Chapter Text
We were mated. Utterly, irrevocably bound and in love. Gods, I am so in love with her.
We had gone so long without each other that now we couldn’t breathe unless we were together.
We’d journeyed across Prythian, tasting the courts like the realm was a feast laid out just for us, a shared inheritance meant to be savored. I had called in so many favors.
We’d spent a week hidden away in the Winter Court, tangled in each other’s arms inside Kallias and Viviane’s royal suite carved from glistening ice. Steam curled upward from a natural spring in the center of the room, fogging the walls and blurring the world beyond. But I didn’t need the world. I only needed her.
In Dawn, I introduced her to Nuan the genius and close friend who once shaped the golden contraption now embedded in my face. We had stayed in one of High Lord Thesan’s cloud-top villas. And had dinner with Naun at least once while there. She had seen everything, and yet she looked at Elain like she was something rare. Sacred. It made something quiet and fierce bloom in my chest. I’ll never forget Nuan leaning in and whispering, “She’s perfect for you.”
In Summer, we sipped chilled wine beneath the Adriata stars. Cressida laughed freely, even Tarquin seemed to relax in our presence. Elain leaned into me as waves lapped at the palace’s edge, her fingers brushing mine under the table. I hadn’t known peace like that in, well…ever.
In Day, we danced until sunrise beneath golden chandeliers and crystal light, her body flush against mine, radiant and warm. The whole court glittered around us, but she was the only thing I saw.
And now… we’d come to Spring.
Home. Or the place I’d once called home.
I wanted it to be ours now. But as the scent of flowers and warm grass filled my lungs, I couldn’t shake the weight pressing into my chest. I wanted too many things at once. Not just to return. I wanted to be forgiven. I wanted to belong again. And I wasn’t sure any of that was still possible.
The Spring Court was even more beautiful than I remembered. Probably because she was here, on my arm. Endless meadows rolled like velvet toward the forest, light pouring down through gold dappled canopies. Wildflowers blanketed the hills, and honeysuckle perfumed the wind. It should’ve soothed me.
Instead, everything felt… suspended. Like the land itself was holding its breath.
Elain’s fingers curled around mine. My hand stayed steady in hers, but I knew she could feel it, the way tension buzzed beneath my skin. I hadn’t said much as we passed beneath the flowering archway at the edge of the estate. The manor loomed ahead, elegant and empty, lovely and haunted.
“This place used to feel like a dream,” I murmured. “Now it feels like a memory I’m not sure was ever mine.”
We hadn’t even reached the door before an older servant, one I remembered from years ago, emerged, eyes wide as if seeing a ghost.
“He’s in the study,” the male said before I could open my mouth.
A dry laugh escaped me. “That’s… unexpected. I didn’t think he spent much time in there anymore.”
Elain’s voice was soft and steady beside me. “A good sign.”
She wrapped her arm around my waist, grounding me as we passed through the sunlit halls. Vines curled along the walls, birdsong echoed faintly from the gardens, and yet… the stillness pressed in around us. As if even the court wasn’t sure it could trust me again.
I stopped just outside the doors to Tamlin’s study.
I needed a moment. I needed her.
So I turned, stepped close, and pulled her against me until our bodies met. I didn’t speak, I just dipped my head into the curve of her neck and breathed her in, kissing the soft skin there once.
Her warmth, her scent… she was what steadied me.
“How did I ever live without you?” I whispered.
“You’re mine and I’m yours,” she said with a sweet smile, arms winding around my neck. “Forever, Lucien. You’re my forever.”
“Forever,” I echoed, cradling her head against my chest, the other arm holding her close. Anchoring myself to the only thing I trusted.
She felt the tension, I know she did.
“What is it?” she asked gently, fingers combing through my hair. “You’re nervous.”
Gods, I loved her.
“He might throw us out before we’ve said a word,” I admitted, my voice rough. “He might not even look at us.”
I drew back, needing to see her eyes. “I always dreamed of bringing you here,” I whispered. “Not like this. But still, you’re here. We’re here. Together. And that means something. Everything, actually.”
I kissed her, slow and reverent , trying to memorize the way she felt in this place. In my place.
Then I took a breath. One that had to be enough and turned toward the doors.
And then I felt it.
Warmth flooded through the bond. Peace and steadiness and love so strong it nearly staggered me. I stopped, stunned. Turned to look at her.
“I felt that,” I murmured. “Thank you.”
She just smiled and squeezed my hand tighter.
I knocked once. Then pushed open the doors.
Tamlin sat at his desk, golden light pouring in behind him. He didn’t look up at first. But when he did, when his eyes found me, his face gave nothing away.
Then he looked at Elain. His jaw clenched.
“Didn’t expect you.”
“I imagine not,” I said, stepping fully inside, Elain beside me. “But we’re not here to cause trouble.”
Tamlin leaned back slowly. “No? Then why is she here?”
Elain stiffened. I tightened my grip on her hand.
“She’s with me,” I said, calm and steady. “We’re mated.”
His eyes flicked down to our joined hands. Then back up to me. I couldn’t read his expression.
“So what,” he said. “You’re here to flaunt it?”
“No. I’m here because I’ve made a decision.”
He didn’t answer. Just sat there, steeped in silence, baiting me with it. I saw it for what it was, a test, a trap. I refused to bite.
“Tam,” I tried again.
“What?” he snapped.
“I’ve resigned from Night.”
That made him blink. “You what?”
“I was only working with them to stay close to Elain,” I said honestly. “That’s over. I’m not theirs. Never was.”
He didn’t like that. I saw something shift in his face, but I wasn’t sure if it was anger… or something else.
“So what do you want from me?”
I stood straighter. “If you’ll have me, I want to return. To serve Spring again. Not out of guilt or to seek redemption. But to help rebuild what was lost. I know what I walked away from. But if there’s still room for me here… I want to try.”
His fingers tapped the desk slowly and deliberately.
“You think it’s that simple?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing ever is. But I’m asking anyway.”
He stared at me a long time, then turned to Elain.
“And you?” he asked, eyes sharp. “You’d live here?”
Elain met his gaze without flinching. “I go where Lucien goes.”
“You trust him that much?”
“I do.”
I looked down at her, at the love who had become my center, and my throat tightened. I squeezed her hand, grateful beyond words.
Tamlin exhaled. “You picked a fine time to return, Emissary.”
“I didn’t come for comfort,” I said. “Just the chance to start again.”
Something in the air eased. Just slightly.
“You look good,” I offered.
Silence.
Then Tamlin stood and crossed to the window, staring out at the fields. He didn’t turn as he spoke.
“I’ll consider your proposal,” he said. “But I’m not making promises. You’ve been gone a long time, and a lot’s changed.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s fair.”
He glanced back eyes resting on Elain before returning to me. “You can stay the night. Guest rooms haven’t turned to dust yet.”
I inclined my head. “Thank you.”
And then I led Elain from the room.
⸻
We walked in silence through the gardens, past hedges grown wild and fountains worn with time. I brought her to one of the old benches near a crumbling marble basin, water still trickling down its moss-covered edges.
I sat down with a sigh. “Well. That went better than I thought.”
Elain turned to me. “You were brave.”
A tired smile curved my lips. “Bravery’s just fear you walk through anyway.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “Do you really want to come back here?”
I thought for a moment. Let the breeze move through the roses.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I think I need to.”
She just took my hand and laced our fingers together.
_____
Breakfast in the Spring Court was quiet.
Too quiet.
Lucien didn’t need to tell me something was wrong, I could feel it in the air. Tense. Brittle. Like the manor itself was holding its breath. Sunlight poured too sharply through the windows, gold slashing across the polished floors in angles that felt more like blades than warmth. Not a single bird sang near the estate that morning, and the silence they left behind rang loudly.
Tamlin buttered his bread with methodical, rigid movements. Each stroke of the knife felt… restrained. Like he was only barely keeping it from becoming something else entirely. A weapon, maybe?
I sat at Lucien’s side, fingers curled around a porcelain teacup, steam whispering against my lips. I had braided my hair that morning with white wildflowers gathered from the hedges outside. I’d hoped it might soften the atmosphere. Soften me. I couldn’t wait to get out into the flower gardens. There was so much to see, so much to do, and work with.
“You should have sent a letter,” Tamlin said at last, his voice cool, detached.
Lucien didn’t look up. “You would have burned it.”
Tamlin’s jaw twitched. “I would have read it.”
“Like you read the ones I sent after I left?” Lucien’s voice was sharper than the edge of a blade. He didn’t raise it but it cut all the same.
The room crackled with stillness. No one moved. I don’t think anyone even breathed.
“I trusted you,” Tamlin said, quiet and brittle. “I defended you. Loved you like a brother. And you left me to rot in a ruined court.”
Lucien set down his fork with unsettling gentleness. “I didn’t leave you,” he said. “I left a war. I left chaos. I left after you refused to let anyone in. Even me.”
“You abandoned me,” Tamlin growled. His claws slid free from his hands, glowing faintly. Dangerous. A warning.
I drew in a slow breath, steadying myself and had to remind myself not to stare at those claws.
Lucien’s body tensed, every inch of him going alert. I could feel the way his magic stirred just beneath the surface, ready to rise, ready to protect.
“I did what I had to. For Elain. For myself. You wouldn’t listen, Tam. You wouldn’t stop.”
“Because she—” Tamlin’s voice cracked. And suddenly his eyes were on me. Fury held my gaze.
He stood halfway from his chair, claws flexing at his sides.
Lucien moved at once, shifting between us. I could feel the power winding tightly inside him. Ready to defend me. To fight for me. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. I was certain of it.
So I didn’t flinch.
Instead, I took a long, quiet breath, and said gently, clearly: “Your rose gardens are radiant.”
Tamlin blinked, startled.
“I’ve never seen that strain bloom so wildly before,” I continued, folding my hands in my lap. “The golden thorned blush roses. Near the east wall. They’re old. Rare.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucien turn toward me, blinking as if I’d suddenly begun speaking a language no one else could hear.
But Tamlin’s claws slowed.
“They’re called Galathynian Roses,” I said. “My father once traded for a cutting, but it never bloomed in our soil. I’m not certain where he acquired it. I’ve never seen them flourish like they do here. The way they wind up the lattice, climbing so high. it’s… spectacular. Beautifully impressive.”
Tamlin stared at me, unblinking. Listening.
“They don’t bloom like that without the utmost of care,” I said softly. “May I ask who planted them?”
He opened his mouth, then hesitated. His shoulders slumped. He looked suddenly, not like a High Lord, but like a boy remembering something far away.
“My mother,” he said eventually, voice rough. “She used to say the same thing. About how they only bloom in soil with old roots and soft light.”
I smiled faintly. “She must have known beauty when she saw it.
His eyes shimmered. The claws retracted slow and trembling and he sank back into his chair, like something inside him had finally loosened.
Beneath the table, Lucien’s fingers brushed mine. I gave his hand a quiet squeeze.
Tamlin cleared his throat. “She planted those gardens before I was born. Used to talk to the flowers like they were courtiers. Said they listened better than most people. She felt more herself with wildflowers than nobles.”
I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “I think I would’ve liked her. I understand that feeling. Being more at home in a garden than in a court. She sounds lovely.”
Tamlin’s expression twisted. “She was lovely.”
The silence that followed wasn’t sharp this time. It was softer. Not quite whole, but less broken.
Lucien, still clearly stunned, finally spoke. “I’d like to walk the gardens with Elain. If that’s permitted.”
Tamlin didn’t look at him. He only nodded once
As Lucien and I rose from our seats, Tamlin’s voice followed, low and rough, but nearly… wry.
“She’s better than you deserve, Lucien.”
Lucien met my gaze and smiled faintly. “Well aware.”
⸻
The sun spilled over us as we stepped into the garden, golden and soft on our shoulders. The air was thick with morning dew and damp soil, and the first brave flowers had started to lift their heads to the light, as if in reverence.
I nudged my hip gently into hers. “What was that?” I murmured, glancing at her with a grin. “You stared down a High Lord and tamed him with horticulture.”
She laughed, a sound that melted right through me and slid her arm through mine. “I’m very scary.”
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple, still grinning. “I will never doubt it.”
⸻
The air in the Spring Court garden was thick with late afternoon warmth and the scent of wisteria. My love had already positioned herself at a certain corner of the garden pulling weeds. She had been looking forward to getting her hands dirty in the Spring Court soil. Tamlin and I sat on the garden porch.
I’d forgotten how rich it could be here, the way the sun draped itself over the hedges, how bees hummed lazily through blossoms like they were drunk on nectar, and how even the silence felt alive. A fountain burbled somewhere nearby, soft and steady, the only sound between me and the male sitting at the other end of the ivy-covered bench.
I kept my gaze on her. Let the sun hit my face. My arms draped loosely over my knees, fingers twitching with restless energy I didn’t know what to do with.
Tamlin hadn’t said a word since breakfast.
Not since Elain, graceful, calm, impossibly composed, had looked at him across the table and, without knowing it, dug up something ancient in him. A root he hadn’t realized was still there, still aching.
“She’s not what I expected,” he said finally, voice low. “Nothing like…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.
I knew who he meant. Feyre. Maybe even Nesta. The other sisters .
I didn’t look at him. Just exhaled through my nose, slow and even. “She’s… Perfect doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
The words came easier than I thought they would.
“For so long, I taught myself not to want. Not to dream. Not to hope. It was easier that way. Safer. And then she looked at me, really looked, and suddenly, hope didn’t feel like a burden anymore. It felt like breathing again.”
I rubbed my thumb against my knee.
“I’ve never once looked at her without feeling like I’m witnessing something sacred. The way she moves through the world, her hands in the soil, her voice like sunlight, her eyes seeing not just what is, but what could be… it unravels me.”
My throat was tight.
“She’s grace. And I’m just… trying to be worthy of standing close enough to feel it.”
Tamlin didn’t speak for a long time. He just kept staring at the horizon like it had answers. Then, slowly, he smiled. Small. Almost surprised.
“You deserve that, Lucien,” he said quietly. “After everything. If anyone does, it’s you.”
He took a drink from the glass beside him, then added, “She saw something here I haven’t seen in years.”
I nodded. “That’s what she does. Sees things others miss.”
Another silence fell between us, but this one wasn’t heavy. Just waiting.
Then he said it.
“I’m sorry.”
I turned toward him in compllete shock. “What?”
His eyes met mine, steady. Clearer than I’d seen them in years.
“I said I’m sorry, asshole.”
He gave me a crooked grin, that grin, the one from another life, when we would tease the hell out of each other. Before he stepped completely under the weight of his title and long before everything turned to ash.
“For how I treated you. For throwing your things out. For not listening. For letting it all fall apart and trying to drag you down with me.”
My chest tightened. I hadn’t realized how long I’d waited to hear those words. Maybe I hadn’t believed they’d ever come.
“You had every right to walk away,” he went on. “To try with her. I just… wasn’t ready to see that then.”
I let out a slow breath and reminded myself not to be a sarcastic ass. “You were grieving.” I swallowed. “So was I. We just handled it differently.”
He huffed a bitter laugh. “You mean I imploded and you ran away?”
A corner of my mouth lifted. “Something like that.”
We sat in the quiet, the sound of the fountain and the bees soft around us. For a moment, it felt like old times. Before Feyre. Before Hybern. Before the court fractured, and Tamlin with it.
“I should’ve come back sooner,” I said. “I didn’t know how. And honestly… I couldn’t leave her.”
Tamlin nodded, slow and thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have welcomed you.” A beat. “Not until now.”
I smiled faintly. “Glad we can be honest about our mutual stubbornness.”
He actually chuckled. And for once, it wasn’t hollow.
Then he gave me that look, one brow arched, all judgment and smug amusement. “So. You really worked for Rhysand?”
I groaned and stretched out, crossing one ankle over my knee. “He paid well mostly in sarcasm and thinly veiled threats. It was a terrible arrangement.”
Tamlin smirked. “So which one of the bat boys was your favorite?”
I side eyed him while he grinned like an idiot. “Don’t start.”
Tamlin shook his head, leaning back against the bench. “You working in the Night Court is honestly more shocking than her accepting the mating bond.”
We both laughed, really laughed, and it hit me how long it had been since I’d heard that sound from either of us.
Tamlin looked down at his hands. “It’s good to hear that sound again.”
Elain glanced up at the sound of our laughter. Her eyes met mine and just like that, the rest of the world quieted.
I smiled, soft and instinctive.
Then I turned back to Tamlin and answered, “It is.”
⸻
The dining room was bathed in golden light, the kind that made everything feel softer, warmer than it had any right to be. Long shadows danced along the carved walls, catching in the vines etched into the stone. The table was simple, but beautiful fresh vegetables from the garden, roasted game, warm bread that smelled like herbs and home, and a pitcher of chilled elderflower wine that sparkled faintly in the light.
I sat across from Lucien tonight, barefoot beneath the table, the hem of my light pink dress brushing my ankles. I had woven a few small pink blooms into my braid that morning without thinking about it but he noticed. He always did.
Tamlin had said something just a little outrageous, and I laughed, tipping my head back before I could help it. The sound didn’t feel foreign in my mouth anymore.
Lucien watched me like the manor hadn’t heard laughter in years.
“So let me get this straight,” I said, aiming my fork at him. “You fell into a river trying to impress a female?”
Lucien groaned. “It was a strategic leap. The bridge was icy.”
Tamlin smirked. “He tried to jump off the side to look heroic and immediately lost his footing.”
“I was a kid!”
“And you did your best to seem unruffled, but it was embarrassing for all of us,” Tamlin added, far too pleased with himself.
Lucien slowly shook his head. “Why did I come back here?”
The entire table laughed.
Tamlin swirled the last of his wine, still grinning. He glanced quickly at Lucien, and then met my gaze. . “You know, half the court’s females used to trip over themselves trying to catch his attention. I’m shocked they haven’t started leaving flower petals on our doorstep again.”
Lucien rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. I just sipped from my glass, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, I’ve seen it,” I said with a smile. “The lingering looks. The not-so-subtle hair flips.”
Tamlin chuckled. “Doesn’t bother you?”
I tilted my head and shrugged. “They can look all they want. He’s mine.”
That was the truth of it. Not a boast, but something quiet and sure settled deep in my chest like the roots of one of my gardens.
Lucien looked at me then. Not with teasing, not with that usual smirk I would die for.
Something far softer.
His russet eye glowed faintly in the candlelight. And the way he looked at me, dear gods, it was like I had become the rising sun itself. Like there was nothing else in the world.
Utterly in love.
Utterly mine.
Tamlin caught the look and let out a low whistle. “Mother’s mercy. You really are gone for her, aren’t you?”
Lucien didn’t even glance at him. His gaze stayed on me, his voice a breath. “Completely.”
My smile stretched until my eyes sparkled, warmth curling low in my belly.
“You two are going to be insufferable,” Tamlin groaned, downing the last of his wine with theatrical suffering.
Later, after the plates had been cleared and the candles burned low, the three of us moved to the veranda with a second bottle of wine between us. The night was gentle, silvered by moonlight. The garden glowed softly beneath it, and the air hummed with frogsong and the flutter of moth wings. I couldn’t wait to get back out there in the morning.
Tamlin’s voice broke the quiet. “You really want to stay?”
His tone wasn’t cutting, for once. Just… curious. Maybe even hopeful.
Lucien nodded. “If you’ll let me.”
Tamlin looked out over the dark fields beyond the hedges. “Then let’s start again.”
I leaned into Lucien, resting my head on his shoulder. He turned his face slightly, brushing his cheek against my hair.
And in that stillness, with the wine warm in my chest and the scent of wisteria on the breeze, I realized something:
For maybe the first time in years, the Spring Court didn’t feel like a place still clinging to its ghosts. A place of stories that Lucien would share while we laid in each other‘s arms. it was real now and a part of our future.