curl around her thigh, securing her to him, his other around the curves of her backside.

Her heartbeat turned frantic as he relished in her completely. She was panting now, and he indulged in her, tasting her just where she wanted him to. When he glanced up, letting his gaze wander up her body, her head was tipped back and her back was arched. He knew he was the luckiest piece of shit in this world, to be allowed this, for him to have her like this. For her to be his. His woman. His to please.

His wife. His mate. The words were foreign but he liked them.

When she was close, and when her moans had turned to whimpers, he debated for a second to slow down, more than anything for his own pleasure of delaying and enhancing hers. But delaying her pleasure seemed wrong, somehow, when she deserved an abundance of it. So he did not, and she arched, tightening every muscle, clutching at the headboard and at his hair. When she came no sound escaped her, and he didn’t stop, not for a long time, only prolonged and savoured and pulled the orgasm out of her as slowly and as thoroughly as he could while she trembled above him.

When she swayed, he licked her up one final time and gently lifted her hips to move her down his body. She collapsed onto his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. She laid there for a few moments, her face nuzzled in his neck, catching her breath. When she lifted her head to look at him she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. She shook her head, as if trying to clear it, before she pressed her forehead back into his throat. He felt his lips curl into her hair.

The second time she turned to look at him, her eyes were blazing. For a moment they gazed at each other, before she moved back to straddle him again. With one hand she placed him by her entrance, hovering there for a moment. He clutched at her hips, his eyes glued to her face and alert to her every move as she slowly, so very slowly, started to slide herself down on him.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

Her hands rested on his chest and her legs on either side, and he locked his body down. The feel of her around him and the sight of her above him had him speechless. He let his palms glide up her thighs and waist. He could not get enough. It was not enough and too much all at the same time, her straddled above him like this and utterly in control.

When she had lowered herself on to him, their eyes met.

“I don’t know how,” she admitted in a low voice.

He shook his head. “Just do whatever feels good,” he told her honestly.

And, moving his hands to her hips, he started moving her in gentle, rolling movements. She followed his guidance. When she faltered, uncertainty gleaming in her eyes, he simply sat up and kissed her, his face almost level with hers like this. He pressed his lips to her mouth, her cheeks, her temple, her ear. Her eyes fluttered shut when his lips ghosted over the skin of her neck, and she started to relax.

Slowly, languidly, they moved together. He followed her movements, her testing, her torturing him. When she moaned and arched, he leaned her back in his hands to reach her breasts with his lips. She rolled her hips again, and he buried his face in her neck and hair. Pulse thundered in her veins, in her throat beneath his lips. She was nearly too much, and he couldn’t breathe. But he held back, kept their languid slow pace and treasured it.

“You can bite,” she whispered in his ear, reminding him of what she had said once before. That the fae beast in him could come out and sink its teeth into her neck if it wanted to. Blood rushed in his ears and thrummed in his veins at her words, but he only shook his head and pressed his lips to her throat instead.

He matched her pace, rolled his hips with hers, let her steer, and she became more confident. A wave of pleasure shivered through her, and she arched again. His hands caressed her backside, moving with her, and it was all too much, she was all too much, and he had missed her so much. Never had he expected this, this all-consuming need, this inability to keep away, this insatiable hunger that seemed only to worsen the more he tried to quench it.

Slowly he laid back down, eyes on her face, selfishly wanting to look at her above him like this. He returned his fingers to her centre as she moved against him, and the breathy sounds that escaped her almost made him lose his mind. She was so beautiful it hurt.

A sound like a whimper escaped her, and she moved her hips into him with more determination. Another whimper, and her eyes flashed to his, and he saw the question in her eyes.

“Take it,” he said, just about holding his breath. “Just like that.”

She did. He had barely said the words before she did that same movement one more time, thrusting her hips into his, hitting just right. Her eyes closed, and another strangled sound escaped her, his thumb meeting her centre as she did it again. And she did it again, and again, until there was no holding back, no prolonging anything. He moved with her as she ground against him just where she needed him, her breath escaping her in short gasps, and it was the most intoxicating thing. His eyes were glued to her face, her lips parted now, naked above him and utterly in control, and he wanted to store the image away forever. This woman, this tiny human, having her way with him.

She came with a yelp, eyes squeezed shut and her movements stumbling, and as she started to tremble around him he followed. Her movements turned jagged and her muscles tightened as she coaxed him too over the edge. With a muffled sound torturous pleasure flooded through him, cutting off sound, cutting off everything but her, and he buried himself in her and floated, eyes on her face as she arched above him. She was the most beautiful creature, and she was his.

She kept moving on him, unsteady and jaggedly, until he at last regained his whereabouts. He dragged her down to him, and she collapsed over his chest. They simply breathed for a few moments, both of their heartbeats thundering. Sweat tickled down her temple, and he kissed it away, letting a mild, cooling breeze brush over their skin.

“That-” she breathed, chest still heaving. “You-”

She seemed unable to finish, but it did not matter. He already disagreed.

“That was you,” he murmured into her temple, correcting her.

A shaky laughter escaped her, and her hand found his cheek where he had pressed his nose into her hair.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and tried calming his uneven heart. He felt her smile against his neck even if he could not see it.

“You make me very happy,” she whispered.

His heart swelled at her words.

She moved off of him too soon, but she did not go far. Her cheeks flushed at his intimate touch when he wiped away his spills from between her legs with one of the linens, but she allowed him to drag her back towards his chest after. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed, and he held her.

She stayed in his arms with nothing covering her body but him. He kept her warm, and she fell asleep in his embrace right in the middle of the wide bed.

Chapter Text

They slept until dawn.

When Lorcan woke, his head was resting on top of Elide’s chest, and her fingertips were trailing circles down his neck. He had curled around her small body in the night. She rested on her back next to him, both of his arms around her, and her knee was resting against his belly. Electricity jolted through his body by her touch at his neck as he slowly resurfaced.

The rays of the early morning sun had already brightened the room when he woke, and it smelled pleasantly of sun on glass. He rumbled, relishing in the feel of Elide’s touch as her fingers entwined in his hair.

“Good morning,” she said softly. He could hear the smile in her voice.

Lorcan nuzzled his face into her chest, into the very naked skin and soft breasts now right underneath his cheek. He rumbled again – happy this time. He skimmed his nose up to her neck, intending to stay there forever, and felt her lips press against his temple.

Far too soon she slipped away from his embrace. Lorcan found himself gazing after her naked body as she walked across the floor and away from him. He had not been aware how much he had missed her for the past week, during the days spent hurrying across the lands and preparing for battle, just briefly seeing her for a few precious hours every night. He rolled over on his back for a moment and stared up into the ceiling. Being with her again last night had been… He’d been... He had missed her.

He was already hard for her, and wondered if he had been all night. But, he knew he could not lock them up here all day every day to cherish every inch of her body, even if something in his chest purred and clawed at the idea. He reminded himself they would have time. He would try to hold back.

So instead of stalking after her to throw her over his shoulder and return her to bed – no matter how lovely the idea was – he got up to find them water.

Together they washed and dressed in silence before rejoining the world.

The Great Hall was bustling with people despite the early hours. They ate breakfast by the dining area, and were soon joined by Fenrys and Whitethorn. The two of them had in fact slept like the dead, and were still in worse shape than Lorcan by far, their eyes narrow slits and voices groggy. Still, they were rejuvenated like the rest, and relief was prominent in the very air around them. And as familiar people appeared around him, talking and demanding his attention, Lorcan felt crumbles of his old self return, the familiar, more detached, level-headed sense of himself, after what now felt like a blissful hiatus with Elide.

Elide’s eyes slid to his occasionally, and a pink blush tinted her cheeks sometimes when he caught her eyes, and he loved her.

“Careful, your smile is showing,” Aelin said as she sat down on the empty seat next to him, to his great annoyance. She leaned across his personal space to grab an apple from right under his nose. “You should be careful, someone might think you’re nice.”

When Lorcan glowered back at her, she grinned, and winked.

“There you go. Much better.”

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” she smirked, taking a big bite of her apple and grinning.

Lorcan rolled his eyes at her.

Elide had covered her mouth with her hand, and he was pretty sure she was hiding a smile behind it.

After breakfast, Lorcan made to follow Rowan and Aelin outside, leaving Elide alone with Fenrys by the breakfast table. He brushed his knuckles down her cheek before turning his back to them. He sent a low, warning snarl over his shoulder for Fenrys on his way out though, who had leaned into Elide’s space and deliberately sniffed her, not so subtly insinuating she was still covered in Lorcan’s scent. Elide had flushed slightly and smacked Fenrys’ shoulder.

“Stop that,” she snapped. “Mind your own business.”

Fenrys had grinned at her, apparently thrilled by her bashful expression, and Lorcan sighed with impatience knowing perfectly well Fenrys was only trying to bait him.

They had spent the rest of the day apart. Lorcan joined Rowan in starting the extensive job of clearing the city from the remnants and destruction of the battle. And while Rowan was approached by council members, soldiers, commanders and mothers searching for lost children alike, Lorcan was mostly given a wide berth.

Perhaps because Rowan was prince, king consort and mate of the queen - or perhaps simply because he had a prettier, less scowling disposition than Lorcan did. But Lorcan didn’t mind, was glad of it, spoke to no one and worked. It made his mind disconnect, his muscles ache and was satisfyingly familiar.

Fenrys joined them by noon. He too said nothing, and silently partook in the heavy lifting alongside Lorcan.

They all felt the weight of the one person missing, the one solid, mild presence that was no longer among them.

They relocated into new bedrooms that evening – or proper chambers, as Aelin called it. Lorcan didn’t care, but he did appreciate the tub in the adjoining bath and the soak in scorching water that had made his tight muscles melt. Not to mention Elide’s smile when she let her hand trail over the intricate embroidery of the silken bedding on the four poster bed.

“It’s lovely,” she had whispered to no one in particular.

Lorcan agreed. She was.

They ate dinner with the rest of the court. If Lorcan had been in charge, they wouldn’t have. If Lorcan was to decide, he would have spent the rest of the evening in that room with Elide, in bed, perhaps gone back to sleep for a bit, but then awake, and he would have spent time with her body, would have her in every way, or at least a good selection of them, then perhaps another bath, before pleasing her a few times more.

As it turned out, Lorcan was not in charge at all, and he was completely fine with that, even if he had no doubt his suggestions would’ve made for the better evening. He reminded himself, again, that they had time. Elusive and fickle as it was.

At dinner that night Elide told her version to their group of what had happened during the battle and in that tower. She also ended up in deep conversation with Ren Allsbrook, and Lorcan was absolutely not jaelous while Ren filled her in on all he knew of Perranth – news from the last twenty-four hours and information from previous years alike. He told them of the delegations with healers that had been sent to help with the aftermath, and the news now trickling back. Lorcan ate in silence, and was not jaelous.

Nobody truly paid attention to him, and he preferred it that way. Except for Fenrys - the bastard - who was side-eyeing Lorcan as he pressed a slightly drawn-out kiss to Elides cheek when she told him his scars looked better. Lorcan sent him a flat look, clearly letting him know he was pushing it now.

Elide had told him earlier of the conversation she’d had with Fenrys that morning. Lorcan did not know the details of it, but he suspected they had talked in just the way she excelled at, which included spearing her opponents with a piercing look and stating undeniable truths about their inner most secrets. She’d told him she had invited Fenrys to come to Perranth with them. Fenrys had instantly declined her invitation. But Lorcan suspected Fenrys was deep down pleased by the offer, and he had no doubts she would repeat it later.

Surprisingly, he did not mind that she’d invited the pup. Could even be persuaded to believe it would be a good idea, almost feel… nice… to not go completely alone into this strange and unfamiliar future of diplomatic councils, politics and jacquard waistcoats.

Bastard.

It would be weeks though, if not months, before he would be able to travel together with her to Perranth. First there was the rebuilding in Orynth to attend to. The coronation. Gavriel’s funeral. And others, all the others who had died. Aedion had not shown at dinner. Neither had Manon.

Occasionally during dinner, Elide looked over at Lorcan and it was heat there in her eyes making thrill shoot though him. A small smile played on her lips, her expression unreadable. He rested his eyes on her, even when she wasn’t looking at him, unable to keep his eyes from her.

It was late when they told the rest goodnight. When Fenrys kissed her cheek goodnight, again, Lorcan growled at him in warning this time. Fenrys inched back with eyes full of mirth and Elide rolled her eyes at them both.

They walked back to their rooms in silence. His knuckles sometimes ghosted over the small of her back and her eyes sometimes slid to his face when she thought he did not notice.

Elide fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow that night, her cheek resting on the new silken sheets and her breaths heavy against his throat. Lorcan stayed awake for a long time, ignoring his own need for her, and buried his nose in her hair. He let her scent surround him, and he held her, and loved her, and wondered if this was to be his life now.

He hoped it was.

Lorcan woke the next morning by Elide trying to sneak out from under his arm, just like she had the day before.

He huffed in disagreement, and tightened his hold around her waist. No.

Perhaps he’d said it out loud, because he felt her silent exhale reverberate through him and could practically feel her smile in the air. When he cracked open an eye to look at her, he found her hair in a wild mess all around his face.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He dragged her closer by the waist, slowly, not responding, simply pulled her body flush back against his own. She turned around in his embrace to face him, and they watched each other for a few heartbeats. He filled his lungs with her scent, spoiling himself with it, while allowing his gaze to roam her face. He thought she looked tired

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

She nodded. She looked thoughtful, her eyes roaming over his face as she bit her cheek. When she leaned in to press her lips to his cheek, he tightened his hold around her. She did it again, her lips soft against his skin. She was carefully dodging his mouth though, and he rumbled at her, his lips twitching in a smile.

He was just about to nudge the collar of her shirt, wondering if perhaps she wouldn’t mind removing it, when she pulled back.

“Maeve,” she blurted.

Lorcan blinked, his mind still in the pleasant haze of building desire. He stared at her, before moving further back to see her face better. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his expression.

“I mean,” she hurried to add. “She is dead. You know that. I just – I wondered how you feel about it all. We never talked about it.”

He held her gaze for a long moment.

“Why do you ask about that?” he wondered quietly.

Something like guilt crossed her face. He stroked his palm over her hair. She did not respond immediately.

“Elide,” he said mildly, urging her to answer, wanting to know how her thoughts had ended up where they had, so very far from his own.

She shook her head.

He stroked his hand down her hair again and waited for her reply. She seemed to understand he was not that easily deterred.

“She was important to you once,” she whispered at last.

Lorcan nearly smiled at that. He didn’t know what had gotten into her at all, but her words were… well, surprising, at least.

“Is that what you think?” he murmured at her.

She smiled tentatively back at him, seeming relieved by his reaction.

“I know she was,” she whispered, and he saw the genuine question in her eyes.

Lorcan only shook his head.

“What makes you ask?” he asked again.

He let his eyes roam her face, her wild, dark hair, her big eyes. She was so beautiful lying here in his arms. He let his fingers trail down her hair, smoothing out the tangles from her sleep.

“Just a dream I had,” she whispered.

Lorcan felt his expression harden. He searched her eyes.

“I thought you said you slept well,” he frowned, trying to keep his accusation out of his voice. If she was having dreams of Maeve it could only be nightmares. And Hellas knew she’d had enough of those.

She pursed her lips, but held his gaze.

“I did.” she said, and added, “At first.”

“Tell me of your dream,” he asked.

“No.” Her voice left no room for argument.

Lorcan exhaled.

“She is dead,” he said back. In case she needed a reminder. Reminding them both.

Elide watched him, her eyes piercing. He wondered if she could see all the way down to his soul with those dark eyes.

“Do you mourn her?” she whispered.

His answer was harsh. “No.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his pulse, and considered her previous question, her hesitant gaze, her light backtracking.

“You want to know how I feel about it?” he asked tentatively, his voice softer now.

She nodded.

He allowed himself to think for a moment, weighing his words thoroughly this time and searched for the most truthful ones he could give her.

“I feel done.” He kept trailing his fingers down her hair as he spoke. “I feel done, with all of it. I only regret not realizing sooner.”

“Realizing what?” Her voice was breathless.

That Maeve had been a monster? That he should have killed her? That he should never have summoned her that time, and ruined everything? Lorcan searched her eyes. Elide looked at him, utterly trusting, patiently waiting for him to speak.

“That the world was better,” he finally whispered.

Light flickered in her eyes. She knew what he was really saying. That I found you. That you showed me.

“Really?” she breathed.

He hid his smile. “Come closer.”

The unruly look that he loved crossed her face. “Why?”

“Just come closer.”

She leaned in, right into his obvious snare. She yelped when he gripped her waist and rolled them over, and held her underneath him in his mock abduction. He kissed her unhurriedly, and he knew this was his life. She was his life, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve this.

Their kiss turned deeper, turned breathless, and her hands started to roam his body. Her temperature rose, her heartbeats quickened. When she felt him against her thigh, she smiled.

“Hi,” she breathed, and he rumbled at her.

He helped to drag her shirt over her head, and she pushed him over on his back to straddle his stomach. The scent of her arousal surrounded him, making him ache for her. When he touched her, his fingers were deliberate and slow against her centre. He swallowed down all of her whimpers, all of her sounds. They were all his, his to keep. It was as if she could not come close enough, he could not get enough of her. He craved her like air, as if she was air and he could not get enough.

He sat up with her this time, and when he entered her, her head tipped back. He moved with deep, slow thrusts into her, placed reverent kisses against her shoulder, her neck, his teeth scraping just barely over her skin. The beast in his chest clawed and hissed and pined for her, and she was devastating, she was everything, and she was too much. But he held back, and he calmed them both, even if she at first had no patience for it.

When she came, her whole body arched and shook, his thumb on her centre moving steadily against her and his lips gently tugging at her breast. He stayed there, dragging every inch of pleasure out of her. When he too came, not long after, they fell back as she moved with him in jagged, sloppy and utterly uncontrolled movements. She collapsed into his embrace, after, heart thundering against his chest and her forehead sweaty.

He held her for a while, before she stole from the bed. She responded to his grumbled objections with a laugh and that unruly look again, a look that would have gotten her in great trouble if she hadn’t managed to slip away from him and into the bath.

Lorcan breathed for a few seconds, and pulled himself together. He wondered at this insatiable hunger for her, if it would ever ease. He wondered if it was the mating bond, if it was because he’d missed her, or if it was simply her, awakening him from his centuries of numb slumber. Perhaps it was all of it combined.

He followed her into the bath, and found her standing by the mirror, brushing her fingers through her messy hair. He brushed his lips to her temple, before finding a damp cloth and kneeling to wipe away his spills from her. She turned towards him, and he felt her eyes on him, at his hands on her, at their closeness. When he peeked up, her cheeks were pink.

“You always do that,” she whispered, eyeing his hand between her legs.

He hid his smile as he slid the cloth up her thighs. “Shouldn’t I?”

“No – I – That’s not what I mean,” she said.

He felt his lips twitch at her flustered cheeks and the shyness that occasionally surfaced in her. When he looked up at her face again, her expression had turned contemplative however, and she looked… she looked almost sad, he realized with a pang.

Something about the look in her eyes made adrenaline shoot through him, and he paused. He let his hands trail down her legs to rest behind her knees as he took in her expression. She was studying him, kneeling on the ground in front of her. He opened his mouth to say her name, but said nothing, only met her gaze with a silent question at the look that now lingered on her face.

“How old are you, Lorcan?” she finally asked him.

He blinked at her question. A hunch gripped his stomach and squeezed, making his heart beat faster in his chest. He only frowned back at her, hesitating, but she did not wait for his reply.

“You have been with many women,” she whispered, and he froze. And a part of him had been right, had been right to wait for the blow that was surely to come somehow. Even if he did not yet see how.

Again, she did not need his reply.

“You have been with many women,” she repeated, “and probably men, too. Perhaps even at the same time,” she continued.

He did not deny it, and he knew in his silence she also found his confirmation. But she knew this, must have always guessed it, and this was not news to her. He did not understand where she was going with it, only waited for her explanation, her question.

He wondered if her nightmares of Maeve had involved more than she’d led on. Had involved him, his past, and if it was the remnants of that nightmare he could see now lingering in the sadness of her eyes as she looked at him. When she finally spoke, her voice was low.

“I wont be enough for you,” she whispered after a long silence.

His heart broke. Because this was not a question like he had prepared for, it was a statement, one which she had already deducted and concluded for herself.

Lorcan shook his head.

“Elide-”

“Don’t deny it,” she interrupted sharply, her eyes filling with steel. “Be honest.”

He let his palms slowly travel back up her legs to grasp her hips.

“I will always be honest with you,” he breathed back, looking up into her face. Vowing it, here and now. He breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind. How could he get her to see? “I’ve never had this before,” he finally said.

To his dismay, she waved away his words and looked away. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

He frowned. “It is,” he insisted.

She shook her head. “No it’s not.” Her eyes were steel again, defiant.

And Lorcan knew two things right there, as he gazed into those stubborn eyes – one, that Elide had absolutely no idea how extraordinary she was to him or how little he deserved her, and two, that he had failed at showing her. He had failed, completely so, if she was standing here in front of him naked and wonderful and believing she would not be enough to satisfy him.

“Fine,” he said, changing tactics and letting steel enter his tone to match hers. “You want to talk about desire? Fine. Did you know I’ve always loathed people touching me?” She blinked, caught by surprise, either by his tone or his words. He didn’t let her retaliate, only continued, his voice harsh now. “Did you know I’ve never allowed it, outside the bedroom? Not from anyone. I’ve always loathed when people tried to impose on my personal space. Partners, lovers - many have tried.”

It had always been his excuse and his nemesis whenever his presence had been requested, either to fill some void for comfort, to spend the night, or to partake in some way in the mundane and sameness of still lives. It had always been his reason for withdrawing to the free haven of distance and solitude. He’d detested the stifling touches, hands on him unwarranted and uninvited, had scoffed at the people who had craved it, who showed their dependency that way, and had sneered at every one of their either fumbling or forward approaches.

Now, here he was on his knees.

Elide was staring at him now, and the frown between her brows had deepened. And her eyes fell to his hands on her naked waist, their closeness from where he was kneeling on the floor in front of her, his face still so close to hers like this.

“But I touch you all the time.” Her voice was barely audible, stating her contradiction. As if pointing out he must be mistaken somehow. “You touch me all the time.”

He only watched her for a moment, giving her time to let it register. He felt his face soften, and humour seeped back into his eyes. The harshness was gone from his voice when he spoke next.

“Yes. It seems I can’t keep away from you.”

Her lips pressed together, and he knew he had her then. Her eyes moved between his, and he could see her hesitate in her previous resolve. He gently cupped her cheeks in his palms.

“You have changed me,” he said softly. “You are the exception to everything.” He felt her breathlessly cling to his words, and knew his next ones would be crucial. “You can’t not be enough when you’re already too much, Elide. Sometimes I struggle to breathe just looking at you.”

It was true. The thread around his heart tugged, as if for emphasis.

She was blinking furiously now, her heartbeats increasing. He felt her whole body soften towards him, leaning into his hands. But he was not done.

“I have lived a cold and sometimes miserable life,” he admitted in a low voice. Her gaze darkened at his words. “Until you. So don’t compare,” he finished. “Because you are wrong.”

It felt almost harsh, saying the things he said, but they were true and she needed to hear them. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, his gaze holding hers, steel against steel, willing her to see, to understand.

She said nothing for a long while. Eventually she leaned down and pressed her lips to his.

“Okay,” she finally whispered, pulling back.

The pliant response made him huff out a breath of laughter, surprised, and she smiled at him. He wiped her cheek with his thumb as a tear spilled down her cheek.

“Okay?” he echoed, wondering about it, but she only nodded.

And even if he was holding her naked in his arms, even if he had just been with her, perhaps her reaction was a way of catching up to everything that had happened. Her shyness did perhaps momentarily leave in his arms at night, but the impressions and newness of everything were still there. So he let it go, for now, but would not forget. He wiped her cheek again, and asked,

“Would you like a bath?”

Something sparked in her eyes. “Bath?”

“Mm.”

“Yes please.”

Without another word he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her with him as he rose from the floor, making her exhale in surprise. She supported herself with arms around his shoulder, her chest by his chin. And she laughed, and it was a beautiful laugh, making his stomach drop and curl and feel things he had no name for. He was in utter awe of her, on her handle on things, her handle on him, and how she trusted him so completely with everything she had.

He carried her across the room to the tub in the corner, and set her down on her feet right in he middle of it.

“We’ve got time,” he said. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

Reminding her and himself alike. Time to bathe. To talk. To give her space. To figure it all out, everything.

“Thank you,” she whispered back, and he loved her.

Lorcan’s expression must have been more thunderous than usual when he joined Fenrys outside that day, because Fenrys only lifted his brows as Lorcan joined him and said nothing. Which was a shame, because Lorcan would have loved for someone to throttle. Today though, Fenrys conveniently gave Lorcan no excuse. The piece of shit.

Lorcan had left Elide at breakfast, silently stroking a hand down her hair before leaving. His chest still ached from their conversation that morning, and he could not stand it, so he found himself in need of switching to a mode of action. So he did, tried not to think, itched for a fight with Fenrys, and joined in the chaos of the outside world.

He let his anger channel to the pickaxe he was wielding, instead of letting it out on Fenrys’ face. It felt good to be angry, and Fenrys was usually aggravating. But today, Fenrys did not bite. And of course Fenrys had nothing to do with the whirlwind now wreaking havoc inside Lorcan. But it was easier to be angry with Fenrys than at himself.

His fear had always been that Elide would open her eyes and realize what a bastard he was. Her disappointment in him. Her admittance of how little he truly deserved her. His background was broken, his track record horrible, and his past deeds gruesome. He’d killed, tortured and fucked his way through life. He was a bastard born nobody, his one achievement in life to excel in the service of a monster. Of course he did not deserve her.

The image of Elide from Maeve’s nightmare flashed in his mind. Did you think I would sully myself with you?

Lorcan dug.

They spent the day outside, same as the day before. Gavriel would be buried the following day, and Aelins coronation would be held a few days after. They had already moved the healing wing out of the Great Hall, and was clearing the space for larger events.

Lorcan was not looking forward to either. He was no good at planning coronations or arranging grand funerals. Instead, he relished in sweating and using his muscles, in carrying heavy logs and directing horses to move away the immense amounts of rubble and residue from the streets, and to rebuild the broken homes. It was heavy and tiresome work, and suited him just fine. It occupied his mind and tired his body.

“You good?”

Fenrys held out the can of water between them late in the afternoon.

It was the first time anyone had tried to engage him in conversation that day. Lorcan took the water, drank and ignored him. He turned his back to him and resumed his work.

She had agreed to marry him. She had agreed for him to bind his life to hers. I would like that more than anything. He knew he was being unreasonable, knew he was blowing this out of proportions. But somehow along the way, beside her in bed perhaps, somehow he had reminded her of his past. Either she must have noticed his longing for her and found it overwhelming – which was perhaps unavoidable, it was simply inhuman - or he must have unconsciously created some expectation between them that she’d reacted to. Whatever it was, it had been too much.

I wont be enough for you.

It was not the first time he’d done that. Enough for what? Enough to please me.

They got a lot of work done that day.

Lorcan’s anger faded throughout the day, replaced by aching muscles, and he was thankful for it. When Elide spotted him in the Great Hall that afternoon she smiled warmly at him, their earlier conversation long forgotten to her. She rushed to him, completely unaware of his previous brooding, and reached her arms up. He lifted her up by her hips, and she encircled her arms around his neck in a hug. He breathed deeply into her hair.

“Go take a bath,” she told him, as if she could read his mind. He was absolutely filthy, sweat gleaming on his skin underneath warm winter clothes. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He let himself hold her for a few moments before he put her back down. She was content, her scent peaceful and pleased. His own trepidation seeped away completely as he watched her radiant expression. He knew he had ruminated. Knew he’d brought with him their conversation from this morning in the worst possible way and let it fester in her absence. Deep down, he knew it was his own fears that haunted him.

Dinner, like the day before, was spent with the rest of their group. Lorcan ate and ignored them all.

When they were finally, finally alone, and when he was walking back towards their bedroom alongside Elide, he rested his eyes on her while she walked next to him. He frowned.

“You’re in pain,” he murmured, sliding his fingertips against the small of her back.

He was bracing her ankle – he always did, the scent of her almost palpable on his tongue whenever his powers graced her skin – but still she had a light limp to her walk.

She sent him a brief smile. “It’s nothing. It’s just a bit sore.”

He eyed the tight line of her lips for a moment, before he stopped to lift her. Her eyes widened in surprise, her arms wrapping automatically around his shoulders as he gingerly held her to him with arms under her knees and back.

“That’s not necessary,” she said, but her eyes were bright with laughter.

“I know,” he said solemnly, and started walking again.

The truth was he was itching for an excuse to touch her, but he didn’t say that. She already knew.

When they returned to their room, Lorcan placed her gently down to sit on the bed. She leaned back on her arms and watched him steadily as he kneeled down in front of her to untie her shoes. He removed them both, and peered up at her face. Without a word she leaned forwards and pressed her forehead to his.

“Come to bed,” she breathed, cupping his cheek.

Something uncoiled in his chest he had not known was there. And he did, quickly undressing before slipping into bed next to her. She did too, before she burrowed under the sheets. They laid there facing each other for a few moments, listening to the crackling from the fireplace. And her heartbeats. Always her heartbeats.

“The coronation will be a good thing,” she finally said, breaking their silence.

The others had talked of Aelins’ coronation at dinner.

“Mm,” he agreed.

“We’ll have to find some other clothes by then.”

“Mm.”

“You too,” she smiled. “You can’t wear armour to coronation.”

He pursed his lips at that, knowing she was teasing him. “We’ll see.”

She smiled.

“Elide” he said quietly, before he could change his mind.

Her eyes were peaceful, roaming his face. She looked so comfortable. There was a slight glow to her skin from the fireplace.

“Earlier today,” he started. “In the bath.”

Her eyes sobered a bit, understanding glimmering there.

“What you said,” he continued.

She looked down between them for a moment before she faced him again.

“You mean where I questioned your life choices,” she said.

A ghost of a smile flitted over his own face.

“Yes. That.”

And where she had compared herself to his life and found herself lacking.

She only watched him, waiting for him to continue. So he did.

“What did I-” He hesitated, not knowing quite how to say it. He tried again. “What caused it? What you said.”

He hoped she understood, that she could see what he meant in his eyes and in his frown. Because he needed to know, if it was because of something he did, something he said, because of him.

She contemplated his question, biting her lip.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. Looking down, she added, “It’s not the first time I’ve thought that.”

He felt her words in his chest like a weight sinking inside him. Felt it in his eyes, in his face as her eyes returned to his.

She did not let him sink with them though, only pressed her lips together and continued.

“I think that maybe,” she started. “Maybe it’s because you’re so…” She searched his eyes, looking for the right word. He held his breath.

“…Comfortable,” she concluded.

He almost snorted.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, comfortable,” she said, brushing off his surprise.

He remembered then how he had wiped away his spills from between her legs in the middle of that conversation. He felt his lips twitch.

“Do you mean with my own nudity or with yours?”

“With mine, definitely,” she quipped, making a breath of laughter escape him.

A smile was playing on her lips now. She looked happy, her face glowing.

“And you think my old age is the cause of that?” he ventured.

“Yes.” She pursed her lips again, looking perhaps a bit sheepish now, and added, “And life choices.”

But she smiled, eyes warm, and he felt something heat in his chest at the sight.

“My life choices brought me to you,” he countered, his voice quiet.

Her expression softened. She reached a hand up to touch her finger to his lower lip.

“I am happy about that.”

She stroke her finger back and forth across his lip.

“I want everything with you,” he breathed.

The words escaped him before he knew what he was saying, before he realised what had slipped his mind. And it was massive, what he’d just admitted, to himself most of all perhaps, what he’d meant with it. But she only smiled softly at him, unfazed, and said,

“I think I am just starting to realize what that means.”

And he knew what she meant, because he had the same exact feeling, the same realisation, that he was discovering something that had been hidden from him for a long time.

“What if you regret it?” she whispered, her question so quiet he almost suspected she did not want him to hear it.

He only smiled and stroked her cheek.

“I will not,” was all he said.

He knew what she meant - the binding of his immortal life to hers. And perhaps this was the true origin of her uncertainty, of her hesitation, her fears of him making a choice he would later regret and that could not be reversed. But it was not a question at all, what she was asking. He would not.

She smiled, and they gazed at each other for a long time.

“Tell me of your nightmares,” he finally asked her. He suspected they too had a hold on to her in some way, much like his own fears had on him.

She shook her head and said nothing. Her silence was evidence enough to him that he was right.

“Tell me,” he prodded again, when she did not reply. He stroke his hand down her hair.

“No,” she said, her voice final.

He huffed at her response, her stubbornness. He gently reached his hand out to wrap around her waist, pulling her body slowly closer. She nuzzled her face into his throat, and he filled his lungs with her, taking a deep breath.

“Comfortable,” he scoffed under his breath, and felt her breathless laughter against his skin.

His thumb grazed her elbow, stroking up and down her arm. He felt her lips press against his throat, and his pulse quickened. He traced his thumb over her elbow again.

“We can just stay right here,” he whispered. “We can just go to sleep.”

She was tired, he knew she was.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she said, pressing another soft kiss to his throat. “Do you want to sleep?”

“No.”

It escaped him before he could censor himself, and she was in his arms before he knew who had moved first, and he was kissing her and tasting her lips and she was everything.

They did not get much sleep that night. Not until very late.

She had pushed against his chest, and he had rolled over on his back in complete submission to her as she draped herself over his torso and kissed him. They had stayed there for a long time, stopping only when he dragged the white shirt over her head. Dark hair tumbled everywhere, and she had laughed, and every time he heard that laugh it was as if a weight lifted from him he did not know he carried. She had buried her fingers in his hair, her nails scraping over his scalp making him purr.

When she’d turned restless, her legs squirming and her scent so seductive he’d felt drunk with it, he’d rolled them over and began kissing his way down her neck and chest, intending to continue down her body.

Gentle hands caught his face and brought him back up.

“Stay up here with me,” she murmured.

So he did.

He pressed his lips to her neck, her throat, her ear, her face. He spread her thighs gently with his hand and brushed his fingers over her until she was writhing and moaning underneath him. Later, she had straddled him, and sitting up with her they had merged together. He had made love to her with his lips to hers, forehead against her forehead and her name on his lips.

He did not hold himself back, did not force it. And to his surprise he found the beast in him was soothed, the desperation somehow eased.

She stayed there after her climax, after his, linked together in body and in minds, and he never wanted to leave this space with her. So he didn’t. And she didn’t. And they continued.

The second time they made love, he at one point moved her hand to herself. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Do you feel this?” he’d murmured into her neck, ghosting his hand over hers and guiding her to touch herself right where she was straddling him and already so slick with them. “Do you feel how perfect you are?”

Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened at his word, and he watched as she indeed felt. After a while, he did not need to ghost his hand over hers at all, and she continued on her own.

“There you go,” he breathed.

Her eyes flashed to his, as if saying you like this? and he could not stop the rumble from deep in his chest. It was the most coherent answer he could give her, because he did.

He rolled his hips with hers in excruciatingly slow movements, moved with her thoroughly and slow until she moaned and tipped her head back, trembling around him. He kept his eyes on her, and held her to him as they breathed the same air. When she returned to him, he kissed her deeply, and they continued for a while longer until he too followed. They stayed there together for a long time, after, just kissing, foreheads resting together.

When she slid off him and left the bed to get water, he followed. She had turned to look at him behind her, had reached back for him, craned her neck up for him, and he had ended up kissing her again right there in the middle of the room. He lifted her up by her waist, leaned them against the bathroom wall, and she wrapped her body back around his. She wrapped her legs around him, found him again, and they forgot about the water. He eventually lifted her back to bed, and hauled her back on top of him, and they stayed there forever.

Her body was slick with sweat, warm and wonderful. When her eyes started to drop, he kissed her forehead quickly before easing out from underneath her. He put another few logs on the fire to keep it burning through the night, and got a damp towel from the wash, and water.

He wiped off the mess from himself, and returned to her tentatively, their previous talk still fresh in his memory. But she only smiled and held her hand out for him, and he slid back into bed behind her. He gently trailed the cloth over her body before he kissed her deeply. She hummed contentedly into him. They talked for a little bit – mostly murmured I love you’s - as he trailed his fingertips over her stomach. He traced his fingers down her body, and she turned in his arm to weave her hands through his hair.

When she started to push against his chest, he was bewildered for a second before he realized she wanted him on his back. When he moved, she followed, draping herself over his torso and resting on top of him just as they had done for so many nights, reminding him of their tent and their narrow cots and short precious nights together. She draped herself right over him like had become routine. A deep sigh emanated form her as his arms wrapped gingerly around her, pulling her closer.

“I missed this,” she murmured, sleep in her voice as she pressed her nose against his neck.

She fell asleep almost momentarily, right there on top of him.

Lorcan stayed awake for a long time, simply listening to the sound of her deep breathing and heartbeats. He stroke his fingers up and down her back, and savoured the feel of her. He watched the light from the moon on her face, her peaceful expression, and with her scent surrounding him he felt strangely peaceful. And as sleep started to claim him too, in the darkness, to ears he knew would not listen, he whispered a single word.

“Mate.”

It was their secret. For now. Belonging only to him and the dark room.

Chapter Text

Lorcan did not appreciate Manon’s iron claws. Especially when within striking distance to Elides’ jugular.

He did not appreciate that wyvern either, which he thought looked down at Elide like she was a particularly tasty snack. Elide had snorted loudly at him when he’d said so.

“Abraxos is my friend,” she had said matter of factly. “And he’s been my friend a lot longer than you have, so tread carefully.”

Lorcan had raised his eyebrows at that. Of course she would consider herself friends with a bloody dragon. He sent her his most intimidating look, with no avail of course, and she sternly returned his gaze.

“What does it imply,” he said, allowing humour into his voice, “when your closest friend is a witch queen and her wyvern? Not to mention Aelin the assassin.”

“Yrene is a healer,” Elide countered.

Lorcan raised a brow down at her.

“Yrene just killed off the greatest warlord of our time with her bare hands.”

She had paused at that.

“Fenrys?”

He shook his head once. “You don’t want to know about Fenrys.”

“You, then”, she prodded, a smile on her face now. And today especially, of all days, he was glad to see that smile from her, that he managed to coax that from her even now.

“That does not help your case at all.”

“What do you mean, my case?”

He shrugged. “I’m only pointing out a pattern.”

She snorted. “Oh stop”.

And so he did, but felt his lips tug upwards, and so did hers.

They were standing by the railing on the upper balcony with a view of the courtyard below. Elide had just found Manon, stalking past them after breakfast and looking like she had not slept for a month. Manon had wanted nothing to do with either of them and left quickly on Abraxos, not at all interested in Elide’s piercing look or outstretched hand. Elide was leaning against the banister, staring wistfully after them as they flew away.

Lorcan brushed his fingertips over the small of her back, unable not to.

He knew she was sad. Today especially, and he was glad of this moment with her, this semblance of normality. Glad of the snort and smile on her face as he teased her. It had been his point, his mission, and his gift.

He knew she had told Yrene of their engagement at breakfast that morning, and for that too he was grateful. Glad she could have that one, moment of contentment to share her thoughts with her friend, for her to feel the excitement over the future and make her own plans for her life. Glad of this small glimpse of peace.

They did not continue their work in the city that day, and Elide did not join the healers. Sorrow lay like a blanket over the town, mirrored in the grey sky and thick fog rolling in over the horizon. Today was the day of all burials, all losses from the battlefield. In every corner of the town people would come together to mourn all that were lost and all who had died during the siege and the battle. Everything had paused, the world frozen like the icicles now hanging above them.

Manon had no interest in any of it, her sorrow perhaps too great for company. They would not see her again for the rest of the day.

“Come,” Elide said to him, turning back to go inside. The small smile he had coaxed from her had already slipped away. “We should go.”

For Lorcan, the rest of the day passed in a blur of numbness and strangers.

Behind the high walls of the royal graveyard, Gavriel’s body was carried to his final resting place. His funeral was everything it should be: grand, golden, royal, and fitting of an honoured fae warrior. Lorcan weathered it out and stayed with his long time companion and brother in a last, proper goodbye.

People were everywhere, people who never knew Gavriel, people Lorcan had no care for, important humans apparently, people worth so much less to him than the male lost. They spoke in hushed voices around him and used many, many words to say nothing at all. Lorcan stayed by his companions and wished that he could be alone.

After the funeral, their group were to come together to drink, to eat and to honour the dead alongside Aelin’s allies, the council members and all other important and high standing people of Orynth. Lorcan stayed behind, lingering by Gavriel’s grave after people had started to leave the graveyard.

He felt Elide’s gentle presence by his side when she approached him, and turned towards her. Without a word he lifted her up to him, his arms wrapped tightly under her backside, and he gazed up into her face. Her expression was mild, and her smile sad as she palmed his cheeks in her hands.

He knew she had cried during the ceremony, her eyes still puffy. Knew she had cried for Gavriel, for his kindness and the friendship he had always shown her. Because Gavriel had been kind, and had stayed kind, even if the world had hardened the rest of them.

Now, her cheeks were dry and her expression was calm. They gazed at each other for a few moments.

“You go with the rest,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

His way of saying he would not join them.

She understood, and said nothing, only squeezed his shoulders and held onto him for a moment before he sat her back down on her feet. She left him alone to his thoughts, turning to follow the rest of the group back towards the castle and to the formal dinner about to be arranged.

Lorcan knew she would also walk to the castle walls and beyond to put a flower on the place where the Thirteen had died. She had done so before, and would again today. He let her go, let her be, and stayed behind.

He didn’t join the rest if them that night, but wandered the streets of Orynth alone.

When she found him again, it was dark, and he had gone to bed in their room alone. She said nothing when she entered, only undressed and slid into bed behind him. She curled up against his back, her arm circling around his waist to press cold fingers against his side. He rumbled at her in greeting over his shoulder, and felt her face against his neck, her breaths warm against his skin. At one point in the night, he turned around to wrap himself around her body, engulfing her completely within his embrace. He felt her lips press against his throat, and he buried his hand in her hair. A deep purr escaped him when she trailed circles by his neck, and he fell asleep shortly after.

The next day was better.

Her cycle returned to her the next morning, and Lorcan made sure she had everything she needed. And he tried, he’d try, to ease the burning need and impulse that rose in him from the scent of her blood, and to curb the urge to snarl at every male in the vicinity. He’d try.

They ate a late breakfast together in comfortable silence. The dining area was quieter than usual, people clearly still subdued from the previous day. Midway through breakfast they were joined by Fenrys, who seemed deep in thought and was clearly not interested in conversation. He only sat down next to Elide, mumbled in greeting, and started to pile food on his plate while avoiding their gazes. Lorcan instantly knew he’d had a bad night.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Elide rested her gaze on Fenrys, thoughtful now, before she looked back down at her plate.

“The first time I met Gavriel he saved my life,” she said quietly, breaking the silence.

Fenrys’ eyes slid over to her, his face expressionless, before returning his attention to his food without a word.

“With his healing magic,” she added, as if in need of clarification.

Lorcan knew she was only searching for a reaction. There was none.

“Do you remember?” she prodded again, peeking up at Fenrys.

Fenrys peered down at her again from the corner of his eye. His lip twitched slightly. He remembered.

Lorcan certainly did.

“He healed me. Because of you,” Elide said to Fenrys, plainly now. But her voice was mild and a smile played on her lips. “You bit me. Do you remember?”

Fenrys looked like he was forcing back a smile now.

“Yeah,” he said. Then added, casually, “Sorry about that.”

A breath of laughter escaped her, and his eyes brightened.

Lorcan left them at the breakfast table shortly after, brushing his knuckles across Elide’s cheek as he left.

He threw himself into the heavy work that day. He’d found Rowan already busy outside, and joined him without question. Fenrys joined them shortly after. Lorcan tucked all thoughts away into the familiar numbness that he knew so well, that had gradually been returning to him. He cherished the physical aspects of working and had a feeling the same applied for the other two. He spent the day outside, exerting himself physically in a way that felt both liberating and draining at the same time.

That night he ate dinner with Elide, just the two of them. They were surrounded by the hustle and bustle of strangers in the Great Hall, which had gone through several changes as the hall was slowly set for coronation.

Elide told him of every one of Aelin’s plans for the coronation including her and his clothes alike, black for him, he didn’t care, and he would need to have a jacket fitted apparently. He watched her while she spoke and let his eyes rest of her beautiful mouth. She laughed when his gaze grew distant, lost in her face, and he realized he had been staring.

While they ate, he also watched as she greeted the people surrounding them, exchanged brief pleasantries to people walking past and chatted with passer byers he didn’t even know the names of. Lorcan stayed mostly silent by her side, revelling in her sharp mind and her skills with people. He still struggled imagining himself in this world of tailored suits, weighted words and things unsaid. She didn’t seem to mind his silent presence, but leaned into his side on occasion, and found his hand underneath the table.

He knew very well how clever she was, knew already that she had deliberately talked her way into new acquaintances with all the important people of the council. And it was pride that bloomed in his chest when she smiled sweetly up towards the elderly men who walked past them, and sternly requested their aid in the future rebuilding of Perranth. Of course they were charmed, and perplexed, and probably feeling a bit baffled at finding themselves promising their funds away so easily to this newly acquainted Lady.

“You are ruthless,” he purred at her, after a whole group of them had just left. One of them had even agreed with her that it would only be proper to add a yearly percentage of support for the future rebuilding of Perranth from the neighbouring districts, after years of their previous neglect during the war and lack of support during her uncle’s poor reign.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she smiled, clearly lying.

He loved her. She smiled up at him, and he knew she was his. Knew she would always be his.

She slept on top of him that night, and he spent the night filling his lungs with her scent and dragging fingertips through her hair. He did not know what it was, but something had shifted and eased in him – slowed him down, perhaps, soothed the desperation, calmed the uncertainty and the beast in him alike. Perhaps it was simply that they had finally had some time together, to talk, to be, to process. Her skin against his. He could not get enough of her, but he also knew he would not have to be without her.

His woman. His Lady. His.

When the next day arrived, Lorcan was not so secretly pleased to have the solid excuse of manual labour ahead of him.

Elide was to spend the day helping with preparations for the coronation, and they spent breakfast listening to Aelin’s plans. Lorcan could not bother less with discussions of formal wear, speeches or dinner placements. Could not bother with any of it, honestly, hoped they would just get it over with. Knew Fenrys felt the same. And so, they worked.

Even Whitethorn had snorted, after, and agreed that to head out was much more satisfying than all that courtly bullshit. But Lorcan clearly saw the light and life return to Rowans eyes, the relief and intent and determination as they continued where they had left the day before. And Lorcan thought, he was not the only one to process their new situation, this life. Their future.

Lorcan barely uttered a word to anyone that day, spoke only to Whitethorn and occasionally Fenrys, as together they worked in silence.

He spotted Elide in the great hall that evening as she rushed past him, brushing her hand over his arm and lighting up his inside like a thunderstorm. At the sight of her the numbness that sometime threatened in him retreated, and the physical exhaustion, the ache of his muscles, the irritation and alienation he could sometimes feel from the people surrounding him faded completely.

They ate together late at night, this time alongside the various mixture of guests and allies of Aelin’s court. Lorcan kept his eyes on his food, let his thoughts wander, and rested his eyes on the only one who mattered.

She crawled into his embrace in bed that night, and kissed him until they were both out of breath. After, she turned around in his arms, bringing his arm with her as he curled around her body. She fell asleep instantly, and he buried his nose in her hair and listened to the lullaby of her heartbeats. And he was happy.

Lorcan stayed awake for hours that night.

He held her to him in her sleep like he always did. Her sleep was restless though, legs running and squirming under the blanket, her breaths uneven.

Just before dawn she had reached for him with a need she didn’t usually show, breaths ragged. He wondered if it was dreams that plagued her again, but she didn’t invite questions as she burrowed her face into his chest and hid from the world. So he stroked her hair, pressed his lips to the top of her head, and he listened as her heartbeat calmed.

When morning came, she had forgotten, and he did not ask.

Elide was indeed having nightmares, Lorcan realized. Even if she refused to admit to it.

When she reached for him in her sleep the next night as well, much like she had the night before, and her breaths again became heavy and unsteady, he knew it was bad dreams that kept her sleep from peace. He held her to him and whispered in her ear until she returned to quiet slumber. She woke at dawn with a startle, her heartbeats like a hare. He stroked her back in soothing circles as he eased her back into his embrace.

She held onto him while her breaths gradually calmed. The winter sun was already shining through the window, warming his calf where the sun hit the edge of the bed. He trailed circles on her skin with his fingertips until she returned to him, and she opened her eyes.

“Hi,” she finally whispered.

They stayed for a few moments, neither of them moving away. She burrowed her nose back into his neck and he pressed his lips to her temple.

“Tell me of your dreams,” he asked, just as he had asked her previously.

“No.”

Her answer was the same as last time, too, her voice muffled against his skin.

He huffed out an impatient sigh.

“Elide,” he pressed.

“I know it’s not real.”

Her voice was quiet, but steady.

He stroked his palm down her hair again.

“Is it the same one still?” he asked quietly. He’d guessed.

She shook her head, but said nothing.

“I know it’s not real,” she repeated, when he held her gaze.

And she clung to him, and he let it go, deciding as long as she reached for him to be closer it would be fine.

He had not been sure exactly how and when to do it. Had kept himself awake at night thinking about it. How to say it. So he hadn’t. But he thought, perhaps now was as good a time as any.

He reached out behind him and retrieved the small item from his night stand. He’d picked it up that day when he was wandering Orynth alone after the funeral, and it had burnt in his pocket ever since, waiting for him to find the right moment and the right words. But he’d already said everything. Everything he needed to say she already knew. So without saying anything at all, he silently found her hand and slid the ring onto her finger. She had already accepted him, after all.

Its design was simple, a golden band and clear stone, like a light. Like her. It had just been sitting there in the window of a long closed shop – jewellery was not exactly in high demand these days. He’d seen it by chance and it had simply felt right. He’d tracked down the owner, who’d swiftly agreed to open.

He’d known he had to get one for her, that she deserved a token, and that this was how it was supposed to be. Even if he’d done it all a bit backwards. She was a lady, after all. She deserved it all. And he wanted to do it right. 

Elide did not react at first, only burrowed her face in his neck as he held her palm in his. He sensed her confusion when he slid the ring onto her finger, and she peeled back to look down at their joined hands. She was quiet for a long time, staring down at the ring now placed gingerly on her finger.

When she realized, she inhaled sharply, her other hand covering her mouth. She stared at the ring. He tucked her hair behind her ear and searched her face, and watched as her eyes filled with tears.

“Do you like it?” he asked, unable to stop himself, as he could not get a good read on her face.

When her eyes met his, he knew she had.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

She reached for him, pressing her lips to his and placing her palm on his cheek, and he felt tears spill down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb.

“Thank you,” she breathed against his lips.

He said nothing, but they stayed there in bed for another few moments, and he held her.
`

The day before the coronation, the Great Hall had been transformed to a ballroom. The castle was ready, as ready as possible given the short amount of time since ruin. The stairs were swept, the streets were cleared, the red carpet rolled out and the halls readied for the ceremony to come.

Lorcan left to get his clothes fitted just after breakfast, an obligation which tested his temper but he knew was to be expected. Besides, the room had become rather hot all of a sudden when Aelin had handed him his bag of clothes and his only response was to lift a brow. So he’d taken it, then.

“Be thankful it’s black,” Aelin had tutted. “If you wore anything else, the world would turn on its head. So burial black it is.”

He’d rolled his eyes, but had accepted the clothes and held his tongue.

She’d grinned at him, knowing exactly that.

After his fitting, Lorcan tugged at the collar and changed back out of it as soon as possible. He returned the clothes to their room, and he paused there for a moment before he headed back out.

Lorcan found Whitethorn in the sparring ring in the courtyard, just finished with his training, as he’d suspected.

“A moment?” Lorcan said, unusually hesitant perhaps, but unsure how else to begin.

Rowan, who was just about to change out of his sweaty shirt, only lifted his brows. But he said nothing, and nodded.

Lorcan went over to lean against the banister, looking out into the city below. A long few moments passed without him speaking. Rowan silently continued to dress, pulling on his warmer shirt and buttoning his jacket.

When Lorcan still didn’t speak, Rowan lifted his brows again in silent question.

“I’ll go with her to Perranth,” Lorcan finally said, looking back towards the city. “After.”

After coronation, after rebuilding, after everything.

They both knew who she was. Rowan eyed him.

“I assumed as much,” Rowan said. Then he added, humour in his eyes now. “It’s hardly a secret.”

He tightened his boots, one at the time, and rose.

Lorcan surveyed the rooftops below.

“I asked her to marry me. She said yes.”

Even if it was she who had asked him, technically. He liked that small detail very much.

He felt Rowans eyes on him again, but there were no surprise in the air.

“Congratulations,” Rowan said, tone more pleasant this time. He fastened his cloak, his movements a bit more hesitant. There was a slight frown on his face.

Lorcan could hear the thoughts he didn’t say, knew fae and human marriage were uncommon, unheard of even, and yet, there was no surprise in Rowan’s tone. Still, when he looked up at Rowan he thought he could see the echo of his own ruminations from weeks ago, of how to do that, how to live that life, how to be frozen and not, mortal and immortal. Rowan slowly reached the banister, and looked out into the city as well.

“I’m sure Elide is very happy,” Rowan said, a twinkle to his eyes now at the mention of the Lady. He clearly knew how happy she was. Then he added, a bit hesitant “It will be a different life.”

And in his words, hidden by his happiness for them and her, was a warning for Lorcan. A warning to think this through. Because it would indeed have been a difficult life for him, to watch her grow old and die while he himself stood frozen on the sidelines. If that had been his intention.

Rowan knew better than most, just how difficult.

So Lorcan said, finally, the first of two things he’d come here to say - this first one a message to his comrade in arms and prince.

“After we wed I will bind my life to hers,” he said.

He kept his eyes on the city, the houses, the people far away. The morning sun glimmered on the snow and made the whole town shine with frost and ice.

When Rowan answered, his voice had shifted, was rougher now.

“Are you sure about that?”

Surprise, finally, gleamed in the air between them.

“I am.” Lorcan’s answer was immediate and without wavering.

There was a long pause.

“Well fuck,” Rowan cursed, a long exhale escaping him as he leaned heavily against the banister.

Lorcan snorted. And together they watched the snow dance on the icicles and the fields and the river for several long moments. They said nothing for a long while, but he could feel Rowan’s thoughts like he knew his own had been once, loud and jumbled and knocked back by this revelation of life and death.

He waited until he knew it was right. Until it was easy. And finally Lorcan said the second and last thing he’d come here to say, the thing that had weighed on him, that he’d been unsure of whether to say or not, had hoped to say because it would explain it all perfectly, and it would also be an immense relief to finally be able to say it out loud to someone.

This time, it was an admittance to a friend.

“She’s my mate,” he said.

He had not told her. He knew he should have, but for some reason he could not quite find the words for it. Not for her.

He felt Rowan’s sharp hawk eyes on him, piercing and unyielding. A silent objection.

“I know it’s not heard of,” Lorcan patiently argued the silent rebuttal. “But she is. Somehow she still is. I know it.”

There was another long pause. Rowan let out a long sigh.

“Well. Fuck,” Rowan said, repeating his words from before with more fervour behind it this time. And it was emotion in his voice as he processed what he’d been told.

Lorcan’s lips twitched.

“She doesn’t know. So don’t yap about it.”

Rowan huffed out a breath of silent laughter at that, still processing.

And that was that. They stayed there and watched the sun rise in silence, neither of them speaking, both deep in thought.

The sword on Lorcan’s back had never felt lighter.

Chapter Text

She was stunning.

Elide’s dress was long, sliding over the floor behind her, her feet in soft slippers. Her silken dress was lilac, so beautiful against her pale skin and in steep contrast to her dark hair. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes were bright as she danced across the floor. Lorcan leaned back against the wall, watching her from the shadows as she spun around and laughed. The sound made goosebumps run down his neck.

He had never seen her like this before. In her long, flowing dress made of silk and luxurious materials, her hair flowing freely behind her in carefully crafted, soft waves, and her red, sinful lips. Pearls and ribbons adorned her hair and the slit in her dress showed the beginning of a pale, perfect thigh.

Joyful, energized, light. Not running, not worrying.

A ring sparkling on her finger. Her only jewellery. She’d wanted nothing else.

Free. She was free.

Her eyes slid to him over her shoulder, seeking him out as she’d done occasionally all evening, checking in. She smiled at him from across the room, her eyes twinkling, before she was twirled around and away again.

She looked happy. Utterly, completely happy.

He knew Elide had been nervous the previous evening, had been fumbling and fiddling with her clothes. She’d asked him not to brace her foot during the ceremony, had wanted to walk down on her own two feet, alone. He knew she had been thinking of all the arrangements, her role, and walking down that isle with all eyes on her. What to expect, the evening to come, the dinner, the dance. He knew she’d never been to anything similar before, and she had been nervous.

When she had walked down the isle during the ceremony, Lorcan had felt pride bloom in his chest at how she held herself, her spine straight and her chin lifted. Her eyes had met his and her limp had told her story for everyone to see, unflinching.

After the ceremony they had eaten dinner formally alongside the court and their newly crowned queen. Elide’s appetite - which had mysteriously disappeared the day before – had returned again, and she had laughed with Aelin and held his hand under the table, clearly relieved that it had all gone well.

Now, her bright laughter floated towards him as Fenrys dragged and twirled her across the dance floor in the crowded space of the ballroom. Fenrys’ new face was more striking than ever, the two raw, slashes crossing his face standing out in great contrast to the fine, neutral clothes and making him look completely dangerous. His grin and sharp teeth alongside the brutal scars attracted quite a bit attention, both of fear and excitement alike from strangers and onlookers. His grin was directed towards Elide though, spurred on by the joyful mood of the night, their drink and Elide’s joyful laughter.

Lorcan was, surprisingly perhaps, not jealous as he watched Fenrys spin his woman around across the floor amongst the dancers and the chaos of people chatting and laughing. He knew she was his. And he loved that laugh.

He had asked her, earlier, if dancing was something she wished for. She had tugged at his shirt, making him lean down to her in a kiss and creating sparks of pleasant surprise in his stomach. And she had whispered against his lips,

“I don’t care about dancing at all. I just want you.”

It was Fenrys, that asshole, who had swooped her away right out of his arms and dragged her after him, loudly exclaiming that for her not to dance would be a waste of both space and dress.

Lorcan hadn’t even bothered to snarl at Fenrys, had only watched Elide’s eyes go wide with surprise and she fumbled after him onto the dance floor as Fenrys demanded her attention. And now, watching her twirl and laugh and her hair flow freely behind her, Lorcan could not find it in him to disagree. It would have been a complete waste for her not to dance.

As he followed her with his eyes, he found others’ eyes on her as well. Aelin was watching Elide and Fenrys from her spot by the main table with a fond smile on her face. Fenrys’ laugh was not a given, was a rare occurrence these days, and Lorcan knew Aelin appreciated their laugh perhaps almost as much as he did himself.

Sensing his eyes on her, Aelin met his gaze. She lifted her cup, and Lorcan inclined his head, acknowledging her greeting.

The coronation had been short, efficient, and proper. It had been just formal enough to give Aelin the authority she needed, and to instate all necessary impact without prolonging it unnecessarily. While short, and while only 10 days after the air had been filled with screams from the battleground outside, it had still been a ceremony worthy of a queen and sufficiently grounding for this new rule.

It had been almost enjoyable. Their new queen. His queen.

However annoying.

Aelin smirked, as if she knew his thoughts exactly. Lorcan rolled his eyes at her, and felt his lip twitch.

Lorcan wondered at the growing, new feeling he had started to acknowledge taking root in him these last few days. It had taken some time before he’d realized what it was, the feeling unnerving him at first. But it was freedom, this, this vast emptiness inside him, emptiness for him to create and choose and fill for himself. And he felt it now again as he returned his eyes to Elide and Fenrys, as he watched them laugh, and he thought this is what comes with freedom. It was a direct result of it, that laugh.

He had not known, before, what he had been missing.

The restraints were gone. The internal shackles inside him, invisible perhaps, but unmistakably present – gone. The poisonous yearning to please, to strive, to yield that he had felt for his former queen without second thought was gone. His deep buried longing for her had died with her. He knew she had probably placed it there and poisoned his mind with it without his awareness. Knew very well that she had already muddled his memories and twisted his mind and his perspectives. Could not dwell on it, what had been real and not, did not bear to think about it too closely.

He was free now.

In its place, replacing the poisonous fog inside him, was now a vast empty space. Like an open prairie, ready for him to fill with what he liked. Teetering on the edge, just there waiting for him.

And it was freedom.

He watched them dance, and laugh, and he thought Elide had perhaps never felt that freedom before either. The freedom of choice. He knew for a fact Fenrys had not, that he had been at least equally if not more shacked than himself in their past life. The pup was young, had only spent a fraction of the time with Maeve that Lorcan had, but during those years Fenrys had also had a lot more to lose. And he had lost.

Better not to dwell on that.

It was a relief, Lorcan admitted to himself, to now serve a queen who was just. One he knew would never hand out lashings for the sport of it. Would not hold their weaknesses over their heads like a weapon and smile. One who would not poison their minds. Aelin was ruthless, something he enjoyed, and while she could be childish and annoying as hell, she was just. It was refreshing.

She would be a good queen, believe it or not. Even if she still was a fire breathing bitch sometimes. Lorcan decided he liked it.

His blood oath was no longer a part of his every day actions, not like the iron grip he was used to. Instead it was humming rather contentedly in the background of his chest. He’d only felt it sing during battle, providing energy as he indeed fought to protect Terrasen. Beyond it, he was free. Free to fill the vast space inside of him, to walk into that prairie, and to be free in a way he could not remember when he had last felt.

He felt a presence beside him, and he glanced over to see Whitethorn nursing a glass of red wine at his side.

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the crowds.

Rowan’s eyes slid to Lorcan at the same time Lorcan’s gaze slid to him. Lorcan nodded in greeting, just a minuscule movement of his head.

“King Consort,” he said, greeting Rowan formally with his new title, and managing to keep the humour and slight sneer to a minimum.

Rowan snorted. “Oh shut up.”

Lorcan raised his brows and returned his gaze to Elide. They watched the crowds for another few minutes.

“You’re the Commander now, I suppose,” Lorcan said, his eyes following Eide and Fenrys as they floated past them. He felt his own lips twitch, unable to keep from taunting Rowan just a little bit.

Rowan sent him a flat look, knowing full well he was being mocked.

“Really? You’re retiring?”

It was Lorcan’s turn to snort. “I don’t retire. I don’t have earnings to retire from.”

Although, with Maeve now dead, his properties and assets would be free to him again. He should see to that.

Rowan smirked. “No? I’ve heard some stories.”

Lorcan turned to him then. “Stories?”

Rowan ignored him, resting his eyes on Aelin now. “Yeah, stories.”

Lorcan frowned, impatient. “Spit it out.”

Rowan slid his eyes to Lorcan. “Is it true you used to rub yourself in oil and perform for lustful women at the circus? And sell off all your clothes to lonely farmers wives after? Did you return home naked and covered in oil?”

Lorcan rolled his eyes. “She told you that?”

He’d completely forgotten about that.

Rowan chuckled. “No. She told Aelin. Aelin told me that.”

Lorcan snorted. “Of course she did.” Aelin had probably twisted it out of Elide’s innocent retelling of their journey. “And for the record, I did not return naked.”

Rowan chuckled again. They both watched the dancers for a few moments, and a comfortable silence settled between them.

“There is no Cadre to retire from,” Lorcan said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Something tugged in Lorcan’s stomach at the words.

“We’ll find Vaughan,” Rowan said quietly. “We’re still here.”

Most of them, anyway.

“Mm.”

Lorcan watched Elide, and tried to ignore the feeling of loss pushing at his insides.

He felt Rowan’s piercing hawk eyes on him then, turning to him.

“I’ll need you in Perranth,” Rowan said sharply, tone abruptly changed. Alert. “I’ll need someone I can trust.”

Lorcan slid his eyes to Rowan at the change of tone. They eyed each other for a moment. But Rowan’s eyes were knowing, mild, as if he’d known very well the feeling stirring in Lorcan’s gut. Lorcan knew he’d felt the same one. And this, this was a reminder. A reminder they were still here. They were still alive.

Something tugged in his stomach again, softer this time. Lorcan was still needed.

“Mm,” was all he said. He nodded, barely. Serious this time.

Rowan nodded back. It was what he’d come to say.

I’ll need someone I can trust.

Lorcan was trusted.

Lorcan returned his gaze to Elide, and felt his lip tug upwards without his intention. They stood in silence, watching their mates, the both of them occasionally pulling at the stiff collars of their shirts.

Lorcan watched Elide dance for what must be hours that night, and he enjoyed every second of it. He’d let his powers twirl gently around her ankle again, deliberately swirling it over and around her skin in an occasional caress and earning a blazing gaze from her whenever he let it stir. He watched her smile and her surprised face whenever Fenrys skilfully manoeuvred her amongst the crowd, caught her again and steered, and Lorcan simply listened to her laughter and he loved her.

When she returned to him, Elide’s cheeks were pink and she was out of breath. Her scent washed over him like a breeze of fresh air in the stifling heat of the crowd as she leaned against his body. He sensed the sting in her ankle more than he saw it, but her smile was bright, her skin glowed, and her eyes shone with happiness.

“Hi,” she breathed, and tugged at his shirt. He leaned down to meet her as she stretched up on her toes to kiss him.

When he pulled back, something settled in him by the look now shining in her eyes.

“Are you pleased with tonight?” he asked, the words slipping out of him without his intention, simply because he didn’t think he’d ever seen her this… light. Relaxed. Riled, even. Not a worry or concern visible on her forehead or in her shoulders.

She nodded, resting her palms on his arms and gazing up at him.

“I am.” She paused, catching her breath for a moment. “I’ve never been to something like this before.”

He knew what her words truly meant, and it made his heart ache. I’ve never danced, was what she was truly saying. It was her first dance.

“What would you like next?” he asked her.

Perhaps she was not yet tired with dancing. He would dance with her, if she wished.

Her eyes returned to his. “What do you want?”

He let his eyes roam over her face, ignoring her question and silently waited for her response. He’d asked her first.

She must have guessed his intention, because she sighed and turned to look over her shoulder eyeing the crowd behind her. Aelin, unable to sit still for long, was now twirling past them with Rowan, her crown glinting in the warm light. They both looked very elegant. Elide followed them with her gaze, while Lorcan watched her. Her breath was still uneven, her cheeks heated from the dancing and the wine.

“Let’s go take some fresh air,” she said.

She had lied. Because Elide did not truly want air. If she had, she would have guided him out of the hall towards the entrance, and she would have leaned against the railing and watched the stars above. She would have been cold in a matter of minutes in the chill winter night, and they would have returned to the bustle inside. But it would have calmed her temperature and her heated cheeks just like Lorcan had expected when she’d said to get air.

He had not expected her to drag him to the side as soon as they exited the main hall and tug him down by the shirt in a kiss. They stood there, in the shadows, kissing and ignoring passer byers. When she pulled back to look at him, her eyes were burning, and a jolt of lightening ran through his body.

“I want you to take me back to our room,” she whispered, arms outstretched.

So Lorcan did. He bent, his arms wrapping tightly around her thighs and backside, and lifted her to him. Her dress fell loosely around her legs, flowing behind them as he started to walk them back to their private room. She gazed down at him, hands resting on his shoulders, studying his face as he carried her through the castle.

The fire was still burning in their bedroom, crackling pleasantly. Lorcan gingerly put Elide down to sit on the bed, and knelt in front of her to remove her soft slippers from her feet. Her dress trailed over the silken sheets, sliding to the floor, silk against silk. She leaned back on her hands before him, and he felt her eyes on him as he removed her slippers.

When he reached for her broken ankle, she winced, and it was clear that her dancing had more of an impact than she had allowed to show.

“You’re in pain,” he murmured. Without thinking, he gently started to massage her foot, just where he knew would ease the tension. He’d massage every inch of her body if she’d let him.

“Not much,” she said quietly, and added as if the thought just occurred to her, “The women here always complain that their feet hurt, have you noticed?”

He slid his eyes to hers. “They do?”

She nodded, the corners of her lips lifting in a small smile, before shrugging slightly. “It’s because of the shoes they wear.”

“How short-sighted of them,” he rumbled, and pressed his thumb to the side of her ankle, easing the strained muscle.

“Most people would say it is worth it,” she said, her eyes flicking back to his.

Lorcan frowned. “And why would that be?”

Elide kept her gaze on his fingers as they gently rubbed at her heel. “There are many beautiful shoes,” she said quietly.

Lorcan frowned again, sliding his eyes over her face. “Most people are also idiots.”

Her lips twitched slightly at his words, and he returned his eyes to her ankle. He felt her eyes on him as he brushed his thumb under her foot, on the tense muscles, knowing it would feel good.

She watched him in silence for a long moment.

“Yrene told me she could heal it,” she whispered after some time, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, fingers stilling and for a moment.

“She did?”

Elide nodded. “She said so. After… everything.”

Lorcan felt a surge of adrenaline run through him at her words. He knew she was in pain, every day, had been in pain almost her entire life and never complained. She could handle pain, and it was perhaps the worst of it all, how adapt she had become at that. The normality of it to her.

He remember how her eyes had radiated when she had told him once of how she used to run alongside the dogs in the garden as a child. His mind conjured the image of another dog, a future dog, and how she could run painlessly alongside it, play with it, run like the wind without any pain at all.

When he looked up at her she was frowning, and her expression was hesitant.

“You don’t want that?” he guessed, trying to read her face.

Elide pressed her lips together.

“She told me it would be extremely painful. That it will be, either way. Whether she heals it or not.”

He let it sink in, what she was truly telling him. Extreme pain were strong words coming from the girl who didn’t flinch at all facing it.

He rested his eyes on her lips, so inviting, and knew his only possible answer without having to search for it.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. It was the only thing he could do – ensure she didn’t face whatever she chose alone.

“Yes,” she whispered, a soft smile on her lips. Her eyes fell to his mouth. “Now come to bed.”

She reached for him, grabbing his shirt by the collar and pulled him closer.

Thrill shot through him at at the demand in her tone, and he followed, draping himself over her, her body splayed out on the bed underneath him. He kissed her gently, thoroughly and unhurriedly, and traced his thumb down her neck.

When she broke from his lips, her voice was breathless.

“What would you like next?” she asked, repeating her exact question from earlier that night.

He felt his lips tug, but hid his smile. She saw, though. He gently threaded his fingers in the hair now spread out beneath him on the silken pillow, careful not to ruin it where she had so carefully pinned it with pearls.

“You know what I want,” he purred.

He just wanted her, always her. The rest didn’t matter.

It had been bliss, pure bliss, these last days and nights with her. Sleeping with her body against his every night, skin against skin, her scent in his nose. Late evenings and long mornings - whenever she indulged him. Together. It was all he wanted. All he ever wanted.

Elide smiled and pressed her lips back to his, laughter dancing in her eyes. Her arms wrapped behind his neck, and she pulled him towards her.

“Yes”, she said, between kisses. “But you can be specific.”

Her legs, pale and perfect and bare courtesy of the high slit of her dress, wrapped around his hips and tugged him closer. He rumbled at the movement.

“Tell me what you would like,” she breathed.

Inviting him.

The scent of her arousal reached him, and he felt the frown settle on his face as he breathed her in. He inhaled deeply.

“Lorcan,” she pressed again when he didn’t reply. “You never said.”

“Didn’t I?”

He couldn't help himself. Could not help but tease her. Knew very well what she wanted from him, but he decided to be difficult. Just for a little bit.

“No, you didn’t,” she responded. “You always do whatever I want.”

“Do I now?”

“Yes,” she whispered, breathless.

“Is that so,” he said, ghosting his lips over her shoulder, holding himself back from her just enough for her to notice, hiding his smile. He slid his canines against her skin, careful. She exhaled and tried to pull him closer with her thighs around his waist.

“It is.”

“Do you know what I would like?” he whispered, ghosting his lips to her mouth, her cheek, her chin.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He did not respond, only moved his lips up her jaw, to her ear, her neck. Slowly and patiently he started to kiss his way down her throat.

“Lorcan,” she gasped his name, her heart racing now. He smiled against her skin.

As it was, he could not resist the invitation.

He kissed his way down her body, over the silken fabric of her dress, ghosting his lips over her breasts and her stomach.

“Lorcan,” she said again when she understood his intentions. “I asked what you would- Oh-” Her voice faltered as his thumb brushed over her hipbone.

“Mm,” he rumbled, not removing his lips from her, and she gasped when he trailed his fingertips over her underwear gingerly sliding them down.

He showed her that night that her invitations had consequence. Several of them.

The first consequence he’d teased from her shortly after his lips met her centre, her silken dress carefully rolled over her hips and baring her to him. The first one had been easy, overdue, already on the tip of his tongue when he’d first stroked his tongue to her and she’d shivered beneath him.

The first somehow turned into the second.

“Lorcan,” she’d gasped when he’d returned to her, after, nudging his nose to her, and she’d looked down. He’d only rumbled in response, his fingers returning to her, and he’d been patient, slow, unhurried, easing her back to him in search for the next, his tongue gentle and teasing.

When she again was panting underneath him, her hands delightfully tugging at his hair now, and her exhales had turned to whimpers, he’d lifted her thigh over his shoulder and up towards her stomach, changing the angle. And he’d held it there while he tasted her deeply, completely and utterly giving in to his own urges.

Just as she’d asked.

When he was done, when she was done, she was clutching the blankets and her words were an incoherent jumble. He’d smiled into her before releasing her leg.

He’d given her a small break after that, and he’d simply watched her – watched her sprawl on the bed before him. Her heartbeats were deep and heavy, her chest still heaving as she tried to catch her breath. After, he had reverently removed her dress and untangled the ribbons from her hair. She kept her gaze on him the whole time until she was naked underneath him. He kissed her lips, briefly, and she had wiped his mouth with her hand and grinned.

When he kissed his way back down her beautiful naked body once more, she groaned his name again.

“Lorcan.”

Thrill and exasperation and arousal at the same time, teasing his nose.

He smiled against her skin.

“Mmm,” he murmured at her, and continued.

He rolled over on his back this time, laying back on the mattress next to her, his face by her waist. He gently flipped her over on her stomach before he slowly dragged her hips towards him. He gently turned her to him, stopping only when each of her thighs rested against his cheeks, her knees above his head, her stomach draping down his torso and onto the mattress. Her nerves had so thoroughly left her now and she didn’t object, and he only heard her muffled groan against the mattress as he returned to her centre once more.

Her thigh was deliciously soft against his cheek, her back slightly arched in tension as again he ravished her completely. He held her hips in place above his face, the rest of her body slumped forwards over his side as he coaxed her back to him. When she came, in the end, her sounds were muffled against the mattress and her whole body shook and trembled.

He let her down after that, let her breathe, decided to not be greedy, and released her. With one final kiss to her centre he returned her to the pillows, wrapping the covers over her naked body and tucking her back into his embrace. He stayed with her for a long while, stroking his palm over her hair and back while she returned from wherever she’d gone to.

When her gaze found his her eyes were heavy with sleep. She reached for him, her hand brushing against his pants, but he smiled and shook his head. He knew if he let her she’d fall asleep in an instant. She frowned.

“Lorcan,” she objected, her eyes sliding shut and voice slurred.

It was a pathetic attempt at an objection, and Lorcan hid his smile. She was struggling to stay awake and still was stubborn as a donkey.

“Sleep,” he told her. Words that had already frustrated her to no end for weeks, words he’d said to her countless times before while travelling together.

Her lip twitched as she remembered too.

“You’re impossible,” she mumbled.

He stroked his hand down her hair and felt her pulse gradually settle.

“Otherwise you would not get any sleep at all,” he murmured. He said it lightly, trying to tease a smile from her, and true enough saw her lips curve slightly.

“That’s fine,” she mumbled. “I don’t need any sleep.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. And contrary to her words she fell asleep soon after, that small smile still on her lips.

When Lorcan woke, it was dawn, and Elide was kissing his throat.

She had curled herself over his body in the night, and was now wonderfully draped across his torso with her lips already brushing against his skin. He rumbled at her, clutched her closer, and she hummed back, already awake.

The night had been like sleep usually was to him now, oblivion and bliss and deep rest in a way he was completely unaccustomed to. He hugged her closer, felt her kisses against his skin, and listened to the sounds of dawn emerging as he gradually woke.

He did not think anything of it until he felt her slide further down his body, and her kisses trailed down his chest and stomach.

He’d removed his clothes the night before, slipping out of his stiff attire before returning to the bed where she already slept. He’d fallen asleep a short while later, forcing his need for her down and letting his own pulse calm to the rhythm of her heart. Now, his own heart jolted as she pressed her lips to his navel, his brain quickly waking from the haze of muddled slumber. He lifted his head.

“Elide?”

Her long dark hair was wonderfully messy as it trailed down his torso after her.

She pressed her lips to his abdomen again, to his scar, and said nothing. She was very naked still, he realized, and his own need for her had, in fact, not eased at all during the night.

“Elide,” he repeated, his voice rasping now as he’d realized her intention.

She placed her hands on the lining of his underwear and started to ease it down. Unthinking, he halted her, not even sure why, placing his hands lightly over hers. When she looked up, he had no words, only roamed his eyes over her face.

“Let me,” she whispered, nudging his underwear, and his hold on her melted.

She eased it down his thighs and away, her face so close to him now, right there, and-

“Elide,” he said again.

He had no more words for her, no words at all, but he shook his head.

Her brows furrowed then. She straightened, and sat up to straddle him. She pierced him with a look, and adrenaline shot through him.

“Why not?” she asked. She leaned her arms against his stomach. He kept his eyes on her face.

Lorcan swallowed. He did not know exactly why he’d stopped her. Yet he had.

“You don’t need to,” he said carefully, gauging her expression. “That can come later.”

They had time. Echoing his previous words to her, words that had frustrated her to no end while on the road together. Later.

It was still new. They were still new.

“That is not what I was asking,” she gently corrected him.

He gazed up at her. She rested her weight on her arms as she sat on top of him, and for a moment he was completely speechless by this woman, able to silence him with only a look. He just watched her face, his mind empty of words. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this before, this inability to explain, to speak, could just look up into her dark eyes where she sat on top of him.

Something softened in her face as she took in his expression, and she leaned closer to his face to place her hands on his chest.

“You are always so careful,” she said, holding his gaze. “You won’t bite. You hold back. I know you do,” she whispered

Her words hit him, every single one, even if her voice was quiet and gentle and kind. He wondered if she could read his mind, if she had been reading it this whole time. His beast roared up in his chest at her words, as if in triumph.

He was not sure exactly how she knew – perhaps because of the general longing that was surely seeping from his pores every time he looked at her – but of course she knew.

He searched for the answer to her question, and she let him. She would not accept anything but the honest truth, and for a moment he wasn’t even sure himself of what that was. He knew what she was asking. But he couldn’t explain why he’d stopped her, could not put words to it. Again they were lost to him.

Perhaps taking pity of him, she leaned down to drape herself back over his chest. His fingertips returned to press against her hip. She was still straddling him, his arousal now pressed into his stomach between them, but her eyes were fixed on his face and her voice was even as she gently put one palm to his jaw.

“We will marry and we will be together,” she said softly. Reminding him. He held her gaze. “Tell me why.”

And he tried to tell her the truth, the best he could find.

“I’m terrified I’ll hurt you,” he heard himself whisper.

Less now, than those first times, but he knew he could easily hurt her by accident if he was not careful. Their size difference paired with this excessive need he felt for her made it necessary. He’d always known he had to be careful. Had not truly considered she’d even noticed.

His admittance must have been barely audible to her ears, and perhaps he’d even hoped she would not hear it, but there was no surprise on her face by his words.

“How would you hurt me?” she asked. Hypothetical now, and completely unabashed.

A part of Lorcan wondered at how this woman was so adept at piercing him with a single look and poke his guts with iron one moment, only to turn bright crimson the next in a blush.

In the end he said the only words he could find.

“You don’t always know what you’re asking,” he finally said. “I’m a lot bigger than you.”

She was not as easily deterred though.

“Show me, then” she said softly, stroking her palm across his jaw. “How else will I know what to ask?” Her eyes moved between his eyes. “We agreed on everything.”

Show me everything.

Reminding him. Just as he sometimes had to remind her always.

“You can bite. I know you want to,” she added, interrupting the ready denial on his lips. And then her cheeks turned delightfully pink, and she flushed when she spoke next. “Let me. Tell me what you like.” Her eyes searched his, her gaze honest and open and trusting.

A silent question.

Her words settled in him, word for word, so grounding and essential, words he himself should have spoken. In their early days he had often fantasised of teaching her the art of the bedroom, of slowly showing her pleasure and to be the one revealing it to her, step by step. Yet, here they now were, and he’d hesitated.

And Lorcan knew why, deep down he knew, it was not truly the physical aspects alone that had held him back, not if he was to be completely honest with himself. Because it was the disappointment in her eyes that truly haunted him. How she’d looked at him, once, how she might again if he somehow messed it up. He’d never wanted to risk that look again.

Of course, she was right. He slowly nodded.

She smiled, stroking his cheek again.

“Good,” she said. “Now show me.”

Lorcan had no words. There were no words left.

He showed her what he liked, in the end. After plain coercion, on her end, after groaning out his name, not with lust, but with annoyance at his repetitions of the fact there was no need, to slow down, to breathe. At one point she was straddling him and laughing, and he felt the lightness seep from her and into him too, and he gave in to her completely, turned his soul over to her awaiting hands and Lorcan let go.

Because he could trust her. She would not let go. She would not look at him with disgust or distrust. He was hers, and she knew, and she had him.

In the end, it was not the sensations of her lips on him, her mouth ghosting over his body, the movements or the touch, as much as it was the sight. The sight of her. On him, with him. Lips searching over skin, lips wrapping around him. Testing and searching and doing with him as she pleased.

Because she did. And she was- She was- Lorcan had no words.

He had no words for her after, either. Could only pull her up to him in a harsh kiss, his hands shaking and body fumbling as he held her to him. She laughed into his throat and let him hold her.

She was not allowed to sneak out of bed and away from his arms for a long time that morning.

Chapter Text

Lorcan had never cared for routine.

Routines had been necessary, sometimes important, sometimes lifesaving, but other than that did not apply to him. Outside the battlefield, and outside basic survival, the army, outside of daily training and necessity, routines had to him always been proof of boring lives, of small dreams and limitation. He’d always done as he’d pleased within the confinement of what was required by him from his blood oath and for his survival. Routine had been uninteresting, like most things. Irrelevant.

Now, his life had somehow fallen into one, and he’d never loved anything more.

The days after coronation all repeated the same pattern. He woke in the morning by Elide slipping from bed and out of his grasp, as usual eager to join back into the world. They ate breakfast with their group. Lorcan ignored Fenrys’ innuendos, and smacked the back of his head sometimes when Elide wasn’t looking. They spent the days apart, working, and the nights wrapped around each other.

One day was replaced by the next, and the next, and the next. All of them similar. Lorcan was secretly thrilled about it. Was this how normal people lived their lives? Was this what it was like to live a normal, free, ordinary life? To wake in the arms of the woman you loved. To work, to create something or help someone somehow, and then to return to her again by nightfall. Not to travel alone, plot and assess. Not to fight out of boredom or supremacy, not to kill, hunt, scheme or deceive. He’d scoffed at this life, scoffed at what he’d considered small-mindedness of ordinary people. Not for the first time it turned out it was he who had been the fool.

Then again, there was only one of her. He was well aware of the primary reason behind this pleasure and thrill that stirred in his stomach. Was well aware he was the luckiest piece of shit in this world to be able to call her his.

Elide slept in his arms every night, and after a while the days started to blur together. They ate breakfast. He worked. They ate dinner together. And he had her to himself again for all the hours of the night, sleeping next to him in the bed they shared or on top of him. Kissing her soft lips, her skin, her body. Familiarizing himself with every inch of her.

At first, he had waited for the other shoe to drop somehow. This life, these days, this peace, this happiness, her. It was too good to last. But it didn’t drop. And the days kept coming.

He thought she too appreciated the sameness as the days blended together. This vacuum after mortal peril, after chaos and haste and heightened emotions. She had been on the run for as long as he’d known her. This routine was a new form of safety, of finding empty space and making it their own. It was the scrambling for normalcy, a steady, reliable presence of them amidst the unfamiliarity and chaos and newness. Him and her.

Routine with Elide was delightful, precious, exhilarating, and Lorcan craved it in every fibre of his being.

Lorcan made Rowan tattoo Gavriels’ name onto his skin, just as Fenrys and Aedion and Rowan did too. Elide put a flower on Gavriel’s grave occasionally. Lorcan missed him sometimes, a pang in his stomach whenever they would work outside, just the three of them. But the days passed, and life continued as flowers wilted and new ones replaced the first.

They had decided that they would wed in Orynth before they travelled to their new home in Perranth. Lorcan let her decide, would have married her this second if she’d wanted to. He had no wish to wait, but would give her whatever she wished for, as long as she said yes, as long as she would have him. As long as she was happy.

Thankfully, she was not in need of waiting either. They would return to Perranth as husband and wife, Lord and Lady, and start the rebuilding. Soon. It would be a good beginning, both nerve wrecking and thrilling, and he was strangely anticipating their journey. He saw it in her eyes every day too, and was glad of her nerves and her excitement to show him her childhood home.

They had shared the news of their marriage to their closest group. None had been surprised by the news of their imminent wedding, which in return had surprised Lorcan – and was evidence he had not been very subtle in his feelings towards this woman. This wonderful, wicked woman of his.

Fenrys had indeed clasped a hand to Lorcan’s back when they’d shared the news at breakfast, his eyes gleeful, and exclaimed loudly,

“About fucking time! You slow fuck.”

Lorcan had snarled at him, and Fenrys had barked a laughter in return and dodged the swing of Lorcan's elbow to his face.

“Oh stop it you two,” Elide chided from Lorcan’s other side. “Don’t bate him,” she told Fenrys sternly, and to Lorcan’s delight she reached across him to smack Fenrys’ shoulder, hard.

Fenrys didn’t even bother to feign innocence.

“I will miss you, my lady,” Fenrys told her, humour dancing in his eyes now, leaning in towards her over the table and right into Lorcan’s personal space. “Even if this one is an eyesore.” He rolled his eyes to Lorcan.

Lorcan snorted loudly.

“He is no such thing,” Elide said, and sneaked her arm around Lorcan’s waist. And she added to Fenrys, stretching her neck around Lorcan’s torso to better see him, “If you don’t stop bating him, I’ll rescind your invitation to come stay with us.”

They all knew she didn’t mean that. Fenrys smiled at her, genuinely this time.

“I’ve told you no twice already,” he said, his voice mild. It was not the first time she had repeated the offer.

Elide shrugged. “I don’t believe you mean that.”

She had been right, in the end.

One week after the coronation, Aelin’s allies started to leave Orynth. Now that Aelin was officially installed as queen, in her rightful seat formally established, and as soldiers were healed and arrangements made for return journeys, most were to return home. One by one, they said goodbye.

Most of the fae returned to Doranelle, but some stayed behind. Some did not know yet where to settle. But one by one, most returned to Doranelle and the new rule to come. Lorcan had no wish to return to that place. He probably would have to at some point, he would need to cut all ties, gather his assets, settle practicalities. Unless he could get Rowan to do it for him – he just might. It just seemed a waist of time, returning to the past now that his future was right there.

Elide could not persuade Manon to stay. Manon had promised to visit her in Perranth though, soon. Lorcan watched in silence when Elide and Manon said goodbye, and kept his eye on that wyvern from the corner of his eye. Elide was not eaten by the wyvern, and Manon did not linger. Elide was left staring wistfully after them as they rose into the air and flew away. Lorcan stood quietly beside her, watching her as she leaned against the banister.

“I wonder when I’ll see them again,” she said quietly.

The light from the afternoon sun peeked through the clouds and it made her skin glow red. He ghosted his hand over hers. He knew she was sad.

“They will visit,” he promised her.

He knew they would. He knew Manon would always come for Elide.

Gradually over the next few days the castle emptied of their allies. The healers left for Antica. When Dorian, Chaol and Yrene left for Rifthold, Elide’s eyes had been red rimmed throughout the rest of the day. There would be a long journey between their two cities. Elide had hugged Yrene, and they had agreed to write, Lorcan would help her, and she had made her friend promise not to forget her. Which she of course wouldn’t.

Perhaps one day they would visit. After the babe was born. Perhaps one day they would visit, and her broken ankle would be healed. Perhaps.

“It’s so quiet here now,” Elide said when they walked back towards their room after dinner, her hand trailing over the banister as they climbed the stairs. “It makes me wonder what’s left of the old castle in Perranth. If there’s anyone left there at all.”

Lorcan ghosted his hand against the small of her back.

“We’ll find out soon,” he said quietly.

Lorcan and Fenrys would stay with Rowan a while longer, helping him rebuild the ruined city. Aelin had already established their court and their first proper meetings - not on an impromptu balcony this time - in an established council. Elide started to organize their return to Perranth, establishing new contacts through the various connections she had already made in Orynth. Ren Allsbrook had helped her write to his contacts in Perranth, and slowly they had started to arrange for their return journey home.

Home. His first.

Lorcan loved these days with her. They worked separately as the days passed, and slept intertwined all night. And routine continued.

When spring finally arrived, the impact it had on Terrasen was impressive. Spring itself was not particularly impressive, not at all like what Lorcan was used to from Doranelle’s warm wind and green surroundings. Doranelle had always been a place for spring flowers and warm summer scents. Here, spring was soggy and grey, water trickling everywhere and the morning air filled with drizzle. Still, it was soft and mild, and what impressed Lorcan was the impact it had on everyone around him.

Everywhere he looked people were smiling, stretching their faces towards the broken glimpses of the distant sun. He saw it in Elide’s face every time she looked out the windows, smiling as if the dim sunlight gleaming down at her was reaching out to her personally. People smiled brighter than usual and stretched their necks to let the sun warm their faces – even if the air was still cold and the rays of sun still dim.

Perhaps this was expected when growing up in a place that barely saw the sun during winter. Perhaps next year he would be one of them.

He felt it too, sometimes. He’d never cared about the impact of the weather for Hellas’ sake, not bothered beyond the practicality of it, but even he felt the rays of sunshine brighten his mood in the morning and caught himself enjoying it when a gust of spring wind ruffled his hair. He was probably imaging it though. He was probably just turning a love sick fool.

Even if the wind whispered to him sometimes, whispered in acceptance and caressed his cheek, and he knew he did not imagine it.

When Elide caught a spring cold – apparently a completely normal and harmless occurrence amongst humans in the north– Lorcan was slightly less impressed with the impact of spring. He became aware he was hovering again, and Aelin turned to call him mother hen every time she saw him, her laughter cackling after her down the hall. Even Rowan at one point took him to the side, a hand on his shoulder, and said it’s just a cold. But Lorcan let them, he didn’t care, they could call him whatever they pleased, and he was certainly not deterred when Elide huffed at him and pushed him away at night when she sniffled and coughed. He would hear nothing of it, and pulled her back to him and warmed her cold and clammy skin against his own. And thankfully, the cold passed with no harm done, and Lorcan could breathe again.

She still did not want to speak of her dreams, but he knew she had them. Knew it by the thin line of her lips and the way she reached for him in her sleep sometimes. She did not have nightmares every night, but they woke her occasionally, stealing the breath from her lungs as she clung to him, heart racing. Because it was nightmares, he knew, even if she did not want to talk about them at first.

He asked her about them, every time when she woke like that. And every time she shook her head and hid her face in his neck. Until one night, when she was unable to fall back to sleep, and he asked her again. Her heart was racing, and he spoke her name and kissed her temple, and tried to sooth her mind. And in the end, in the hours of early dawn, she finally told him of her dreams.

Her nightmares were big and small, sometimes serious, sometimes utterly silly. Sometimes they were filled with chasing monsters, of losing breath and falling and being trapped in dark spaces. Sometimes they were filled with his rejection and her uncle's lies.

When she first started to talk she seemed unable to stop. And she told him, in the end, of more than dreams, told him of her past and the real monsters and moments from real life that still returned to her in sleep sometimes. And Lorcan did not need to ask about her past, because she told him anyway.

She told him of her prison. Of freedom removed. Of terror. Of guards, assigned to protect, turning oppressors. Of scaring her in the dark of night. Of rough hands restraining her, of ogling men, of skin bared and malicious laughs and hands too familiar. Of monsters and of sacrifice.

He listened to every word and stored it inside and held her.

Lorcan had usually spent winter and spring alone, travelling. Not this year. Never again. His winters would be with her, his spring, his summer and autumn.

Not alone. Not anymore.

As the weeks passed, Lorcan came to cherish the nights with her like a drunken man. Being intimate with Elide had turned out like a dream slowly unfolding in front of him. Slowly, gradually, her shyness had eased as they learned each others bodies. Even if her blush returned to her cheeks every now and then.

Lorcan hoped her blush would never cease.

The first time he had tasted her blood had been pure ecstasy. It had started, like it often did, by her kissing him until breathless, sitting on top of him while he laid underneath her in complete submission and letting her do with him as she pleased. When he sat up with her, forehead pressed to hers, and when he entered her, they had moved together slowly and deeply at first, before she had claimed him with her lips and breathed, “More.”

And he had given her more. Like he would give her anything she asked. He had deepened his thrusts in echo of her moans, blood rushing in his ears. He kept their pace tortuously slow, controlled and not, and let his powers caress her skin until goosebumps ran down her back. When his teeth had scraped down the side of her neck, she had whispered again, “More.”

And he had given her more. His hand had fisted in her hair, placing her head at an angle in front of him, and he’d trailed his tongue up her neck. His thrusts were deep in her, filling her, and moans escaped her on his every thrust, every turn, every time he hit that spot that he knew would make her melt. His hand trailed back down to her centre, stroking her, and he felt nails scrape at his back.

“More,” she moaned.

And he moaned too, a deep grunt escaping him in response to her request. He let himself go, thrust into her quicker and quicker until one moan from her lips replaced the next, until she could not breathe, he could not breathe, until the sounds escaped her lips almost like a cry of pleasure, and he clutched her backside, stroked her exposed breasts and buried his nose in her hair.

“Lorcan,” she gasped, her eyes pressed shut, throat bared to him, hips trusting back against his, and he knew he had her right at that edge, his thumb resting against her centre for her to move against as she pleased. He felt her hand fist in his hair.

“I want you to,” she said, breathless. His eyes flashed to hers, his pace stumbling, and he knew what she meant. “Bite. Please,” she whispered, before her eyes closed as her head rolled back.

And he did. As she came around him, breaking into a thousand pieces, he did. Not thinking, not considering, he slid his teeth down the nape of her neck, piercing the soft skin there, and she moaned and shuddered, and it was like a drug. It was a drug, she was a drug, and he tasted her and let himself have her, once, twice, three thrusts all while she pulsated and heaved in his arms. It was pure, undiluted pleasure. Her taste covered his tongue and his beast roared that she was his, was finally wholly his and only his, and he floated.

Afterwards, when he withdrew his teeth from her skin and saw the puncture marks there, guilt had flooded him in a wave so violently he couldn’t move for a second. As if she knew that, she had lifted his face from her shoulder, palming his cheeks, and simply said, “Now I’m yours.” As if knowing just what those words would be to him, knowing just how much his territorial beast would cherish those words and retrieving him from his muddled guilt with the snap of her fingers.

She found his palm and lifted it towards his lips. “Pierce the skin,” she said.

He frowned at her request. But she only looked expectantly at him and held out his hand, and so he had, piercing the skin on the side of his own palm as he nicked it with his canines.

She had lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, wrapping her lips over the wound to taste his blood in return.

“There,” she said. There was a fleck of his blood on her lip. “And now you’re mine.”

She was no longer speaking to him, he realized, she was speaking to the beast beneath his chest, and she knew it too. He’d rumbled at her, for a moment completely speechless, before he’d felt himself become hard again still inside her.

She knew exactly what her words did to him. Her eyes became unruly with mischief as she felt him.

“More please,” she whispered, a small smile on her face.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he rumbled again.

He kissed her wounds first, kissed the puncture marks on her shoulder that he knew would scar, would stay there and not go away, his mark upon her, just like he would make sure to salt his own that were now hers. He pressed his lips to her shoulder briefly, before lifting her hips from him and flipping her over to the bed on her belly. Her laughter warmed him deep down to his bones.

It had been another hesitation, this, one she had also needed to coax from him. He’d refused making love to her without being able to see her expressions, and despite her quiet challenge, he still did not always dare to let go. But like this, on her belly before him, her face craned up to his - he could see her like this, and have her like this, and he did. He trailed his hand down underneath her, cupping her in his hand as he rolled them to their side and gently entered her again.

“I want to see you,” he reminded her, and she craned her face upwards, stretching out for him like a mountain cat, purring. Her hand moved back to wrap around his neck, fisting into his hair. Her eyes closed as his thumb deftly moved over the bundle of nerves at her centre. His other hand sneaked underneath her, to her chest, up her throat, her lips. And he made love to her again, engulfing her and giving her what she asked.

After, he wrapped both arms around her and rested his eyes on her face. She placed her palm on his cheek, sending him the most beautiful, sleepy smile. The air was thick with the scent of them, with her pleasure and adrenaline and her heartbeats, and her pulse was slow and heavy in his ears. She was utterly beautiful, her body sweaty and cheeks flustered, and she was allowing him to wrap around her and cover her naked body with only him.

She fell asleep on his chest that nigh - another routine. Perhaps his favourite of them all.

His name to come was so ridiculous.

And he loved it. He loved it. Of course he wanted her name. Of course he would take it. He wanted it, wanted all if it, everything. He was all hers.

Of course Aelin would laugh herself silly whenever their eyes met, after she figured that one out.

“Of course, Lord Lochan.” she said, cackling, her voice filled of teary, breathless, laughter.

Lorcan rolled his eyes at her, and smiled, unable not to. “Fuck you.”

They were not the only ones about to marry, it turned out. The plans for Aedion and Lysandra’s wedding were grande and luxurious and all of Terrasen was invited. A date was set in early summer, and invitations sent, just long enough ahead for the two of them to plan and organize the wedding they wanted. The people in the streets whispered about it, cakes were ordered and decorations made for the occasion, one more spectacular than the other, and children stared as shopfronts began refilling with luxurious materials and fabrics and sweets for the occasion.

Lorcan and Elide both knew they wanted nothing like that. They wanted something much smaller for their own wedding.

So they made it happen.

They found a day, just a regular day amongst the rest of them, just a few days ahead, a day where the winds whispered of warmth and peaceful nights and clear sky and sunshine.

They told only the closest people around them. The ones they knew, their nearest group. Their friends. Their ceremony would be small, private. It would be outside in the courtyard, on the patio just before sunset, with only their closest friends present.

(Even if it turned out that Aelin had indeed told the rest of Orynth and the world, had tracked down and invited Elide’s old nursemaid Finnula, and Rowan too had even tracked down a few of the people in Lorcan’s former life and allies in Doranelle that he strangely did not mind seeing there. After the ceremony they had filled the great hall to the brim with people and music and well wishes.)

Most importantly, their wedding would be theirs. They would make it their own. There would be no stiff dinners or jacquard waistcoats (Lorcan wore burial black, but ditched the jacket after a while). There would be no prolonged speeches, strict dress codes or golden appetizers.

But there would be dancing. Elide would dance at their wedding, with him, he’d make sure.

Lorcan waited until the night before their wedding day.

He didn’t know why. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps it was a lie, and he knew exactly why, only could not admit it to himself. But it had never been a conscious decision in him to wait. Still, the weeks passed, the days passed, routine developed, and he hadn’t done it. Not until the very last night.

The day before their wedding they ate dinner with their friends. It was a joyful dinner, the laughter flowing easily around them. Fenrys had relented, had said he might deign to visit them in Perranth after they left, maybe. His mission, he warned, was to search for Vaughan and was to find and return their last warrior to join their new world. But he might visit them, if he got time, he’d said, if it suited his plans, if he was in the neighbourhood, and only for a day or two. No promises.

Lorcan knew the only one Fenrys was succeeding in fooling was himself.

When Lorcan and Elide returned to their rooms that night, a comfortable silence had settled between them. Lorcan knew Elide was nervous about the changes to come over the next few days, as if it was finally catching up to her that they were getting married, that they would leave this room, this castle, this place and this routine and safety they had somehow found in the middle of chaos, and they would travel to something still unknown. For himself he felt more impatience for it than anything else.

He was ready. He just wanted her. Lorcan could not wait. Could not wait to marry her, finally, and for her to show him her home. Create their own. And he knew, beside the nerves, she was also deeply happy about it all.

But there was one thing left. One more thing he had to do, before that. One he should have done a long time ago.

“I have to tell you something,” he said into the quiet space between them.

He was laying on his back in their bed, arm under his head and staring up into the fabric over their four poster bed. Elide was quietly walking around their room, deep in thought, her hands trailing over the material of the silken bed sheets and window sill. She looked up at him when he spoke, and their eyes met.

“Oh?”

“Something I have not told you,” he admitted. He felt his pulse hammer in his ears, his blood rush in his veins.

She cocked her head, watching him.

“What is it?”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not like this.

“Come to bed,” he said, voice cracking.

Elide frowned at the tone in his voice, and turned to walk across the room towards him. When she reached the bed, she blew out the candle on the night stand, and crawled under the sheets to lay next to him. The light of the moon shone in through the open window, bathing the room in blue light. Lorcan turned on his side to face her, and she curled up next to him, waiting.

When he still didn’t speak, she lifted her hand to trail her fingertips down his cheek.

“What is it?” she asked again. She sent him a small smile, curious, her scent calm and contented. Whatever she thought it was, there was no uncertainty or worry in her.

Lorcan drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself and to calm his wild heartbeats. And for a long moment he debated how to start, how to say it, what had been gnawing on him for so long. And he found it, in the end, even if perhaps it was also a detour.

“I never told you about the visions Maeve gave me on the battlefield,” he said quietly.

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that. Elide’s brows furrowed, her eyes roaming over his face. “What?”

He tried to explain. “During the battle. Just before we killed her. She gave me two visions.”

He’d never told her before. Not in specifics.

“Visions?” she repeated.

“Yes. Nightmares,” he clarified. “She was an expert manipulator. She excelled at creating false reality inside people’s minds. It’s a form of mind control, of torture. It was one of the reasons she was so dangerous.”

Elide’s eyes had turned wide as he spoke, her face surprised. “She made you… see things? On the battlefield?”

He nodded. He took another deep breath, lifting his hand to stroke a stray strand of hair out of her face as he spoke.

“The second vision she showed me was of you dying.” He trailed his fingertips down her face, her cheek, her neck. “You were old, and it was your death bed. I was still immortal.”

Elide’s eyes were glued to him as she spoke. “What happened?”

He trailed his thumb over her lip. “Just that. Just you slowly dying. It was an image made to torture me.”

Something darkened in her eyes. “It was not the first time she did that to you, was it?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Her gaze hardened. “She deserved to die.”

“She did,” he agreed.

He didn’t want to speak of Maeve, didn’t want Elide to think about her at all. So he returned her attention back to him, to them. “It was something that had occupied my mind for a long time,” he admitted. “That vision. Mortality.”

How many nights had he not spent awake with her in his arms, contemplating death?

Elide’s expression softened.

“I that why you want to bind your life to mine?” she asked.

He stroked his palm down her hair. “I don’t want to live a day without you,” he said quietly.

“And you wont change your mind?” she asked in a small voice.

She’d occasionally asked him that, whenever she felt unsure of herself. He would do it after they had wed, but that was only because it seemed fitting. He’d do it right now if she’d asked. He was ready to. Was long overdue. He knew she felt guilty sometimes, for accepting it. But it was not his sacrifice at all, it was quite the opposite, as he had told her every time she had asked. He always gave the same answer.

“I will not,” he said, a smile in his eyes at her quiet joy over what he was giving her. She saw his smile, and returned it, light twinkling in her eyes too.

They were quiet for a long time, and he stroked his hand down her hair.

“You said it was the second vision,” she finally said, picking up his bait. As he knew she would. “What was the first?”

Lorcan’s heartbeats increased. He took another steadying breath.

“In the first vision,” he started slowly, running his thumb over her lip. “We were in Perranth together. And you were leaving me.”

Pain flashed in her eyes as she took in whatever expression was on his face.

“And,” he continued, his throat dry now, forcing ahead. Not allowing himself to stop, for her ask questions, to let himself get sidetracked or backtrack. “I told you something. Something you don’t know. And you rejected me anyway.”

Her eyes searched his, quickly moving back and forth.

“What was it?” she whispered.

His throat clogged up. He opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t. Tried again, couldn’t. There was a long pause. She waited. But in the end, he couldn’t get himself to say it.

Her eyes softened as she held his gaze.

“Are you afraid I will reject you now if you tell me?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he finally said. “Not really.”

Even if he had chosen this very moment, this last possible moment, to tell her. It was the last chance before their wedding, the last chance before he would truly join her world, her home, their future. The last chance for the shoe to drop.

Her last chance to leave him.

“What did you tell me in the vision, Lorcan?” she asked softly. Her voice was steady, her scent calm. Patiently waiting for him.

He could not meet her gaze, not until the words had left him. Then he could not look away.

“I told you that I think you are my mate,” he said, voice cracking at the end.

It had been a lie, he realized, that he was not afraid. Because for a moment, he could not breathe, could not think, could only wait for her response.

“Mate?” she breathed.

He nodded, once. His eyes were glued to her. He couldn’t read her face. Couldn’t breathe.

“Like Aelin and Rowan?”

He nodded again.

“Do you think I am your mate?” she clarified, hesitant.

Her face was impassive, unreadable. Calmly, evenly, making him unwrap the facts of what he was trying to tell her.

Again, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know it.”

Even if she did not feel it, he knew.

His voice was barely audible. There was a long pause, and she looked at him, and he drowned in her dark eyes, teetering on the edge, his stomach a gaping hole. He felt the blackness seep in at the end of his vision. He had no air. There was no air left. Only her next words. And he waited for them, completely breathless.

“Is that what that is?” she whispered.

Is that what that is.

Lorcan closed his eyes. Overwhelming relief flooded through him, the air stinging as it tore back through his throat and into his lungs.

There was a palm on his face. He opened his eyes to look at her.

“You can feel it?” he asked.

Her eyes were bright like the stars on the night sky. Roaming his face, a quiet blaze to her gaze, thumb brushing over his cheeks and face as if trying to memorize it.

“It’s like a… a tug,” she said, “In my gut.”

He closed his eyes again, and felt a tear escape, another, ones he did not know had been there.

He heard her shuffle closer to him underneath the sheets. Her arms reached for him, encircling his neck, and his own found her waist. He burrowed his face in her hair and breathed her in. And she was air, and she was fire, and she was life.

“Come now,” she soothed, and wiped her thumb over his cheeks. “Did you think I did not feel that? Silly man.”

He clutched her to him, rolled her with him over on his back until she laughed, her arms encircling his face as she leaned over him, her hair cascading down around him.

And Lorcan was happy.

Their wedding day was bright and filled with sunlight.

Lorcan felt tears escape him when she walked towards him down the isle, coloured by the evening sun. And he was not alone in that, in the tears silently trailing down his face. Their friends were standing behind them, around them, all of them watching her, waiting, and the very air around them was salty.

Elide did not cry. Her eyes were blazing, locked on his, and her heart was his. Her heartbeat was ready, her scent was happy, and her heart was full. She was his. She was his and he was hers and she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

It was the best day of his life – yet.

Chapter Text

Part 1

Glimpses of Spring

Lorcan danced with Elide at their wedding and it was the best thing.

He tied his life to hers in the evening glow of the setting sun, and he was hers. As she was his. And he was, for the first time in his long, long life, alive.

“I will be with you always,” he promised her softly. “Always, until nightfall.”

And at nightfall, at death, when death would come for them in the end of this lifetime, he would go there with her. It was his always to her, his promise and his reward. It was life. He’d follow, in life and in death, he’d follow her.

The scent of salt lingered in the evening air long after the ceremony. Aelin, who had in fact wept openly all day, did not even try to control the tears streaming down her cheeks while she beamed at them. Rowan kept looking up, looking away, kept taking short breaks outside alone. Fenrys openly claimed he’d always had seasonal allergies and for everyone to stop looking at him.

Elide watched them all, her eyes blazing, and she was more beautiful than ever. Lorcan could not take his eyes off her.

They arrived in Perranth less than a week after their wedding. They would only stay for a few weeks to get the rebuilding started before they would travel back to Orynth for Lysandra and Aedion’s wedding, and it took them some time to settle into their new home. Together they dusted off the cobwebs and the old memories from the castle where Elide’s parents had once lived, and moved in.

The first few days in Perranth were hesitant, new, almost surreal. They reached their new home, her home and now his too, and found a city still scrambling to recover from weeks of terror. They found the people there still reeling, wild eyed, some still searching for homes and lost family members.

The people of Perranth watched their new lord and lady arrive, many eyeing them with distrust, and the whole city waited as if holding their breath to see what ramifications would come from these two, new strangers now at the seat of power.

Hesitant. Scared. Hiding. Bowing to them, when they rode past.

Their first day in Perranth, Elide showed Lorcan around the estate she had grown up in. The big hallways, dark basements and empty living rooms and the big, dusty libraries.

They went to the tower, too. The thick bars on the window she’d once tried to escape from, the gap under the door. She showed him, her face expressionless. He held her extra tightly that night.

They’d chosen their private chambers on the other side of the house, in what had previously been used as a library. The bedroom was comfortable, open and spacious, with wide doors opening to a balcony and a small, private garden beneath, and it was lovely. The large bed in the middle of the room was soft and even long enough for Lorcan. They kept the doors open at night to welcome in the moonlight and a mild breeze and the unfamiliar, pleasant scents of a new city. Elide slept on top of him in the wide bed like they had already become so used to, and he wanted nothing else.

She slept restlessly those first weeks, often waking in the middle of the night. He always held her. After the first few weeks, as they started to settle, her nightmares became less frequent. And every time they did visit, he held her and murmured words in her ear until they faded again from memory.

Elide planted a rose bush in their private garden by her mothers’ favourite bench. She spent evenings tending to it, wandering in the gardens outside their bedroom. Gradually peace returned to her sleep.

When summer arrived, and when the first rose buds appeared, they were home.

Their first visitor was Manon.

She flew in on Abraxos, and it made the citizens of Perranth scream with terror at the shadow in the sky that swooped down towards them. People ran wildly down the streets, terrified of the monster in the air above them and of the loud boom from massive wings.

Lorcan, already out in the city on horseback, thundered after Manon’s shadow through the streets. He threw himself off the horse and stormed up to her to where she had landed in the town square, Abraxos’ belly dipping pleasantly into the pool of the fountain. Manon was just climbing down as Lorcan thundered towards her, stopping only inches from her face and looming above her, absolutely infuriated that she had flown straight into the city and for terrifying the citizens. He yelled at her at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing loudly throughout the deserted streets. Manon flexed her claws and bared her teeth in return, and Lorcan was just seconds away from being pierced on Abraxos spiked tail and ten, long nails.

It certainly got the gossip going that day.

Somehow, Manon stayed away from his jugular and Lorcan did not suck the life from her body. Somehow they both walked away from the encounter.

They even let it slide after, both of them, without a word. No doubt because Elide expected nothing less from either of them.

“You’d think they’d never seen a wyvern before,” Manon hissed that night at dinner, irritated with the people and their reaction to her arrival “It’s pathetic. We have just been to war.”

Had just saved them all, was implied. Sacrificed all for them.

Elide smiled at her from across the table, her expression simultaneously stern and patient. “They have been under poor rule and occupation for a long time, Manon. This city has been filled with monsters. They are scared. They are not to blame for it. You know this.”

Manon shrugged, and huffed, but dropped it.

After that day, the city dwellers reached a new level of reverent respect for their strange, dark, intimidating new lord. It had so far been rumoured that he controlled death, but the whispers now changed, and spoke instead of the lord who’d defended the people from the wyvern and the witch. It made no difference to them they had never been in any real danger whatsoever.

Lorcan started getting flocks of children tailing him whenever he ventured into the city. They peered at him from around corners, ducked and ran away whenever he turned, and blushed furiously whenever he laid eyes on them.

Occasionally, a strange wind would ruffle their hair, making them all squeal with glee.

As the days passed, the flock of children grew, following him not-very-stealthily around as Lorcan engaged with the rebuilding now taking place all over the city. And when their parents thanked him for his help, or apologized as they retrieved their children or moved them out of the way, or when they humbly asked his advice in passing on all from the structure of a house, or perhaps on reclaiming some wild, lost horse, or the reconstruction of the city square council building, their new lord was always mild and he was always helpful.

And rumour flew.

Aelin and Rowan visited next. Only for a short trip on their way to all outposts and cities in Terrasen. They held a grand welcome in the courtyard for their queen and ate dinner in private, and they showed them everywhere.

Lorcan listened to the others talk and chimed in occasionally. There was a strange hum in his chest the whole evening, and he enjoyed it, enjoyed it very much, all of it. They made a lot of progress those few days.

When their guest had left, it was just the two of them for a while. Slowly, gradually, the days settled into some sort of routine.

A new one. The best of them all. Lorcan loved it.

They ate breakfast together on the balcony.

When he didn’t manage to convince her back to bed, that was.

He gradually, a bit clumsily perhaps, navigated the people of the castle, the city, the councils, and as time passed, he settled more and more into this new, strange life. He found one task usually led to another, and he found new tasks, started new jobs, worked, took several detours, and without realizing, found a strange, new purpose as people started looking to him for advice.

He realized he was welcome. Was even appreciated for his knowledge and skill. Even for the occasional, if yet rare, smile.

Sometimes, always without turning, he let a gush of wind roam the street behind him and felt his lip twitch at the young squeals of laughter erupting all around him.

Summer

That summer, once every week when the weather was fine, Elide walked with Lorcan to the markets. They walked slowly side by side along the water to the town square, sometimes holding hands. They watched the boats and bought fresh berries to eat on their way back.

Elide had already established herself as a lady before they had even reached Perranth. At first on these walks people had stared at them, bowed deeply to Elide whenever she walked past, and ladies had showered her with bread and flowers and baskets of freshly caught fish.

After a while, people stopped bowing so deeply, and stopped whispering too, and instead they waved and smiled whenever they saw them, sometimes even engaging them in conversation.

A long trail of children followed Lorcan everywhere he went, eyeing his sword and carrying their own wooden sticks.

Autumn

There was a fireplace in their bedroom. They started using it when the evenings grew colder and the nights damp. Rain came, and they swapped the balcony and the garden for the wide, comfortable, cushioned seat in front of the fire place. They could both fit comfortably in it, and Elide usually sat in the nook of Lorcan’s arm, reading. He taught her. Sometimes reading together, sometimes sharing space in silence.

Sometimes they swapped the chair and the book for the big fur in front of the fireplace. Sometimes the room was warm enough and the rug soft enough to stay there for hours into the night.

He kept her warm.

And they were home.

Part 2

Later that autumn

POV: The Chief of the guards, Perranth.

The patience of the Chief of the guards was wearing paper thin.

The arrogance, swaggering in with with that too white smile, implying the safety of Perranth castle was something to be improved.

As if the Chief didn’t already have it covered. Lord Lochan had indeed made sure the Chief of the guards did not take lightly to his job.

The Chief of the guards deeply respected his newfound Lord, had come to understand him, his wishes and his motivations, and had watched him settle into this new role while slowly adapting and adjusting to the town. And while strict, his expectations sky high, their new Lord was not wrong, and never unfair. The Lord’s strictness, his high expectations and order, had only made him rise in the eyes of the Chief, especially when knowing the true motivation behind it.

The Chief had not been alone in starting out sceptical of the union between that poor girl and this – male – but he, like the rest of the city, quickly had to swallow their tongues. They had both turned out to be fair, clever and generous people, and had earned the respect and more both from staff and city-dwellers. And while his Lord might have a brutal reputation, and was certainly not someone to be trifled with, his motivations were clear as day. Lord Lochan was widely known for his devotion to his Lady.

This infuriating specimen however, was now casually standing in the grand entrance hall and looking around as if he would be able to unhinge it all with the flick of his finger. As if poking at the Chief’s perfectly secure foothold, insinuating it was in not, in fact, perfect.

The Chief was Chief for a reason. He would certainly not still be Chief of the guards had Lord Lochan deemed him unqualified, and his Lord was thorough in his demands for excellence.

The Chief was still here. This boy should know better.

The Chief did not let his guard down for one second. Knew their visitor was deadly. He wondered if he truly was who he claimed to be – his reputation did indeed precede him. And while appearing at ease, there was something about those long, deep scars that ran across his face that told the Chief he did right to bite back his retort, did right to hold back and wait, and to endure this infuriating, flamboyant attitude. He tightened his grip around his sword, ready to draw it at the first hint of aggression.

“Your one mistake,” Lord Moonbeam – or so he claimed – said, pointing a finger at him, “is that you should have called twice the amount of guards for backup the moment you saw me.”

And he tsk’ed, smacking his tongue in disapproval like one might to a naughty child.

The Chief of the guards had never been tsk’ed at in his fifty years in this world, and wanted nothing more than to punch this stranger right on that perfectly straight nose.

“The rest is fine,” Lord Moonbeam had shrugged, flashing his teeth in an unnerving smile that made chills run down the Chief’s back. “Apart from the fact I could have broken through, if I wanted to. Which makes it a major flaw. You hear me?”

“Fenrys,” a deep voice said behind him then. The sound of that voice made the Chief ease up on his tense grip on his sword, and he took a long, steadying breath in relief as Lord Lochan stepped up beside him, calm and in control. “Don’t torment Alfred,” Lord Lochan told the guest.

The stranger looked Lord Lochan up and down, pursing his lips. And the Chief of the guards knew that look alone spoke volumes of the relationship between the two, as anyone not on friendly terms with Lord Lochan would simply not have dared an attitude like that. The stranger must be who he claimed – a friend.

“How’s married life?” Lord Moonbeam finally asked, casually and widely inappropriately skipping all formal greetings. The Chief of the guards ground his teeth together, but kept silent.

A flicker of a smile flashed on Lochan’s otherwise harsh face. “New.”

Fenrys Moonbeam flashed another grin.

“She will reprimand you for not writing,” Lord Lochan added calmly, one brow raised.

It almost made the Chief smile, but he managed not to move a muscle. True enough, Lady Lochan herself had indeed turned out to be a force to be reckoned with. The Chief of the guards had soon enough been deeply impressed with her quick thinking, and was secretly grateful for her fearless nature and her ability to keep even the most intimidating figure in check.

Well, he thought. One might take a look at her husband, and understand.

The face of their visitor softened at the mention of the Lady. It soothed the dangerous streak, the jagged scars somehow dimming on his face.

“Where is she?” Lord Moonbeam asked, his tone less infuriating.

“The courtyard,” Lord Lochan replied.

“Been out riding again?”

“Mm.”

There was a pause.

“You should add more guards,” Lord Moonbeam said.

“So I heard you say.” Lord Lochan’s eyes flashed to the Chief. “We’ll discuss it.”

His Lord nodded for his guest to follow, and turned to walk back down the hallway into the castle alongside their guest

The Chief heard shuffling in the line of guards behind him.

“There’s two of them,” someone whispered.

“Quiet,” another one snapped.

Lord Moonbeam must have heard, because he turned back and grinned at them over his shoulder.

POV: Fenrys

Fenrys first visited Perranth when the snow stuck to the ground and autumn was officially over. It was the worst time of year, winter, the part of year he most craved to be alone and most needed not to. He’d postponed it all summer, told himself he wasn’t coming here, he did not need it, he was fine, there was no point to it, he had no excuse. Yet here he was.

He came unannounced, as he preferred, and thoroughly enjoyed scaring the shit out of half of Lorcan’s guards. Elide hugged him one moment and slapped his shoulder the next for not telling them ahead of his arrival, and he felt infinitely lighter finding his presence was truly welcome. Even Lorcan looked less annoyed than usual, lips twitching and eyes bright. Once, Fenrys could have even sworn he heard him chuckle.

“I know you want to stay with Aelin,” Elide whispered in Fenrys’ ear when he’d found himself hugging her for the second time, her feet lifting from the ground this time. “But you can have a home here too.”

He brushed her off, put her back on her feet and grinned down at her earnest face.

“Already bored with married life, my lady?” He slid his eyes to Lorcan. “That was fast.”

Elide didn’t respond to his poor deflection, only cocked her head, pursed her lips, and saw right through him.

He told them plainly, several times, that he only intended to stay for a few days, but they both ignored it.

After a while he stopped saying it.

Fenrys stayed until summer.

The next summer, one year later

POV: Fenrys

That summer something shifted in the air. Fenrys didn’t know what it was at first, didn’t at first connect what had changed in her scent, didn’t put the pieces together.

When Elide told him he was to become an uncle, he pinched the bridge of his nose and blamed seasonal allergies again. He wanted to run away and to never leave at the same time, but she just hugged him gently and told him to please stay forever.

He hugged her back and said he would.

POV: Lorcan

Lorcan could not believe it at first. Could not fathom it was real. That this was real. That this was his, his life.

Elide wrote their friends and told them by letter of the news, and was rewarded with gleeful, excited replies and long, long rambles from Aelin in particular.

Lorcan was mostly scared senseless. He did not let her out of his sight.

Yrene visited shortly after they discovered, alongside Chaol and their new baby. Lorcan stared down at this tiny piece of fragile, human child sleeping in Chaol’s arms and for a moment it felt as if his mind was about to spin out of his body.

He did not even react at first, when Yrene approached him after having hugged Elide in greeting upon their arrival. But Yrene silently pulled Lorcan down by the shirt into a long, warm hug that made him feel hot headed and red faced and like his head was filled with cotton.

“Congratulations,” she whispered, and kissed his cheek.

POV: Elide

Elide almost didn’t know who was worst. Fenrys, who kept bringing her fruit and berries at all odd hours of the day, or Lorcan, who kept lifting her whenever her path hit an obstacle, as if she was incapable of moving past it herself. Like a step, for instance. Or over the threshold of a doorway. Once he’d lifted her over a rug.

Who was she kidding, of course Lorcan was worst.

After they discovered her pregnancy – which was not a complete surprise, but still had made Lorcan fall into a stupor like she had never seen him before – he had barely left her side.

He was the one to realize first. He’d frozen on his way out of the bath one night, so thoroughly she had been scared for a moment of what was happening to him, his eyes wild and nostrils flared. He’d sunken to his knees in front of her and placed a trembling hand reverently on her belly, and she realized he had scented it on her.

Scented something new.

She had been so happy she could sing. Lorcan had been in a daze for days, and had been unable to stop touching her. In fact she wondered if he’d let her out of his touch ever since. He constantly had his hands on her, ghosting over her back, touching her hair, trailing down the back of her hand. But she liked that he did, craved it even. I made her feel wanted. The hovering she didn’t mind, it was almost endearing, only made her feel safe and comforted.

The lifting was sweet, but she must also admit it could be exasperating. And the snarling, the snarling was the worst, because however rare it was, when it sometimes slipped out of him without his intention, when he occasionally bared his teeth at whoever came too sudden upon her, it startled her out of her very bones every time.

She knew he could not help it. Elide was patient. She was. But when Lorcan clocked Fenrys in the head for reaching towards her growing belly, and his sharp snarl made her heart jump right out of her chest, she snapped.

“That’s it,” she barked at them both. “You have to take shifts, I can’t deal with both of you. Fenrys, you have day shifts, Lorcan evenings. And no more snarling either of you, or you’ll give me a heart attack.”

Fenrys had looked at her, eyes wide, before he burst into laughter, something which truly infuriated her even more. Lorcan’s face had softened though, and he had stroked her hair behind her ear and suppressed his smile.

“No more snarling,” he agreed softly.

Avoiding the rest, she noted. But she felt her own smile return, despite herself, unable not to when he looked at her like that.

She’d never felt more loved.

Autumn again

POV: Lorcan

Fenrys left them that autumn. He jokingly claimed he had outstayed his welcome, which of course was not true, and Elide had given him a frown of disapproval at the words. But, like he also stated, it was time. They all knew the reason – Vaughan.

The last one of their Cadre, as Aelin had named them once. Perhaps still stuck in a hole somewhere. So Fenrys left them, donning his wolf form to go find him.

Lorcan had long suspected that Vaughan had stayed in his Osprey form, perhaps even for years now, and that he was likely perusing the coastline from fresh fish this very moment. He knew staying in animal form for prolonged periods of time would obscure both perspective of time and motivations – it was well known amongst the fae and something widely advised against.

Perhaps Vaughan simply had not returned because he no longer cared beyond his next prey.

Perhaps he no longer had a wish for news, perhaps he even dreaded them. Lorcan wondered if he even knew Maeve was dead. Wondered if Vaughan would even recognize Fenrys, whenever he would lay his sharp eyes on him.

Lorcan would of course not go anywhere. Refused some days to even go into town. Elide’s belly was becoming big now.

She had been nauseous for months, and it had been taking its toll on her. She had also turned to sleeping everywhere, and he sometimes found her deeply asleep in mildly surprising places. In the hammock in their private garden, on the fur by the fireplace, in their comfortable chair, and one time even at the dinner table. It gave him the excuse to lift her up in his arms and take her to bed, and he always cherished the opportunity.

“Stop that,” she moaned at him one night when he lifted her to carry her up the stairs to their rooms for the night. He’d found her in the chair in the downstairs library, a book across her lap, deeply asleep. “I can walk.”

But he’d long noticed in her face the strain of the extra weight on her foot, even with the brace of his powers constantly wrapping around her leg, and he lifted her anyway. She sighed, resigning, sleepy and not really angry.

“Come, wife,” he rumbled in her ear, his eyes sliding down to hers, his lips tugging.

Words he’d said to her before, a long time ago. When she was not yet his, words he liked repeating every now and then now that she was. She smiled despite herself, circling her fingers around his neck, remembering too.

He carried her to bed and joined her in it. Their window was left wide open like it was every day now, even on the coldest nights. He knew she felt uncomfortable, she slept poorly now, and was constantly overheated. You’re too warm, she’d accused him once. But she didn’t stay away from him, only opened the window wide every night and came to him anyway, huffing, and he loved her.

She could no longer sleep on top of him, not now that her belly was becoming big, but he wrapped himself around her and coaxed her into sleep by stroking her back and kissing her neck. And she let him take care of her.

Winter

POV: Lorcan

When Fenrys returned that winter, Vaughan followed.

Vaughan was skittish and silent, but polite. Light glinted in his sharp eyes where he kept to the shadows of the entrance hall a few feet behind Fenrys, who greeted Elide with a wide grin and open arms.

Vaughan only nodded at Lorcan, and Lorcan nodded back, knowing well there had been a long standing demand from their old blood oath for his life, which Vaughan had successfully evaded.

He’d been difficult to track, nearly impossibly so according to Fenrys’ letter a few days ago, but he’d found him and he would bring him. Now, Vaughan carefully kept his distance and watched from the shadows as Fenrys lifted Elide into a bone crunching hug.

Lorcan itched to pluck her back from Fenrys’ grasp, itched to bark a warning at this hazardous treatment of the mother of his soon to be born child.

“You’re enormous,” Fenrys said, grinning down at Elide. He stepped back from her to look down at her very pregnant belly. And Lorcan thought he would not need to intervene after all, because Elide smacked Fenrys’ arm and stepped back.

“Careful, if you want to live,” she said, a smile threatening on her face. She leaned around Fenrys’ shoulders to look at Vaughn. “Welcome.”

Vaughan inclined his head, polite and proper, like you were supposed to greet a lady. Lorcan was thankful he at least knew to keep proper distance.

Fenys on the other hand, lifted her back up into another embrace.

“Hey now,” Lorcan couldn’t help himself, hovering behind her. But Elide only laughed.

“I missed you too,” she said to Fenrys, palming his cheeks when he pulled back. He carefully put her back down on her feet. “Now come. You must be starving, both of you.”

She leaned around Fenrys’ shoulders again to look at Vaughan. “Your room is at the top of those stairs, if you want to unpack,” she said matter of factly. And without another word she turned to walk into the hallway towards the kitchens, Fenrys following right behind her.

Vaughan looked startled. His eyes slid to Lorcan. “My room? I’m not staying.”

Lorcan felt his lips twitch. She had steered Vaughan to the highest room on the property, away from the rest, one overlooking the castle grounds and with a good view of the distant mountains. It would be the perfect place to arrive unnoticed from keen eyes through wide, spacious windows – for those so inclined – and Lorcan marvelled at how well she saw through even the people she had not yet properly met.

They eyed each other for a moment, before Lorcan too turned towards the kitchen.

“Dinner’s at seven,” was all he said, not turning back.

Like Fenrys, Vaughan too threatened to leave the first six months of his stay.

After that, it was simply too stupid to keep claiming it, so he stopped saying it. He left for the occasional month long flight, but always returned.

They each settled in their own part of the castle, and Lorcan wasn’t lonely.

They drove the Chief of the Guards mad every once a year, kept more guards than the queen, and Elide was probably the best protected Lady in Erilea.

Spring

POV: Lorcan

Fenrys became an uncle early spring.

Childbirth was the most horrific thing Lorcan had ever encountered. The birth had been brutal, especially so because his girl – because it was a girl – was particularly big and sturdy.

“Like you,” Fenrys, grinned up at him from the bundle now gingerly placed in his arms. “I’m going to teach her everything I know.”

“Give her back,” Lorcan demanded, hovering like a hawk. ”Careful”.

He had hovered around Elide too, for weeks while she recovered, scared out of hit wits. But she was recovering, healing, and he could finally breathe again. He had refused anyone but himself and Elide to hold their baby at first, and not until Elide looked at him sternly and stroked his cheek did he step back.

One year later, spring again

POV: Lorcan

They had called her Laoise, named after the bringer of light, and when their daughter reached one year Fenrys gifted her with a wooden sword.

“A bit early, don’t you think?” Lorcan mumbled from the corner of his mouth.

They watched as her chubby hand eagerly reached out for the too heavy hilt.

“Just give it a few months,” Fenrys mumbled back, watching.

POV: Elide

The fur in front of the fireplace became her favourite. To be with Lorcan, just the two of them, late at night. To lay down on the floor whenever she was alone, to read, to slumber in front of the fireplace before bed. To warm her feet on waking nights.

Watching his large, male hands cradling that small, perfect body in his palms. She thought he’d always been so gentle with herself, but watching how soft he was now melted her heart completely.

Summer again

POV: Lorcan

Yrene visited with her family as soon as the snow started to melt. The halls of the castle filled with life.

And it was life.

It was his life.

His ever-changing, surprising, reliable, limited, infinite, wonderful life.

Part 3

8 years later

POV: Lorcan

Lorcan sat in the shade of the big oak tree, looking out over the grassy fields just outside the castle walls. He watched, amused, as the dog growled and huffed at Elide, who tore at the other end of a long stick to get it free of its mouth. She managed, laughing, and the dog barked loudly in protest. The other two dogs, just as tall and shaggy, joined in, the three of them dancing around her in excitement. He watched as she started to run down the field, as fast as she could, her legs sprinting strong and fast down the slope of the hill. The dogs followed, barking, and she threw the stick as far as she could ahead for them to catch.

Another two pair of feet rushed past her, and Lorcan followed the two girls with his eyes as they sprinted after the dogs, laughing and shouting. They reached the dogs, the youngest of them cackling loudly as she watched the eldest try to pry the stick away from the dogs’ mouth.

Elide turned towards him, still far away down the field, but he could see her smile and feel her out of breath laugh in his ear. She shielded her eyes from the sun to get a better look at him, her eyes crinkling as she beamed back at him.

She was happy.

Lorcan smiled to himself. Smiled at this precious life, at the normality and safety and routine and the utter happiness filling his chest. At the short nights and long days and the absurdity of it all. At breakfasts and dinners, and a late night fur and naked skin against his and of worshipping her in front of a fireplace.

His nose in her hair. Her body draped over his at night, or his around hers.

Tiny bodies crawling over him in the morning and sometimes kicking him right out of bed. Chubby hands clutched around the hilt of a wooden sword, hacking at his shin, accompanied by cackling laughter. Wrinkles made permanent from constant smiles. Small shoes lost in the mouth of a stupid dog.

And her. Always her.

“And this is all that life really means” – Until nightfall, Robert Louis Stevenson

The end