A Court of Stags and Night

Lucien

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

He had finally had enough of the Spring Court. Tamlin hated him for being the better male. Called him traitor and bastard. Never listened to a word he said. And don't get him started on Ianthe. He hated that bitch.

He knocked his head against the door of his room. He was leaving today. For good, and never returning. He'd tried to help Tamlin, even though he did not deserve it. Now, whatever happened was not his problem anymore.

He'd head back to the Night Court. Not for Elain, although, he couldn't say it wouldn't hurt to see her. She was his mate, whether she accepted him or not. He wouldn't pressure her. He'd tried that and it hurt her in the end. His ties with Feyre were already running thin, so he needed to prove he was ready to make that full change.

And Celaena was with them.

For some reason, that name burned through him in a way that nearly made him snarl. He felt a pull to her similar to that of Elain, but he knew she was not his mate. He could smell the male on her. Not significantly, but pine and snow were the sharpest scent besides an untamable fire.

Yes, he wanted to know how she was faring.

He winnowed his way to the Summer Court. Tarquin would let him stay and rest until word could be sent to Rhys and the Inner Circle that he wished to spend some time with them before heading to the Human Lands to help Jurian and Vassa.

His head hurt. It was not unusual considering his winnowing ability was nowhere near as great as Feyre or Rhys. It had taken several leaps through the darkness to make it to the border of the Court. He'd walked the rest of the day until Cressida found him and took him to the palace.

All of them had given him an odd look and kept their distance, much to his confusion. He wasn't there to hurt them. He just wanted a safe place to stay from Tamlin and Ianthe. Though the priestess had cried that Celaena had nearly killed her trying to escape, he couldn't believe it. Not fully at least.

She was a fiery human, but even in peak form, she wouldn't last seconds against fae, even one so feeble as Ianthe. It just didn't make sense. But then why was that all he could remember?

It was like part of his memory was gone or hidden from him. And he did not like not knowing. It set him on edge.

"Mor will be down to collect you as soon as she can," Tarquin told him before leaving him for the night.

So, he waited. And waited.

He would've thought she'd be down in a couple hours at most, but something must be happening in their court for it to be taking this long. He hoped it wasn't Celaena. The thought did not set well with him.

So, he walked the streets of Adriata. Even they stayed clear of him. It was starting to anger him. He didn't understand what was causing them to do so.

She still wasn't there the following morning. Or the afternoon. What in the Cauldron was wrong?

It was after dinner when she came to collect him. He'd noticed her wary look before taking his hand. He was slowly beginning to lose his mind. He was not Tamlin and never would be.