Daylight

Chapter 38

They'd sat up until nearly four in the morning, chatting cordially with Jurian and Vassa. Jurian had inquired about Rhysand and the others. Feyre gave a polite vague answer, which Jurian replied with a quip about trust. But Lucien understood—Feyre had a duty to protect Velaris and her people. The last time Velaris was revealed to outsiders, it had been attacked. Lucien trusted Jurian, but not enough to want him to know the city's precise location. Not yet.

When Feyre had fallen asleep with her chin in her hand, Vassa had insisted they go upstairs and get some rest. Even though they doubted the natural sunlight of high noon would make much difference, they'd opted to try to break the curse at that time anyway.

Vassa shooed them both upstairs with her hands. "Jurian will be sure to wake you in plenty of time. I'm going to read for a bit before dawn," she sighed wistfully.

Lucien followed Feyre up the stairs, his legs heavy as lead. He had gotten used to living in comfort and ease again. Sleeping in tents and roughing it in the woods had taken its toll on him. He made the instant decision to begin a consistent training regimen with Azriel once they got home. Though he prayed he never had to fight in another war during his lifetime, it wasn't a good idea to become complacent.

"Lucien," Feyre called before he went into his room. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for her to speak again.

"I swore I would never go into your mind again without your permission..."

"But?"

She gave him a grim expression. "But while we're here, it might not be a terrible idea. Something just doesn't feel right."

He wholeheartedly agreed. Ever since they'd learned that Vassa hadn't known about the letter Jurian had sent bearing her signature, Lucien had been tense. As if waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wanted to break this curse and get home as quickly as possible.

"It probably would be to our benefit to talk without speaking," he said with a shrug, giving her the permission she was struggling to ask for.

He bid Feyre good night in the hallway and went into the room he'd claimed. He slipped off his baldric and boots, leaving them in a small pile on the floor by the foot of his bed. Even though it was well below freezing outside, there seemed to be no shortage of fireplaces in the manor, which were all crackling with lively fires. As a result, the entire house was almost uncomfortably hot. Lucien peeled his tunic off and set it atop the baldric laden with daggers.

He slipped between the sheets and punched the pillow into a more comfortable position. Instinct had him glancing toward the window, but there was no armchair there. No Elain with her feet tucked beneath her, fiddling with the tail of her braid.

The bed was too firm, the sheets rough and scratchy. Despite his exhaustion, he wasn't tired, though he knew he needed to sleep. All too soon, Jurian (or more likely a servant acting on Jurian's orders) would be waking them to go down to the lake.

He pictured Elain's beautiful smile and the way her eyes tightened at the corners when she laughed. It was her face he thought of until he managed to drift off to sleep.

A short while later, the door to his room creaked open. He heard it, but he couldn't be certain whether it was real or part of his dreams. The mattress slumped behind him as someone slipped between the sheets and pressed tightly against his back. His first assumption was Elain, yet her scent of apples and honey was missing. A delicate, feminine arm snaked around his waist. Fingernails drug softly across his stomach, but they felt sharper, more pointed than those of his mate's.

"Lucien," Vassa whispered.

His eyes shot open as he jerked away from her.

"What are you doing in here?" He hissed.