Daylight

Chapter 15

Family dinner was exactly how Lucien remembered it. Disorderly, informal, and loud. Except this time, with Elain seated across from him and shooting him furtive smiles, the chaotic energy seemed oddly welcoming instead of anxiety-inducing.

Rhys still didn't sit at the head of the table, a fact that Lucien still could not wrap his head around. "What kind of High Lord are you, anyway?" He asked.

"One that cares more about who is sitting at my table than where tradition and society dictate we sit."

Lucien dipped his head appreciatively at that answer. If there was one thing Rhys valued above anything else, it was his family. By contrast, Lucien remembered once when he'd sat in Tamlin's seat by mistake. He had just returned exhausted and near starved from three straight days of border patrol. His food had been spoiled when a group of naga had stolen his pack and dumped it in the river. All he'd wanted was a hot meal before going up to bed and had sat in the first seat he'd come to. Tamlin had lectured him about respecting the High Lord's position—that the head of the table was reserved for the High Lord only and as his emissary and the son of another High Lord, Lucien ought to know that. He'd made Lucien feel like a child.

But not Rhys. He had heard that Rhys was mocked at the High Lords meeting for spitting on tradition for making Feyre High Lady, but in Lucien's opinion, some traditions needed to be spit on. Rhysand was a forward thinker and Prythian needed more of them, not another generation of High Lords who stuck to centuries-old traditions because they were too cowardly to embrace change.

"The other High Lords could learn something from you," he said.

"They certainly could," Amren agreed. "If they weren't such pompous males, they might consider making their wives High Ladies instead of just keeping them as decorations that look pretty in dresses at social functions."

Lucien sat between Rhys and Cassian, with Feyre on Rhys's other side. Mor was at the head of the table, seemingly unconcerned about it. Elain sat across from him with Nesta on her right and Azriel on her left. Amren sat across from Feyre.

And everyone just talked and ate and laughed. He would never admit it to Rhys, or any of them for that matter, but this was possibly Lucien's favorite thing about this group of people. They cared more about each other than arbitrary rules and customs put in place generations ago. One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

What, Elain mouthed to him, but he'd been looking at Mor, who was animatedly telling a story with a lot of hand gestures and hadn't seen her.

Feyre cleared her throat and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, her finger lingering just above the tipped point of her ear. Only Elain seemed to notice and she realized what Feyre was trying to tell her.

Say it through the bond.

But Elain didn't know how to talk through the bond. She'd heard Lucien a few times, but each time it had been by accident. He certainly hadn't meant for her to hear him. She took a deep breath and tried to filter out the cacophony of voices around her. Feyre had told her once that the bond was like a bridge. Elain pictured the stone bridge that stretched across the Sidra. She recalled the moments when they'd stood on that bridge and he helped her tie back her hair, shivering as she remembered the feeling of his fingers brushing against her neck. Elain had never been struck by lightning, but she imagined it felt something like the jolt of electricity that had made her skin tingle at his touch.

Lucien.

He was debating with Mor and Azriel about... something. Elain didn't care. She didn't want to close her eyes or screw up her face in concentration. Nesta would absolutely notice something like that, despite being deep into a debate with Cassian about the pros and cons of having wings.