and for we have always hid in the shadows lying in wait
Lucien watches as Tamlin carries Feyre away, as the fae rejoice. His eyes narrow down to a certain High Lord watching, just like him, from the sidelines.
Lucien, to test his powers, winnows right beside him.
Rhysand, to his credit, only flinches slightly. It showed how exhausted he was.
“I would like to thank you,” Lucien begins.
“It was my pleasure, my fox,” Rhysand replies, back to his usual self, mask tightening around his face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, I should have, I suppose.” Lucien shrugs, un-lord like.
“We all had our parts to play, Lucien,” Rhysand murmurs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall he was leaning on.
“Have a wonderful time corralling little minions back at Night Court again. Once you sleep and have a bath though, you look like the Suriel but drunk,” Lucien sasses, lightening the mood.
“Shut up fox flame, you don’t look any better,” Rhysand banters back, but there’s a seriousness to his eyes as he opens them.
“I’m a delight, excuse you,” Lucien haughtily sniffs, perfect mimicry of Eris.
Rhysand smiles.
It’s breathtaking, its horrendously bright, its so fucking Rhysand that it even had a curl of arrogance to it.
“You’ll have to leave soon, little fox. And we shall meet again someday, I hope. Your power will only grow from here, and I cannot wait to taste it,” Rhysand purrs and Lucien, never one to be cowed, smirks back.
“You’ll kneel for it,” Lucien says, letting a hint of fire curl around Rhysand and stroke his jaw before Lucien turns around and leaves for Tamlin.
He feels more than hears Rhysand’s chuckle.