Daylight

Chapter 25

Lucien knocked on Elain's door but got no answer.

"Elain?"

The door opened, but it wasn't Elain who was staring back at him.

"Where is she?" He asked Cerridwen.

The wraith handmaiden just shook her head and shrugged. The twins must have just been tidying up her room... or possibly just waiting for her to return from breakfast. Lucien understood they'd grown quite close to Elain and they enjoyed one another's company.

He let out a low growl of frustration as he stalked down the hall to his room. When he opened the door, he was hit with the overpowering scent of apples and honey, but this time it was mixed with something else... salt?

He heard a sniffle and found her nestled under a blanket, curled up in the same chair she'd sat in last night—this morning—whatever. He didn't care.

Elain had come to his room.

His heart clenched at the sound of her weeping. He realized with an unpleasant jolt that the salt mixed with her scent was from her own tears. In that moment, he hated Nesta.

He approached her slowly, giving her time to tell him to go away if she chose. But instead, she sat up a little straighter and used the heels of her palms to wipe her red puffy eyes.

"I—I'm s-sorry."

"What on earth for?"

"Running off all upset. It was ch-childish."

"You never have to apologize for getting upset," he said gently. His heart was breaking for her. She was so gentle, so precious, and he could do nothing to ease her own heartache. Heartache, he realized, that was being caused by him. By his mere presence here.

"I'm so sorry, Elain," he croaked. "I should have left when I first realized that she didn't want me here. I shouldn't have caused so much animosity between the two of you. It was selfish—so selfish—because I just wanted to be near you. But not if this is the cost. I'll find an apartment in the city today."

"No!" Elain cried. "Don't let her chase you away. I don't want you to go."

Lucien's heart soared.

"I don't want her to go either," she admitted. "I just don't understand why she doesn't like you so much."

Lucien sat on the edge of his mattress. "I don't think she will ever be able to let go of the fact that I was with Tamlin in Hybern. In her mind, I'm just as guilty as he is," Lucien guessed, voicing a theory he'd had for a while.

"But you had nothing to do with it!" Elain leaped up from the chair. "It was that—that... priestess tramp Feyre told me about!"

Lucien's blood turned cold. Ianthe. He felt physically ill as he remembered what he'd done with her, just to appease Tamlin. He had to fight down the bile that rose in his throat. Gods, if Elain ever found out... he'd lose her. He knew it in his very soul. Still, Elain's words brought him a sliver of amusement.

"Priestess tramp?" He chuckled, devoid of warmth or actual humor.

"Well..." Elain fidgeted with the laces on her bodice. "Listening to Feyre talk, she was a tramp. And I don't use that word often."

"I believe that. What all did Feyre tell you?" Dread returned to the pit of his stomach.

"Just that she got everything she deserved."

"Not quite..." he mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," he said with a wave of his hand. What he didn't tell Elain was that the only thing that would have made Ianthe's death more satisfying would have been if Lucien himself could have dealt the lethal blow. He wasn't a sadistic person by nature, but if there was one person whose death he would have enjoyed, it was hers.