Lord of Spring, come find me
Lucien does not look at the audience as he is dragged out for trial again, in front of Amarantha.
“In light of recent events,” Amarantha begins, and the entire audience present hushes, chamber falling to a deathly silence,” I have decided, as your merciful queen, to spare Autumn’s High Lord’s spawn. His insolence has been punished, and he will no longer be so uncouth, will you, darling?” Amarantha commands more than asks, the way she says darling making Lucien’s stomach lurch.
Say it, a tiny voice in his head whispers, dark and stormy.
Say it! It repeats more harshly against his mental barriers as the silence drags on.
“Yes, my Queen,” Lucien distantly hears himself speak, bowing in reverence and falling to his knees.
Amarantha smiled, a smile of spite and pure delight.
Lucien distantly notes that Jurian’s eye was whirling rapidly, blinking at him.
Jurian, who had seduced Clythia and then destroyed her. If his predictions were right, Amarantha was looking to avenge her sister.
Sister, that was who they were to each other. A bond Lucien never felt with his brothers.
In some ways, he pitied Amarantha. But who she had become, Lucien could not excuse.
Lucien had always been loyal to a fault. Cunning, mischievous, with undying fidelity to those he pledged it to.
He had pledged it to Tamlin, and he would uphold that by begging, by pretending to be Amarantha’s new toy even if it broke him.
“Come kiss my feet, ask for forgiveness from your Queen. Is this not merciful? Is this not better, to know that you are a part of a greater purpose? There is an old Hybern myth. Once upon a time, in a kingdom long since burnt to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom very much.”
Lucien sees a flare of sudden interest in his mother, who he had not dared to look at until now.
Lucien moves towards Amarantha’s throne and prostrates himself in front of her, kisses her feet and hem of dress.
Survival, Lucien reminds himself. His entire life had been a game of survival, and this was one of the players. He would do whatever it takes to repay Tamlin for his kindness, for Jesminda who had opened his eyes and made him better.
“Her name is lost to the centuries, but most recounts say that she was called Mala Fire-Bringer, Heir of Fire. Faerie Queen of the West, such power she had. So much power she gave up to banish the ancient evil growing. And such eyes, the fairest eyes from legends old, of brightest blue, ringed with gold.”
Fire. Lucien was fire, he was rage, he was burning. He was the bringer of destruction, he did nothing but poison and burn-
“Her power brought an ancient creature of destruction, hiding in fae skin, to her knees. Her flame encircled an entire city, her flame turned an entire dam of water to turn to mist. She was the harbinger of light. She was my ancestor, of course. All High Fae and old Fae have intermingled family lines, but Clythia was the direct heir and descendent to the line of Light and Fire.”
In the corner of his eye, Beron stiffened. Lucien nearly laughed. He knew, they all knew, the implications of this story, that they, the Vanserras, were closely related to Amarantha, that they were descendants of such a powerful faerie.
“We are children of such glory, we are all High Fae and Old Fae. As such, I shall grant a boon. Lucien Vanserra shall be allowed to return to Spring Court where my beloved resides. You will have the entire Court come to a ball that shall be held in a fortnight’s time. Failure to do so shall result in less mercy to the disrespect you showed to me during peace negotiations of all things. Do you understand, child?” Amarantha drawls.
“Yes my Queen,” Lucien breathes out.
Amarantha nods once, a dismissal.
“Pet, take him,” she nods to Rhysand and Rhysand smirks wickedly as he hauls Lucien up to his feet, taking the chains from the guards.
“Come on, don’t want to keep Tam-Tam waiting do we?”
-
Lucien could do nothing but let Rhysand winnow him in. All the fight he had felt had left him the moment Amarantha had let this devil take him.
“Your eye,” Rhysand finally said as they walked from neutral territory into Spring border.
“It will heal. Strengthen your barriers, you’re lucky Amarantha isn’t as proficient in mind magic as I am. Stay with your High Lord, foxfire.”
Lucien stills.
“Oh you did not just call me a fungi,” he breathes.
Rhysand blinks, something he had been doing very often lately in the presence of Lucien.
“My apologies for your delicate sensibilities, little flame, I was trying to break you out of your angst and it worked, didn’t it?”
Lucien debates if its worth socking him in the jaw.
“As I was saying,” Rhysand continues, dragging him along now, “Call in favours with solar courts. Get Tamlin to stop sitting on his arse on some golden throne and do something about that sexual tension between him and Amarantha. See a healer, don’t die this early into the game will you, my fox?”
“Seems like you’re a little jealous of Tamlin,” Lucien says, probing carefully.
A flash of hatred and resentment shines through those eyes.
“My Queen knows what is best for her, and I shall serve her as she deems fit,” Rhysand says, sounding cold and emotionless again.
So, this was personal.
Something was off, and he hated it. Hated the 6th sense tingling, telling him he did not have all the information present.
Rhysand had never shown anything but amusement and pity for Tamlin. The only time he had seen the rage in those violet irises was in a memory of the day his family had been assassinated, assassinated by the very lord’s father he now served. Even then, the hate and resentment was directed at Tamlin’s inability to act, because Tamlin was not the one who struck. Rhysand had always hated the fact that Tamlin would not “stop sitting on his arse”, not Tamlin himself.
Why this hatred? Why these emotions?
He needed more intel. He would be careful. Perhaps this was some elaborate plan for revenge that was looking down sided due to Amarantha’s infatuation for Tamlin. Perhaps this was just Rhysand finally letting out his dark side in a place where shadows could thrive. Or maybe, just maybe, he was another looking to just survive.
Lucien had never felt his world become so grey and disorganised before as he finally stood at the gates of Spring Manor and saw the wreckage.