Chapter 8 - Way Out of Line
Chapter 8 – Way Out of Line
-Gwyn-
Gwyn hadn’t intended to eavesdrop. She’d heard voices as she approached the garden and instinctively paused, partially concealed behind a large rosebush.
“Tell me, Azriel, what is it about Gwyn that draws you in?” Elain’s voice was sharp, the words cutting through the air. “I always thought you appreciated quiet, simple elegance. Not a flamboyant tramp who flaunts herself in front of every male here. For Gods’ sake, Az, she looks like one of the females from the pleasure house.”
The words hit Gwyn like a physical blow, her breath catching as she clutched her abdomen protectively. A wave of shame washed over her, and she suddenly wished for a cloak, a coat—anything to cover herself. Elain was insinuating that she looked like…a whore.
“That’s enough, Elain!” Azriel’s voice was sharp, his wings flaring slightly. “You don’t know the first thing about her!”
But Elain wasn’t finished. “I know she dresses very differently at the Library. I wonder what the other priestesses would think of this…this…” She faltered, searching for the right word. Gwyn silently prayed she wouldn’t find it, unsure if she could endure more of Elain’s venom.
Elain’s lips curled as she found her voice again. “This spectacle she’s making of herself at the mating ceremony of the High Lady’s sister!”
A spectacle. That’s what she was. That’s why everyone had stared at her during the ceremony. Why Roderick had smiled at her. He must have thought she was easy prey, that she was asking to be ogled and objectified.
“She’s not a fucking spectacle, Elain, and you’re way out of line,” Azriel growled, his hazel eyes blazing.
Elain rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Azriel. She’s clearly trying too hard. It’s obvious she’s attempting to upstage Nesta on her special day, parading around in that dress.”
“I happen to think she looks lovely.”
The deep, masculine voice startled Gwyn, and she whirled around with a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Elain let out a squawk of surprise.
Lucien Vanserra stood a few steps behind Gwyn, his golden eye clicking softly as he surveyed the scene. She’d been so focused on the argument that she hadn’t sensed his approach.
“Lucien,” Elain squeaked, clutching Nyx closer to her chest.
“Elain,” Lucien replied, his tone clipped. “Shadowsinger.”
“Lucien,” Azriel greeted cautiously, his baritone voice steady.
Gwyn felt frozen, unsure of what to do. She had clearly been the subject of the argument, though she couldn’t fathom why. Elain had been kind during their brief encounter at the Library. Why was she suddenly so spiteful?
Dropping her hand from her mouth, Gwyn turned back to face Azriel and Elain. Elain’s gaze was fixed on the ground, her expression tinged with shame. Nyx remained blissfully asleep, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.
Azriel’s eyes met Gwyn’s, filled with regret—not the same as Elain’s, but regret nonetheless. He was sorry she had heard the cruel words spoken about her.
“Gwyn—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t have been listening. I just…I came to see…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Her face burned with mortification, and she turned to leave, desperate to escape.
Before she could take a step, Lucien placed a gentle hand on her sleeved shoulder. “You’re Gwyn, right?” he asked, his voice calm.
She nodded meekly, unable to lift her gaze to his.
“Lucien,” he introduced himself simply. “I think we’ve...interrupted something here. May I escort you back to the party?” He offered her his arm with a slight bow.
She hesitated, then nodded, though still unable to meet his eyes. “May I…borrow your jacket, Lucien?”
His brow furrowed in concern before understanding dawned. “Of course, Lady,” he said, unclasping his green coat and shrugging it off. “The air has gotten a bit chilly.”
She managed a small smile, grateful for his tact; clearly, though, the early Summer air was not chilly. Perhaps it was cowardly to let Elain’s words affect her so deeply, to cover herself as though she had something to be ashamed of. But the weight of her exhaustion from this day was too heavy to care.
Lucien held the jacket open, and she turned, allowing him to drape it over her shoulders. Though she was tall for a female, Lucien’s broader frame ensured the coat enveloped her completely. He extended his arm again. “Shall we?”
“Gwyn, wait—” Azriel’s voice called after her, but Lucien shot him a sharp look.
“I think you two have some…unfinished business to attend to,” Lucien said pointedly, leading Gwyn away.
No matter how far she walked, Gwyn doubted she could escape the hurt and embarrassment that clung to her like a second skin.
When they were out of earshot, Lucien placed his free hand over hers that gently gripped his forearm. “Are you alright, Gwyn?”
No. The word hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she only nodded faintly.
“I’m sorry for what Elain said,” he murmured.
“I…I don’t understand why she was so upset about me,” Gwyn admitted, her voice breaking. “We’ve only spoken once, and she seemed so kind.”
Lucien sighed. “I think it had less to do with you and more to do with the Spymaster.”
She looked up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t have proof,” Lucien said carefully. “But I’ve long suspected there’s been…something between them. How serious, I don’t know. He must have been—” He hesitated. “—taken with your beauty, and Elain must have noticed. What she said back there were the words of a bitter and jealous lover.”
The words stung. Of course Azriel would be drawn to someone like Elain—graceful, beautiful, and, up until five minutes before, Gwyn would also have said she was kind. Her heart ached, but she pushed the pain aside.
“I’m sorry too,” she said softly, glancing up at Lucien. His mismatched eyes were filled with sorrow.
“I’ve been preparing myself for her to reject the bond,” he admitted, his voice heavy. “She doesn’t want a mate. She doesn’t want to give this a chance. She doesn’t want to know me.”
A thought struck Gwyn, and though it felt like a betrayal, she spoke. “Lucien, I think she does want to know you. She came to the Library asking for books about the Autumn Court—about the High Lord and his sons. When I asked if she was looking for something about you, she didn’t deny it.”
Lucien’s eyes flared, his expression unreadable.
“She wouldn’t be searching for information if she didn’t care,” Gwyn added.
Lucien considered her words, his jaw tightening. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she wanted to justify rejecting the bond she shares with the seventh son of the most sadistic High Lord in Prythian." He looked over to her then. "It’s no secret how horrible my father and brothers are.”
“You’re not like them,” Gwyn said, her voice unwavering.
She had only just met Lucien Vanserra, and before now, the limited knowledge she’d gleaned about him came from Nesta—and Nesta hadn’t painted the most favorable picture. But in this brief encounter, Gwyn could already tell: Lucien was different than his father and brothers. There was a quiet steadiness to him, a kind of enduring patience wrapped in sharp intelligence. Beneath the polished charm and Autumn Court’s infamous fire, there was kindness.
Lucien’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Thank you, Lady.”
Gwyn wasn’t sure how to respond. “I suppose it’s possible she wanted the information for that reason, but…I don’t know. Your theory doesn’t sit right with me, Lucien.”
His eyebrows lifted in amusement, one corner of his mouth quirking into a small, teasing smile. “Oh, really?”
His light tone eased some of the tension weighing on her chest, enough to coax a small, genuine smile in return. “Really. I think females have a sense about these things that males just don’t.”
“Oh, so now you think I can’t read females?”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Not that female. Not about this.”
“Lucien!” a cheerful voice called out.
They both turned to see Feyre hustling toward them, lifting her skirts slightly off the ground to avoid tripping. “You came!”
“Sorry I’m late,” Lucien said, his tone warm but laced with apology. “Had a meeting that ran longer than expected with Jurian and Vassa.”
“How are they?” Feyre asked, her face lighting up with curiosity.
“They send their regards to the happy couple.”
It was only then that Feyre’s keen gaze seemed to notice Gwyn’s attire—or rather, how it was swallowed up within Lucien’s large jacket. “Gwyn? What happened? Did you spill something on your beautiful dress?”
Gwyn blinked, momentarily forgetting the events that had driven her into Lucien’s coat. She looked down at her feet, suddenly unsure of how to explain. “No, I just…”
“She was feeling that nip in the air that seems to have come from nowhere,” Lucien interjected smoothly. “You know us Autumn Court males—we run hot.” He wiggled his fingers with mock flair, adding, “Fire in the blood, and all that.”
Gwyn shot him a sidelong glance, realizing just how effortlessly he had come to her rescue—again. She had only just met him, yet twice now, he had stepped in to save her from embarrassment.
Feyre chuckled. “Gwyn’s part Autumn, too—or at least partially,” she said with a knowing smile.
Lucien’s brow arched, intrigue flickering across his face. “Really? That would explain a lot. Only the most attractive redheads hail from Autumn.” He glanced at Gwyn, his golden eye whirring softly. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen eyes like yours on someone from my Court.”
“My grandmother was a river nymph from Spring,” Gwyn explained. “My grandfather was from the Autumn Court.”
“A High Fae male from Autumn,” Feyre clarified, her gaze flickering to Lucien.
Lucien’s eyes widened faintly. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” Gwyn admitted. “I never met him—or my grandmother, for that matter. I don’t even think my mother knew who he was.”
“Have either of you seen Elain?” Feyre asked, abruptly changing the subject. “Nyx is probably ready to feed, but I haven’t seen her since the ceremony.”
Gwyn’s heart constricted painfully at the mention of Elain. She wasn’t sure she could answer without betraying her fragile composure. But before she or Lucien could respond, Feyre exclaimed, “Ah! There she is, with my handsome boy!”
Gwyn froze, her blood running cold. Lucien, sensing her discomfort, covered her trembling hand with his own in a reassuring gesture. “Let me take you back to the party,” he murmured softly, neither of them turning to acknowledge Elain’s approach. The distant sound of Nyx’s gurgling coos only deepened the ache in Gwyn’s chest.
Ahead, she saw Nesta and Emerie coming towards them. Nesta’s expression was one of deep concern, while Emerie looked confused. Gwyn could hear Feyre cooing to her baby, but she didn’t register any words from Elain. Even if Elain never spoke again in her presence, Gwyn knew she would never forget the venom in her voice.
“What’s going on?” Nesta demanded, her silver gaze flicking between Gwyn and Lucien. “Why are you wearing his coat, Gwyn?”
“Good to see you too, Nesta,” Lucien muttered dryly. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Nesta’s eyes flashed dangerously, but Gwyn quickly stepped in. “I was cold, and Lucien graciously offered me his jacket.”
“Cold?” Emerie repeated, suspicion coloring her tone.
Gwyn’s lower lip trembled before she could stop it. Emerie’s sharp eyes caught the motion, her expression softening into worry. “Gwyn? What’s wrong?”
The tears that had been pooling finally began to spill, blurring Gwyn’s vision.
“What happened?” Nesta snapped, her gaze darting to Lucien. “What did he do?”
A low growl rumbled in Lucien’s chest, his amber eye narrowing. The sound seemed only to intensify Nesta’s fury.
“He didn’t do anything, Nesta,” Gwyn said hastily, her voice cracking. “I…I need to go.”
She fumbled with the jacket’s edges, trying to remove it, but Lucien stopped her. “Keep it,” he said firmly, his voice gentler now. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.
“Thank you, Lucien,” she whispered, clutching the handkerchief as if it were a lifeline.
With those final words, she slipped off her heels and broke into an awkward jog, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the chaos she was leaving behind. She heard Nesta and Emerie calling after her, Feyre’s questions ringing out, and even Lucien’s sharp hiss of anger. She didn’t look back.
Tears streamed down her face, hot and unrelenting. Gods, what a mess. The last thing she had wanted was to draw attention away from Nesta and Cassian’s day.
But now…she had done exactly what Elain had accused her of.