#Shout out to the UBC for helping me choose the moodboard

[the-lonelybarricade]

My Kingdom Come Undone - (1/3)

Summary: There weren’t many ways Elain was allowed to want. Most things were decided for her, every path laid down before she’d even been born, where she was simply expected to follow. Lucien, with his cunning eyes and smart mouth, was something that no one had chosen for her. And even if she could never have him, that couldn’t stop Elain from wanting him. Desperately.

An Elucien Royal Guard x Princess AU for @elainweekofficial's Day 3: Blood and Water prompt.

CW: Explicit content, eventual non-graphic violence.

Read on AO3

-

“Elain—”

Elain quickly turned her head to deliver a sharp hush between her teeth, pushing a single finger to her lips.

As was typical of any man, the Lord ignored her in favor of hearing his own voice. He whispered, “Do you know where—”

“Shhh!”

The sound was made harsher by her irritation, and it wasn’t lost on her that the shushing was louder than the whisper itself. But Elain had planned this all so carefully, and she wasn’t about to let Graysen ruin it by being a clumsy fool who had always been given what he wanted, so he’d never needed to hone his stealth. She had chosen this path through the garden purposefully, so that the soft moss swallowed each of their footsteps, and the thick canopy obscured them from the guard tower in the stone turrets just above.

She parted the vines of a large weeping willow, where yesterday she had already brought over a blanket folded neatly into a woven basket. Graysen watched, a smile creeping over his face, as she laid it over the dirt and primly climbed atop it.

“Well,” she said, flipping a lock of curls over her shoulder, hoping to expose more of the decolletage from the dress that she had also selected with purpose. “Are you going to join me?”

Elain could track the exact moment where all thoughts vacated his mind, and soon Graysen was kneeling between her legs on the blanket, bracketing her body with his.

“Everyone told me that you’re a proper lady,” he said, clearly having a difficult time moving his eyes away from the swell of her breasts. They trailed up, slowly, to her lips. He smiled like a man in a stupor. “I’m beginning to think they have not known you the way I do.”

“Perhaps you are a bad influence,” she said, breathlessly. His lips were getting closer, reminding Elain that for all her exuded confidence, she had not actually done this before, nor did she have any intention to.

“I would be honored to influence you further.”

Graysen’s hand was clammy and Elain did her best not to recoil when he pressed it against her shoulder, following the slope upwards, past her fluttering pulse, so that he could cradle his fingers beneath her neck. She was beginning to think she had not planned this carefully, afterall.

“Your highness.”

Oh thank the gods, she thought, ignoring Graysen’s frantic scramble off her body as light flooded the dim space. They both turned to its source—to the man who stood at the edge of the willow, an arm held aloft to part its vines. Sunlight shafted past his shoulders, gilding his silhouette like he were forcing them to bear witness to his magnificence. Though, there was nothing magnificent about his face. At least not presently. Where Lucien’s face was usually lovely, now it was set into a harsh, disapproving frown.

His russet and gold eyes flicked between Elain and Graysen. They settled on Graysen, who was shriveling beneath that gaze with none of the bravado he had assumed when he snuck out with Elain in the first place. It was the scar, Elain thought. The way it slashed through Lucien’s brow and the corner of his lip made his frown look all the more menacing.

“Lord Graysen,” Lucien said, voice flat. She noticed his free arm shift, so that his long, elegant fingers rested on the hilt of his golden sword. A tad too threatening for a guard addressing his charge and her company. “Your father is looking for you. Something about a scandal and a hushed pregnancy with a scullery maid. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Cheeks growing redder by the second, Graysen mumbled an apology as he pushed his way out of the privacy of the willow tree. Leaving Elain, ever so briefly, in the company of Lucien Vanserra. His jaw was clenched, accentuating the muscle in his cheek. Elain knew he thought he looked very intimidating when he stared at her like that. And she would pretend it was shame that made her cheeks heat, so that he would never stop doing it.

“You didn’t need to embarrass him.”

Lucien snorted. “He did that without my interference.”

“Well,” she said, feigning obstinance as she laid back on the blanket. “It’s a shame you came all this way to interrupt us, because I intend to lounge beneath the willow whether the lord is in my company or not.”

With a long suffering sigh, Lucien ducked into the willow, letting the vines fall shut behind him. “Sounds like we have a lovely day ahead of us, then.” His voice was snide, like he was doing the opposite of what she wanted when he lowered himself to the ground.

Elain supposed, in a way, he was. She would have preferred if he sat on the blanket.

“I’m not stupid,” he added. Elain held her breath, nervous at what he put together, until he said, “I know the second I leave, you’ll slip right through those gates to sneak back into the village.”

“Hmmm, you caught me.”

Elain kept her voice elusive, knowing her unspoken satisfaction would cause him to stir. Because he hadn’t sniffed out her intentions—not even close. He still thought she had been sneaking out of the castle because she wanted to giggle and toss her hair at the pretty man who worked the counter at the confectioners shop. Lucien had been the one to barge in and drag her home, then, too.

It bothered her, a little, that he was so clueless. When she knew that he was clever and that she wasn’t exactly trying to be subtle. Making grand plans with dull lords for the chance to get a small, private moment alone with him. Sneaking out of the castle because she knew it meant he was the one who would need to chase her down. And yet he was tipping his head back against the great stump of the willow, finding the back of his eyelids far more interesting than the precious time he was made to spend alone in the company of the princess.

Elain knew Lucien hadn’t wanted this job. Not that he’d ever told her as much. He didn’t need to. With the exasperated way he conducted himself whenever she so much as blinked in his direction, it was obvious he resented his position at her side. What she didn’t know was why, when being a member of the royal guard was considered one of the highest positions for a knight.

“The confectioner, at least, has a skillset,” he noted, eyes still closed. Elain was grateful, because it allowed her to freely study his face. Even in the shade of the willow, Lucien seemed to glow from within—a copper fire that lived beneath his warm brown skin, so that he looked perpetually flushed with life. She thought if she could get close enough, she would be able to feel the heat of it, but Lucien always kept a careful distance between them. “And he could keep his sightline above your chest.”

She admittedly hadn’t liked that about Graysen, either.

“Perhaps I should visit him tomorrow.”

Nothing, not a flicker of movement on Lucien’s face to indicate that he cared.

Elain added, “I’m certain he has no affairs with a scullery maid.”

“That you know of.”

“He makes lovely apple tarts,” she tried, desperate for him to at least open his eyes and look at the low sweep of her neckline that she had selected specifically for him. He had once offhandedly mentioned that he found the lace trim appealing. Elain had even tugged it, slightly, so that if he did open his eyes, he would see the way the bodice pushed the tops of her breasts up, giving the illusion of cleavage.

“That he does,” Lucien hummed.

“Maybe we can share one.”

He opened his eyes, then. One after the other—dark russet, then gold. But they didn’t waver from her face, not even for a moment. The Queen’s guards were well trained. Though Elain had been often told she was beautiful, she wondered if Lucien even noticed.

Both scarlet brows raised to his hairline. “I’m included in this excursion, am I?”

“You’ll find a way to include yourself, regardless.” She sighed heavily. “You are incapable of turning a blind eye for even a second.”

“That’s my job,” he said dryly.

“To see that I’ll never be kissed?” She cried, like she wasn’t grateful every time Lucien interrupted.

He shook his head, causing his long red hair to fall over his shoulders. Today, half of it had been braided and tied into a knot at the back of his head, so that not an inch of his beautiful features were obscured. “It would be my head on the chopping block, if I let Graysen do to you what he did to that maid. Your mother has made it very clear who you’re forbidden from consorting with.”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks,” Elain grumbled.

“I do,” Lucien said. He pressed a hand to his throat. It was meant to be a dramatic gesture, but all Elain could think about was how much she wished to feel it wrapped around her throat instead. “I prefer my head attached to my body.”

“Well.” Elain crossed her arms, pushing her breasts up even further and still—still—Lucien’s expression remained neutral, his eyes trained on her face. “You’re not doing yourself any favors for the day I become Queen.”

“The Mother help us all.”

Elain scoffed. “I’m putting you first on the executioner’s block. For crimes against my patience.”

“Just as well,” he said, a smile playing at the corners of his full lips “That I will never be in a position to try you for similar crimes.”

She knew that she was an utter fool, to be insulted by a man and still feel butterflies in her stomach because he said it with a smile. It ought to have been offensive, and yet she wanted to giggle. She opted for grabbing a clump of dirt and chucking it at his shoes, instead.

“Treason,” she accused.

“Honesty,” he corrected, brushing the dirt off his polished boots.

It was like nothing she did could faze him. She wondered why she tried so hard, when it was clear he was uninterested and even if he was, there was nothing either of them would be able to do about it. Lucien hadn’t been lying, when he had said the Queen would have his head. Her mother was focused on finding Elain a suitable match to be the future King Consort, and a royal guard was several times removed from those plans.

But there weren’t many ways Elain was allowed to want. Most things were decided for her, every path laid down before she’d even been born, where she was simply expected to follow. Lucien, with his cunning eyes and smart mouth, was something that no one had chosen for her. And even if she could never have him, that couldn’t stop Elain from wanting him. Desperately.

Elain flopped onto her back, feeling the solid earth beneath the blanket. What would it be like, to be a flower with its roots stretching firmly into the earth, always grounded, never wondering what it was and what it wasn’t.

“Lucien?”

He had shut his eyes again, but this time she did not mind if he kept them shut. She admired the way his features relaxed when he wasn’t scowling—a rare sight, when they were together.

“Yes, your highness?”

“You owe me a kiss.”

“Pardon?”

A small peek over her shoulder saw that Lucien had sat up straighter, his brows drawn together. She would feel pleased she drew a reaction out of him, if it wasn’t clear he was disturbed at the prospect of kissing her.

“You interrupted me with the confectioner, which made me resort to sneaking away with Graysen.” She let some of her distaste show, wanting him to know that kissing Graysen truly hadn’t been a favorable option to her. A last resort that he had pushed her to. “And then you interrupted that, too.”

“I believe, princess, that your mother would have disapproved if you kissed the confectioner or the lord. I was acting in her name.”

Lucien loved to remind her, frequently, that he was not hers to command. It was her mother he reported to and Elain knew she constantly walked a fragile line of disobeying Lucien just enough so that she could steal these precious moments, but so that he wouldn’t be removed as her guard entirely.

“If my mother had her way,” Elain said, tasting each bitter word on her tongue, “I would remain chaste until the day she married me off to some man I’ve never met. I just want something that’s mine, Lucien. Something I’ve chosen for myself, that she won’t be able to take away from me. A kiss seems innocent enough.”

There was a moment of silence. She did not often speak this plainly with him, and she knew he was likely assessing this new information, trying to decide how best a knight should respond to his charge without betraying his loyalty to her mother. Ever calculating, ever dutiful. “Lord Graysen was intending to do more than kiss you,” he said, finally. There was an edge to his voice she found curious.

“I know.” Elain had not known about the maid, though, and she might have reconsidered if she had. “But I have the most annoying guard you’ve ever met, and I knew he would stop us before it got much further than that.”

“And if I had been late?” Lucien growled, fury twisting his once lovely features. “If I had been held up for whatever reason, and hadn’t been there to stop it from progressing beyond a simple kiss?”

Elain sat up, gaping at her guard. He had never used this tone with her before. She had seen him irritated, certainly, but never angry. Never at her.

“I knew you would come,” she said, simply. It had never crossed her mind that he wouldn’t—he always did. She had known it with more conviction than she had known where the sun would rise in the sky.

Lucien was still seething. It dripped into his voice, lacing its deep, honeyed warmth with gravel. “It was foolish to gamble with your body—“

“You weren’t this angry before!” Elain protested, feeling the backs of her eyes begin to sting.“You hadn’t seemed the least bothered when you saw him on top of me.”

“I had thought you wanted it!”

He stood, suddenly, pacing in the small space. Sunlight dappled through the willow vines, shifting across his uniform as he moved.

Elain suddenly felt angry, too. “Maybe if you stopped confining me, I wouldn’t be forced to take such drastic measures.”

“I am not the one confining you!” He snapped. His chest was rising and falling with rapid pace and his hands, though not rested on his sword, were clenched into fists. “I am keeping you safe. That is my only job. If you want to let some lordling fuck you in the dirt, be my guest. I will not be responsible for what your mother chooses to do in retaliation.”

Her lower lip began to tremble and Elain sank her teeth down in an effort to make it still. Lucien paused, his expression softening as he read her face.

“Elain—“

“I’ve had enough of the gardens for today,” she said, coldly. She pushed past the drapes of the willow tree, cringing against the sunny day they’d been evading. “I’m certain my mother is looking for me and she will be grateful that her most loyal guard has delivered me to her.”

It was unsurprising when Lucien stepped in front of her. So much taller that he was always catching up to her with burdensome ease. His posture had gone rigid, as unfeeling as his voice as he intoned, “This way, your highness.”

No longer her Lucien. Just any other guard, doing his duty and nothing more.

-

“Prince Koschei would make a fine match,” The Queen declared. She balanced a porcelain teacup delicately between pinched fingers, its saucer poised in her wrinkled hand below. The Queen raised it only midway to her mouth, never drinking, simply posturing like she might. Elain did not think the Queen was capable of enjoying tea. Of enjoying anything, short of her daughter’s misery.

“Prince Koschei is thirty years my senior,” Elain said, carefully. “Surely there are other, more appropriate matches—“

She was cut off by the clatter of porcelain as the Queen set the teacup and saucer down, hard, on the rich mahogany table.

“None so advantageous,” her mother said, sharply. “We’ve long had tenuous relations with our northern neighbors. An alliance through marriage could unite our peoples, promote growth for both our kingdoms—“

“And would he be content as a consort?” Elain interrupted, slamming her tea onto the table, too. It rattled in the saucer, causing the guards in the corner of the room to flinch.

But not Lucien. He stared straight ahead, eyes so distant she thought he likely wasn’t even listening to a word being said.

“It sounds more as though our Kingdom would simply be swallowed by another Rask monarch, merging as part of their territory.”

“Petulant child, you know nothing of which you speak,” the Queen said, crystal eyes narrowed. Besides her fair complexion, Elain shared little else with her mother. Her brown eyes came from her father, kind and warm in a way the castle had not known since his passing. And the golden brown hair tumbling in curls down her back had been passed down from him, as well. Not her mother’s straight platinum that, accompanied with her cool eyes and stern, narrow face, made her look better suited to rule a kingdom of ice than their warm, sea-faring lands.

“What about Prince Tarquin?” Elain asked, recalling the one time she had met him. He had seemed kind, more appropriate for her age, his claim to his own throne distant enough that she did not see him as someone vying for power. He would make a tolerable husband.

Her mother ignored her, pushing on. “Prince Koschei will be arriving tomorrow with a delegation from Rask. Perhaps meeting him will soften your opinions.” She met Elain’s eyes across the table, daring her to challenge. “If by the end of the week you have won his affections, we can begin discussing wedding preparations.”

Wedding preparations.

The tea curdled in her stomach, making Elain suddenly feel nauseous. She pushed from her chair, ignoring her mothers protests as she stumbled quickly out of the room. Elain had only the presence of mind to feel the wooden doors part beneath her palms, how the marble bit into her knees as she fell to the floor and puked into a potted plant.

A warm hand pressed into the center of her back, rubbing soothing circles as another gently lifted the hair from her face. Her mother, Elain thought, surprised to be comforted. But when she turned her head she glimpsed brown skin and scarlet hair and that turned another bout of nausea in her stomach.

Lucien was watching her puke. It was humiliating, but she supposed it didn’t matter now. She would likely be married against her will by the end of the week. Would he even still be her guard by then? The Prince would probably bring his own, insist his wife be policed by men he trusted, asserting his power when she was meant to be the reigning monarch.

When her stomach was emptied and Elain was left, gasping, her fingers grappling uselessly against the marble for something to hold onto, something to keep her upright, Lucien was there. Tugging her into his arms, lifting her from the floor. She was vaguely aware of being carried up the stairs, but was much more distracted by the feeling of being pressed against Lucien’s broad chest. He was warm, like she suspected, and he smelled like leather and metal and firewood. Not able to resist, she pressed her face against his throat, taking each breath greedily.

“Are you okay?” He murmured.

No—and yes. The yes was temporary. It would end the moment he set her down.

“That depends,” she said, shutting her eyes so she could listen intently to his pulse. Elain had estimated he was a man who was always steady, his every breath measured. But his pulse was beating wildly, too. “Can I hire you out as an assassin?”

He laughed, but the sound was humorless. “I don’t expect I’m skilled enough to assassinate a Raskan prince, not with all the men that would be guarding him.”

Elain bunched the fabric of his uniform beneath her fists, crushing the royal crest he bore above his heart. “What about me?” She whispered, only half joking. “You could do it in my sleep. I could go to bed peacefully, knowing I will not need to confront what tomorrow brings.”

“I could never lay a hand on you,” Lucien said, shutting his eyes like that confession pained him. “I have sworn an oath to the mother goddess that I would sooner die in pursuit of your safety.”

They were nearly to her room now, and the thought of Lucien setting her down was unbearable. She slung an arm around his shoulder, burrowing her face against the warmth of his neck. If she shut her eyes, if she willed this moment last, maybe she could stretch those next seconds into eternity.

One, two, three steps, where time passed the same as any other. Then they were through her bedroom door, and another few steps saw them standing above her bed. Her arms tightened around Lucien’s neck, the closest she would allow herself to begging not to be let go.

“Elain,” he said, gently. She liked it so much better than your highness.

It was the tremor in her arms that made her realize she was crying. That Lucien had said her name because he could feel it, wet against his neck. She thought he would pry her off of him, with that same cold distance he normally applied to their exchanges. But when Lucien saw that she wouldn’t detach of her own volition, he sat on the bed instead, cradling her to his chest. The gentleness shocked her, as did the hands that slid into her hair, lending comforting strokes while he held her.

He didn’t speak, and maybe it was the silence that mortified her because eventually she croaked, “I don’t want to marry him. I really would rather die.”

“And who would take the throne?” He asked, softly. “You have a duty to your people.”

“I’ll poison him, then,” she said. “I’ll slip it into his drink on our wedding night.”

“Now there’s something I finally would turn a blind eye to.”

Elain knew he was saying that only for her benefit, and she couldn’t resist a smile, which she hid against his chest.

Fingers still stroking her hair, Lucien said, “I’m not worried for you. Do you want to know why?”

She could hear the rumble of his voice in the back of his throat. Elain thought she would never be able to hear Lucien speak again, without thinking of how it felt to be pressed against him, to feel his breath at her temple, and those exquisite fingers curling against her scalp.

“Why?”

“Because you are clever, and so insufferably stubborn that I don’t think there’s a force on this earth that could bend your spirit.”

That was what finally coaxed her arm away from his neck, if only so she could pull away to glimpse his face. His eyes were burning, just like they had been beneath the willow when they were arguing. Glowing forges of copper and gold that made Elain swallow past the thickness in her throat. He was enraged, but not at her.

Her grip on his tunic loosened, releasing the now crumpled royal crest. She pushed her fingers out, stretching the fabric until her palm laid flat against his solid chest. His heartbeat reached up to greet her, reminding her with every improbable beat that she was in Lucien Vanserra’s lap, touching him. And from the way his eyes briefly shuttered beneath her too curious palm, she thought maybe he didn’t mind as much as he had always pretended.

“Thank you,” Elain said. It was little more than a whisper, but she felt as if she screamed it, for the way it scraped past her throat. She blinked, wetting her cheeks with the tears still clumped on her lashes. “For carrying me up the stairs, and for reminding me that I won’t be facing this completely alone.”

Lucien’s hand reached up, catching the few stray tears with his thumb. She could feel the scrape of his calluses—a texture she had never imagined when she thought of Lucien touching her face, yet all the more welcome for it. It made the moment feel more real, more tangible.

“It’s my job, your highness.” She could have wept again, that he’d defaulted back to her title, but he was still stroking her face. And he made up for it when he added, “So long as I am alive, you will never face anything alone.”

When he spoke like that, the temptation was simply too strong to resist. Elain caught his hand, so much larger and warmer than her own. She squeezed his fingers, leaning her face all the more into his caress. Elain shut her eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of his skin against her own. When she was lying with her husband and he was touching her, she wanted to retreat to this moment, pretend it was Lucien holding her.

She had almost worked up the courage to ask him to stay, so that she would have more than the memory of his hand against her face to draw from. But Lucien only allowed her to savor the intimacy a moment more, before he dropped his hands and lifted her off his lap.

“I’ll go fetch a maid to draw you a calming bath,” he said, with more stiffness than she would have liked. At his side, he was clenching and unclenching his fingers. Like he was trying to chase away the sensation of holding her.

Elain wracked her brain for something to say that could convince him not to leave, but Lucien was already striding toward the door. Leaving her with little more than the burning memory in her palms.

Soon the maids arrived, corralling Elain into a bath, and she didn’t see Lucien again for the rest of the day. At least, not in person. She saw him in her thoughts, occupying her mind while she let her body take control of her motor function. Breathing, eating, trying to make tentative peace with her mother at dinner. It was all colored by the unnamed emotion in Lucien’s eyes when he had swept his thumb against her cheek. It was much easier to think about him, and his callused hands, than the cruel Prince Koschei who would be arriving tomorrow with the intention of courtship.

So it was Lucien she tried to think about as she went to bed that evening, promising she wouldn’t be alone to face what awaited her. But even the phantom beat of Lucien’s steady heart wasn’t enough to keep back her anxieties. Try as she might to shut her eyes and imagine she was tucked against Lucien’s chest, sleep evaded her. Every time her consciousness started to drift, her mind conjured the face of a man more than twice her age, sharing this very bed with her.

Elain jolted upwards, pushing away the blankets that had become smothering against her damp skin. She was gasping, suddenly desperate for fresh air. Wearing only her nightgown, Elain climbed out of bed to follow the ribbon of moonlight that leaked in through the gap in the velvet drapes. She pulled the thick fabric aside, revealing the balcony doors and the bright stars that waited for her on the other side of the glass.

The handle was cool to the touch—startling against her sweaty palm, but a welcome reprieve. She pushed the door open, immediately greeted by a rush of night air that caressed her flushed skin, already doing wonders in calming her uneven pulse. Elain shut her eyes, trying to slow her breathing, to draw strength from the unyielding night sky.

“Your highness?”

She snapped her eyes open, whirling to see Lucien standing on her balcony. He was still wearing his uniform, the crest above his heart wrinkled from her earlier assault. He bore his golden sword at his hip and if that wasn’t enough to signal he was still on duty, then his rigid posture would have.

“Lucien?” Elain rubbed her eyes, wondering if she had fallen asleep after all. When she dropped her hands, he was still there, watching her warily. “I didn’t know there were guards posted on my balcony.”

Or that you were one of them. If she’d known all this time that Lucien was just outside her door while she slept, she may have come up with more inventive ways of getting them alone.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Your mother wanted me stationed here tonight, in case you attempted to run away.”

Elain was almost flattered that her mother thought she was capable of running away. She’d entertained the idea, and had even stepped onto the balcony earlier to scout the best path towards the gates. But it wouldn’t be like sneaking into the village, where she knew Lucien wouldn’t be far behind to bring her back. She had no idea where she would go—if there even was anywhere she could go, where Lucien wouldn’t be able to find her.

“If I ran away,” she asked, studying his face. The way his eyes surveyed her, noting the way she was dressed. “Would you chase after me?”

An odd look crossed his face. His voice was a little strained as he asked, “Would you want me to?”

Elain hesitated, uncertain of her answer. She would want him to chase her, but not out of duty to her mother. “I wouldn’t want you to bring me back,” she said. “I would want you to find me and stay with me. Like you promised.”

“Then yes, princess.” Lucien's eyes met hers. “I would chase after you, and I wouldn’t rest until I’d found you.”

Emboldened by his words, and the way he was looking at her, Elain took a step closer. “Would you let me run away now?”

“Dressed like that?” He asked, with a roughness to his voice that made her shiver. She would blame it on the cool air. Lucien cleared his throat. “I would let you, if that’s what you wanted, princess.”

She took another step, hardly believing her own brazeness. The wind pulled at Lucien’s hair, blowing close enough that it nearly brushed against her cheek.

Elain whispered, just loud enough that it would remain a secret between herself and Lucien and the wind. “What if I wanted something else?”

He tipped his chin down, casting shadow over his features so that all she could read was the rasp in his voice as he asked, “What is it you want?”

Gods, where to start? Elain took another step forward, the last of the distance between them, and returned her palm to that crest above his heart so she could once more feel the rhythm of his pulse. It was more calming than any hot bath or fresh air.

She dared herself to say it. The words were on her tongue, but still the jitter of her nerves made her hesitate. Would it be too far? It would be something no one could ever take back, something that would always be hers.

“You still owe me a kiss, Lucien.”

Lucien released a large exhale of breath. She felt the shift in his chest beneath her fingers. “Elain—”

He started to step away and Elain fisted the fabric of his tunic, tugging him closer. “Please, Lucien. I do not care about my mother or the prince. I don’t care about duty I just…” she gasped, searching his face, begging him to understand. “I need something that’s mine. I want to be touched for the first time by someone I—” love. “Trust.”

Beneath her grip, he took another long breath. Then he asked, words so precisely measured, “Do you want to be kissed by someone you trust, or do you want to be kissed by me.”

“Both,” she said, quietly. Then, feeling like a coward, she admitted, “I want it to be you Lucien. I have—” she was interrupted by breath expelling rapidly from her lungs, an exodus of her body preparing for the burden of what she was going to confess. “I have always wanted it to be you.”

Lucien could have gotten more from her, if he’d pressed. She would have confessed to the crime of loving him, of constantly making a nuisance of herself to get his attention. It was probably for the better that Lucien took mercy on her, so that it remained a weight she alone carried.

Any of his remaining reservations dropped with his hands as he grasped her around the waist. He lifted her with the same gentleness he had demonstrated earlier, spinning them so that he could set her down on the thick parapet. It left them eye level, allowing him to wedge his body between her legs and venture dangerously close. One of his arms banded around her back to steady her, while the other crept along her jaw, encouraging her face upwards.

Their eyes met as he leaned in. She could see him hesitate, like he wanted to say something. Elain surged forward, terrified it would be something reasonable, wanting to smother his logic before it had a chance to make them wiser. He groaned the second their lips met, which she took as an encouraging sign. Indeed, there was nothing reserved about the way his fingers slid and notched into her hair, how his arm tightened at her back to draw her closer to his body.

His mouth was soft, moving slowly against hers while she became used to the sensation. She liked the way he tasted, rich and earthen, like the smoke of an autumn bonfire. When he licked his tongue across her bottom lip, she parted her lips for him, shutting her eyes as her senses became hazed and overwhelmed with Lucien.

Elain clawed, blindly, for a way to bring him closer, tightening her grip on his tunic while her other hand tangled in his silken hair. Lucien’s tongue swept her mouth, rattling Elain to her bones, knowing she would never be rid of the taste of him. She was attending her own haunting, and she accepted it greedily, meeting him for every stroke. Until she was so consumed with him she couldn’t breathe.

They parted just enough to leave a space for hot, shallow breaths.

“I have wanted to kiss you,” Lucien said, low and rough and breathless, “from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Then they were kissing again, like he couldn’t stand another moment of breathing air, and neither could she. Elain scooted forward on the parapet, not caring that her nightgown was riding up, only need to get closer to him, to wrap her legs around his—

“Elain,” he groaned, utterly wrecked. The hand on her back dropped to her exposed thigh, curling beneath it to hoist her legs higher.

She felt like she was on fire when she felt his hardened crotch against her stomach. There was no sound past the rushing in her ears and the way he grunted, weak and not at all warrior-like, when she shifted against him.

“Elain,” he gasped again, still kissing her. “Elain, we can’t—“

“Says who?”

“They’ll truly have my head,” he said, pulling his lips away long enough to utter the words, only to fall back to her like gravity demanded it. “Mother condemn me, I shouldn’t want this.”

“I want it, Lucien.” She ground her hips forward to illustrate her point. “I want it more than I can breathe.”

The hand braced against her thigh was trembling. She could feel it beneath her palm, the way his heart had become erratic.

“You’ve never been touched—“

“I want you to be the first,” she insisted, before kissing him in an attempt to distract his protests, which she knew were level-headed and rational. There was no room for such things when she was sharing his breath. Not when her body was hot and aching in a way that was only familiar when she was under her bedsheets, thinking of him.

With a resigned moan, Lucien lifted Elain from the parapet and carried her back into the bedroom. Even as he moved, precariously, through the dark, they could not stop kissing. Every second not touching him was a second wasted.

Elain was certain if she had allowed him a moment to pull away, he would have laid her down on the mattress with more grace. Instead they fell in a tangle of limbs and lips and tongue. She knew little about what came next, but she knew Lucien was far too overdressed for it.

She snaked a hand beneath the hem of his tunic, feeling carved muscle and a patch of coarse hair that led beneath the waistband of his trousers. Elain pushed up, scraping her nails along his abdomen, needing to hear him moan again, to taste it on her tongue.

Strong fingers seized her wrists as Lucien swore softly under his breath.

“I want to take my time,” he said, lowering her wrist back to the bed. Lucien sat up, leaning back on his knees where they rested between her thighs. Warm fingers skimmed her legs as he began pushing up the skirt of her nightgown. “If this is my only chance to touch you, I want to do it right. I want to worship you in ways a spoiled prince could never fathom.”

“All talk,” Elain teased, growing restless for every moment that passed where his lips weren’t against hers. She tugged at his tunic again, but Lucien pulled back, laughing softly.

“No more talking, then,” he said.

In a fluid motion, Lucien slid his hands up to bunch the nightgown above her hips. Cool air pressed in, scalding her in every place her body felt the absence of his. Elain dug her fingers into the sheets, resisting the urge to fly them to her face as Lucien’s heady gaze swept over her bare legs and the wet, silken fabric at the peak of them.

She heard a breath rush out of him, like he’d been struck in the stomach. Then he fell upon her, kissing her hips, her stomach, her thighs. Where his mouth couldn’t caress her, he laid his fingers, lavishing his affection anywhere he could find, until Elain thought she might burst from the ache in her chest. She would never recover from knowing him this way.

“Lucien,” she whispered, releasing her iron grip on the sheets to replace them in his hair instead. She tugged, overwhelmed with the need to feel the heat of his mouth over hers again. “Please—”

“You said no more talking,” he murmured, hooking his fingers into the fabric at her hips. She couldn’t breath as he tugged them down her hips, apprehension building once he’d finished with the task of disrobing her and his eyes roamed back to the apex of her thighs.

Elain could feel his body slacken and, impulsively, she began closing her thighs, trying to hide the sight from him. His hands flew to her knees, gentle in stopping her.

“Cauldron save me,” he whispered, ducking his head back between her thighs. “I am a ruined man, Elain.”

She wasn’t certain what he meant, but when she felt his breath brush against the wetness between her legs, she was less inclined to ask. Nothing could have prepared her for that first lick. When she felt the first soft, velvet heat of his tongue, her hips bowed off the bed. Lucien had to press her back down, holding her to his mouth as he licked her again, a slow stripe all the way through her center.

The sound that came out of her was somewhere between a whimper and a moan, so loud that she finally did let one of her hands fly to her face, covering her mouth to prevent anyone from overhearing. Ordinarily, Lucien might have teased her for it, but he was utterly lost, his eyes fallen shut as he explored her with his tongue, groaning softly like he was the one gleaning pleasure from it.

Her thighs began trembling, held still only by Lucien’s conviction as he licked up and swirled his tongue languidly around her sensitive bud. Elain bit her hand to smother the cries begging to escape, but she could do nothing for the way her hips canted against him, silently pleading for more.

As he continued lashing her with his tongue, one of his hands slipped lower, gliding easily through the mixture of arousal and saliva. A finger teased at entering her, and she felt her heart thunder at that very first push. She felt him still, gauging her reaction intently as he slowly pushed his finger further, letting her accommodate to the sensation of having something inside her. Elain whimpered, tugging at his hair again. She didn’t want him to stop, needed to feel his mouth move against her. Lucien tongued at her clit in response, causing them to moan in tandem when her body tightened around his finger.

The more he licked, the more she relaxed, until he was able to begin moving his finger in rhythm with his tongue, coaxing a heat into her spine she had never encountered when touching herself this way. The pressure built as he slipped another finger inside her and he began rubbing against a cluster of nerves that had her seeing stars.

“That’s it,” Lucien whispered, voice roughened with lust. “Come for me, princess. Come on your guard’s fingers.”

Her entire body clenched, seizing with the sudden onslaught of pleasure that crested over her, large and inescapable as a tidal wave. She smothered a scream behind her palm, vision turning white as Lucien continued moving against her, working her through the ravaging pleasure.

She collapsed into the bed once it passed, gasping. Lucien withdrew his fingers and with a final, sucking lick that felt more for his benefit, he raised his head from her thighs to meet her eyes.

“Would you like to go to sleep now, princess?”

“No,” she whispered, reaching again for his tunic. “Not until I’ve seen you undressed.”

“So demanding, you royals,” he murmured, helping her frantic efforts to get the fabric over his head. He unbuckled his scabbard, letting his sword clamber to the ground. Then she was unlacing his trousers, staring at the swath of red hair beneath his naval, suddenly overcome with the need to trace it with her tongue. Lucien groaned. “I can’t think straight with you staring at me that way, Elain.”

“Good,” she whispered, tugging both waistbands down his hips. “It puts us finally on equal footing.”

Elain finally understood why Lucien sounded as though he’d been punched when he saw her naked for the first time. It was akin to how she felt, when she pushed the fabric past his erection and saw a man, entirely naked, for the first time in her life. He was beautiful, all golden brown skin and lean muscle. And the appendage between his legs was large—much larger than the two fingers that had been inside her.

She stared at the flushed, gleaming head in fascination, trying not to let its size intimidate her. Slowly, uncertain if it was allowed, she reached forward to wrap her hand around it, surprised to find the flesh soft and rigid. It pulsed beneath her hand, and Lucien grunted as she ran a slow pump down his length.

“Lay back,” he said, the words nearly garbled.

They were both far too distracted to relish the rare moment of Elain doing exactly what she was told. Lucien aligned their bodies, his mouth finding hers again as he began running his length through her slit, coating himself in her arousal.

“Are you certain about this, Elain?” He asked. She could feel him shuddering from the restraint of keeping his body still, prepared to seize himself if she denied him. Elain couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Yes, Lucien, I’m certain. I—” she almost said it. She wanted to say it, wanted him to know how much she cherished him. But was that selfish of her, to tell him she loved him, only to marry another man by the end of the week? A courtship and marriage that he would be forced to witness, as her impartial guard. “I want this,” she said instead.

She thought she might have seen something—disappointment, or maybe relief—flicker in his eyes. It disappeared the moment he notched his head against her entrance, just enough that she whimpered at the pressure. Lucien immediately kissed her, trying to soothe the ache of the stretch by holding her with such devastating gentleness. His hand found hers, their fingers twining as he continued sinking slowly into her body.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his breathing suddenly ragged. Elain squeezed her eyes shut, breathing through the strange, somewhat intrusive sensation. “Elain—” She liked the way he said it, like he was choking, so overcome with pleasure he couldn’t speak. “Fuck. You feel amazing. Does it—Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she whispered, with a small shift of her hips that caused Lucien to groan.

He slipped his freehand between their bodies, expertly rolling his thumb over her swollen clit. “Is that better?”

It was answered with a buck of her hips and a small keening noise as Elain’s discomfort shifted almost immediately into pleasure. Her body relaxed, allowing Lucien to push further, until his hips were flush against hers, and there was not a single barrier that existed between them.

Lucien’s tongue swept back into her mouth, allowing Elain to taste herself on his tongue. They stayed like that for a small eternity, kissing sweetly while he continued rubbing between her thighs, letting her adjust to the way it all felt, until the pleasure began to drive her mad. She dug her fingers into his back, rocking her hips against his to urge him to move.

She could feel him smile against her mouth. “My beautiful princess,” he murmured, slowly sliding out. “Say it again, that you want me.”

He was the one who was beautiful, with his hair falling over them in a scarlet veil, his cheeks flushed and his eyes heady with desire. Elain brushed his hair away to see more of his face, hoping that loving touch conveyed all the sentiment she couldn’t yet force herself to confess. Then she used her grip on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers, kissing him again and again—feverishly.

“I want you, Lucien,” she said, breathlessly, between those awful moments where his mouth wasn’t slotted against her own.

He was teasing her now, holding himself just outside her body while he continued those torturous circles with his fingers. “So obedient like this, princess,” he broke their string of kisses to whisper. “If only I had known all this time, I just needed to offer up my cock to get you to listen.”

“Don’t be crude,” she complained, half in scandal and half in her utter desperation to feel his tongue and cock inside her again.

His hips retreated further, the smile on his lips turning cruel. “You don’t want my cock, then?”

“Lucien.”

“Say it, princess.” The fingers between her legs picked up pace, driving her to madness. “Ask me to give you my cock.”

Elain dug the backs of her heels into his backside, trying to encourage him forward. When he resisted, she whispered, “Please Lucien.” And when that, too, was ineffective, she added, “Please, give me your cock.”

That earned her another sweet kiss. “As my princess commands,” he said, thrusting back inside her.

With the combination of his fingers, it quickly spun her over an edge she hadn’t known she’d been approaching. Elain’s scream was swallowed by his lips as she shattered around him, her nails scraping mercilessly over his scarred back. Lucien groaned, continuing to thrust and work his fingers against her while hot fire burst behind her eyes, through her veins, branding her soul in a way that felt irreversible, until she was little more than the drifting ash of a wildfire.

“That’s it,” he whispered as she began to come down. “You’ve done so well, Elain.”

Lucien’s own rhythm started to stutter, and to her dismay he pulled out of her body, crying out as hot, white liquid spurted from the tip and landed on her smooth stomach. His breathing was labored as he leaned down to offer her another quick kiss, before disappearing into the bathing room. He returned with a wet cloth that he used to gently clean the majority of the mess on her stomach and between her thighs.

When he finished, Lucien slid into the bed beside her, drawing her flush against his sweaty skin. His hands raked into her hair, stroking along her scalp, reminiscent of the way he’d held her earlier that day.

“How are you feeling?” He murmured, chasing the question with a kiss to her damp temple.

“Incredible.” It was the truth, ignoring all the anxieties and trepidation that laid deeper. They grew harder to ignore the longer Elain thought of what waited for her on the other side of the dawn.

Lucien seemed to know it, because he hummed like he wasn’t convinced. “You should sleep,” he said. “You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Elain thought again of that man from her dreams, her mind’s overwrought projection of the one she’d meet tomorrow. Not yet prepared to face him, nor the coming morning, Elain shook her head and cured her face and against his chest.

“Will you stay?”

The words were muffled against his skin, but Lucien heard them well enough to answer, “I’ll stay.”

-

Elain woke to the sound of her chamber doors being thrown open. She scrambled immediately for the blankets, pulling them up to cover her naked body. The maid’s eyes were the size of saucers as she looked towards the bed. For a moment, Elain couldn’t speak past the panic that seized her, thinking they had been caught. The maid would surely tell her mother, and Lucien would be—

Gone. Lucien wasn’t there when Elain turned, expecting to find him equally exposed. The sheets were cold, telling her he had left long ago. Seeing as it had already been late into the morning when she found him on the balcony, she wondered if he had even gone to sleep at all. Had he simply slipped out the moment she drifted off? For some reason, that thought stung.

“Your highness,” the maid said, locking the chamber door before rushing to the wardrobe. She hardly looked at the clothes she threw over her arm. “You must get dressed immediately.”

The hairs on Elain’s arms stood on edge. “What’s wrong?”

She thought, in the distance, she might have heard someone scream. Her maid came to the edge of the bed, close enough that Elain could see her red-rimmed eyes.

“Prince Koschei’s men have stormed the castle,” the maid said. The crack in her voice made Elain wonder what, exactly, she’d witnessed in her race to get to Elain’s chambers. “They are on their way up, lady. You must run.”

The world seemed to slow down as Elain stumbled out of bed, every unsteady breath scraping past the heartbeat that rampaged her throat, her chest, her shaking fingers. She frantically shoved herself into the clothes and the accompanying cloak, the hood of which she pulled over her head.

Elain headed towards the balcony, intending to take the same route to the village she had once gone before, but the maid stopped her. “They’ll be expecting you to go that way, your highness.”

For a moment, Elain wondered if she was being naive following her maid out of her bedroom, towards the sounds of clashing metal and shouting men. Maybe she had been threatened to fetch the princess, and was sparing herself some awful fate through betrayal. Her fears ebbed as they snuck into a servant’s corridor together, the sounds of fighting abruptly cut off as the servant shut the discrete doorway.

“This way,” she whispered, guiding Elain through the narrow passage, down a set of stairs. On the other side of the wall, she could hear heavy, rushing footsteps heading up. They ducked into the servant’s quarters, which was frighteningly empty.

From far away, she heard someone shout, “The princess isn’t in her room!”

“Find her!”

Elain covered a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out, trying not to let her mind wander as to what they would do once they found her. If they were already in her bedroom, had the castle guards been overcome? Was… Was Lucien—

She was pulled abruptly from her thoughts as the maid hurried Elain across the quarters, into the scullery. The back door was open, but Elain heard footsteps approaching and pulled the maid up short.

“Quick,” she whispered, pulling up a tablecloth that they both ducked underneath.

Peering through the narrow gap between the cloth and the floor, Elain could see two pairs of polished boots pause in front of the doorway.

“The princess has escaped,” said a deep, masculine voice that she didn’t recognize.

“She couldn’t have gone far,” said another. One she knew as honeyed and graveled and full of sweet, empty promises. “I know the precise route she would have taken to the village.”

Elain stopped breathing.

“Find her, Lucien.”

And that second pair of boots, the ones she had thrown dirt on just the day before, knelt to the ground and plunged a familiar sword into the earth. “I will, your highness. I swear it.”

#Shout out to the UBC for helping me choose the moodboard #APPRECIATE YALL #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #Elainweek2023 #Lucien Vanserra #Elain Archeron