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Chapter Text

Elain woke to darkness and Lucien. He was propped in the bed, regretfully clad in a pair of breeches though he had removed his shirt. He was pouring over some document or other, likely business far too important to be done in bed and yet there he was. Hair unbound, his handsome face cut and scratched, his cheekbone sporting an ugly yet healing bruise.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, her head filled with cotton. Lucien let the paper in his hands flutter to his lap. 

“We sedated you,” he admitted, flinging out his arm as he dragged himself down the headboard so he could hold her. “I don’t suppose you remember all the screaming?”

She didn’t. “No.”
“It’s for the best,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “You suffered an ordeal.”

“And the baby?” she asked as memories flooded through her mind, of Beron chasing her through the house, of shoving her down the steps.

“Perfectly content,” he assured her. “The doctor and the midwife have come by twice now. They assure me the baby is right as rain and you just need to rest…perhaps in bed for the duration of the pregnancy.”

“Absurd,” she whispered. “How is Arina?”

“Healing,” he replied tightly. “She will be scarred but…she is on the mend. Eris has been attentive, I ah…I think he means to marry her just as soon as she can stand to put on a gown.”
“Because he feels guilty?” 

Lucien sighed. “Because he is a sentimental bastard. I have assured her she could do better.”

Elain poked Lucien in the stomach. “What happened to not meddling?” she asked.

“Yes, Elain,” he agreed, his voice suddenly grave–serious. “What did happen to our promise not to meddle? A poison? How could you keep such a secret from me?”

“Eris knew–”
“You understand that is worse, right?” Lucien replied. “Eris should have told me your plan, not encouraged you.”
“Someone had to act,” she replied, unable to summon any true outrage. Her body still ached, her soul still bruised at the thought she might never see him again. “What happened?”

“A very minor kidnapping,” Lucien replied breezily despite the muscle jumping in his jaw. “I assure you, I was never in any danger.”
“I was,” she whispered, tears flooding her eyes all the same. “I thought you were dead and I—”
Lucien shushed her softly, holding her against his body to stroke her hair. “It would take far more to take me from you, Elain. An act of God, and for all his delusions, he has never come close.”
“How was I to know that?” she asked, swatting at him angrily.

“Sweet, lovely wife,” Lucien murmured, hooking his finger beneath her chin. “You merely have to trust that I love living with you far more than anything else.”

Elain gulped down air until her tears settled, leaving her exhausted all over again. Lucien rose from the bed after her sniffles were gone, donning a shirt and slippers.

“Where are you going?”

“What was the point of marriage if I can’t fuss over my wife, at least a little? Don’t move,” he added mischievously, slipping from the room before she could remind him there was no where she could go. With nothing left to do but think, Elain replayed Beron’s murder in her mind, waiting for the revulsion and guilt to fill her senses. She ought to feel something, right? Elain felt nothing but satisfaction, which, in turn, made her feel a little guilty.

He is Lord Dayton’s son.

The thought popped into her mind unbidden just as Lucien returned in a familiar black jacket and red vest…and a mask she hadn’t seen since she’d met him. He grinned, tray in hand, clearly pleased with himself.

“We meet again,” she murmured, drawing the blanket around herself as if there were a stranger she ought not let see her in her thin pink night dress.

“I told you I’d steal you away,” he replied, setting the tray of food and water on the foot of the bed. Lucien cocked his head, red hair spilling around his half hidden face. It was so silly and yet almost fun, a moment of levity in which she could say whatever she liked to this man without feeling the need to be perfect. Just as before.

“How did you sneak past my husband?” she asked. “He just left this room.”
“He leaves you alone far too often,” Lucien replied with a grimace. “Working when he ought to be attending to his wife.”
“He is a busy man,” she agreed, picking apart a piece of bread absently. 

“And is he cruel?” Lucien prodded, as if he did not know the answer. “Is it as terrible as you thought.”

“He gives me no peace,” she agreed, catching how he smirked. “I am at his beck and call each and every night.”
“Does he please you?”

Elain put bread in her mouth, cheeks flushed. “Terribly.”

“So you like this horrible lord and no longer wish to run away with me?”

“Where would we go?” she asked, curious if Lucien would have made good on his promise were he not her intended. What if suddenly burned her gut, her body reacting instinctively to the notion that somehow, they were meant to be together. In this life, in every other life, Elain was certain it would always be him behind every mask, in every corner, tied to every thread. 

“Anywhere,” he replied, scooting closer as though he could not help himself. “The continent, perhaps. Far from your husband’s reach.”
“He would find me anywhere,” she whispered, drawing nearer until she could feel the cool material of his mask brushing against her cheek. “We would never be freed of him.”
“I am beginning to think that is what you prefer,” he replied, his eyes on her lips.

“I’m in love with him,” Elain admitted, as if she hadn’t told him so already. “Cruel and capricious as he is.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Lucien whispered, threading his fingers in her hair. “Because I am in love with you and I suspect I cannot compete.”

“You cannot,” she agreed. 

“And still, I have to have you,” Lucien replied, kissing her slowly, his hand holding her face with a gentle firmness. “You are all I think about, all I dream about.”
“Tell me more,” she whispered as he laid her back, cradling her head, legs parted so he could push between. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” he whispered between nipping kisses over her neck and collarbone. “You are the air in my lungs, the beat of my heart. I am lost without you—”
She tugged at the strings keeping that pretty little fox mask on. Lucien paused, eyes so dark they were nearly black, as she tossed to the side of the bed. “There you are,” she whispered, brushing her fingertips over his stubbled jaw. “I was looking for you.”
As for the truth of that, Elain couldn’t say. Still, perhaps fate had known just what she needed that night and had merely shown her what she might have. The odds of it being her husband, her best friend…the love of her life, hiding behind that mask…seemed far too great to be anything but divine intervention. 

“I want you,” he whispered, grinding his body against her own, letting her feel the proof of his arousal.

“Take me,” she replied, her fingers already undoing the buttons on his jacket. “I’m yours.”

Lucien shed himself of his clothes quickly, kneeling between her legs so she could watch, well aware that he was not the only voyeur in their relationship. He was magnificent, a work of art and though he was bruised just as she was, Lucien was wholly untouched by the cruelty of his father and family name. 

Naked, Lucien slid his hands up her body, coming to rest on her stomach. Elain had to writhe to get the nightress off over her head while her husband unhelpfully dragged his tongue over her breasts, hands caressing her unblemished belly. He was so sentimental without even trying. She might have teased him had his head not dipped between her legs, placing a messy kiss against her cunt.

“You’re hurt,” he murmured, looking up with sensual eyes when she tried to tug him back up the bed. “I will do all the work.”
As if it were any big inconvenience. Lucien loved to eat, as he famously liked to say every night at dinner, much to her embarrassment. She didn’t complain, not when he’d come into the room as his masked persona and asked if he was content in her marriage. Elain had many expectations, that day when she’d all but tripped down the aisle. Cruelty, neglect, perhaps even violence. A husband who worshiped her with his tongue and teeth was certainly not one of those expectations. 

He didn’t let her finish on his mouth, his tongue moving in broad, slow strokes until she was panting, grinding her hips against his face. She knew what he wanted and when he tried to crawl back over her, Elain shoved.

“You can still do all the work,” she told him, straddling his hips and sinking onto him with a sharp exhale of air. “I want to look at you.”
Lucien nodded, biting his lip and rolling his hips. “Do you like what you see?”

“Yes,” she whispered, hair falling around her face. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Lucien groaned. “Christ, Elain, you’ve made me so soft. What am I going to do with you?”

“Fuck me faster, I hope,” she replied, digging her nails into her chest. Elain knew what he meant to do even as his legs drew up, tightening around her waist to push her back to the mattress. Lucien snapped his hips hard, swallowing her moan of approval before anyone else could hear. 

“Who taught my wife to speak such filth?” he asked, lips pressed to her jaw.

“You did. You’ve been a terrible influence,” she replied, gripping his taut biceps as her release built like a bright spark threatening to ignite. The glide of him was everything and when Elain came, she let go entirely, giving in to him and only him. Lucien fell just behind her, panting roughly against her neck like some sort of wild, out of control animal. 

In the aftermath, Lucien held her against his slick body while Elain drifted towards sleep. He had work in his hands again, looking over the top of her head. She didn’t complain, running a finger up and down his chest absently.

“Lucien?”

“Hmm?” he replied, kissing the top of her head as if he’d just remembered she was there. 

“Who is Lord Dayton?”

His body stilled for a moment. “Why are you asking?”

“Something I overheard,” she admitted, pressing her chin against his stomach. Lucien heaved a sigh.

“He is unimportant,” Lucien murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “To us, at any rate.”
“And your mother?” she questioned, noting the way his eyes tightened at the corners. 

“She has time to decide.”
“What did you tell the authorities?”

“Nothing,” Lucien replied carefully. “The doctor came and declared his death an act of nature.”
“Act of…an act of nature?”
“He has been the family physician for many, many years,” Lucien murmured darkly, fingers still caressing her face. “He made Eris and I swear he would never return to treat the wounds of our wives…by pain of arrest. Beron died of a heart attack and will be buried without ceremony or remorse. From any of us,” he added, as if he expected her to admit guilt. Elain felt none, at all. She supposed people would talk, would accuse her and Lucien of having done something awful. Something unthinkable. 

Elain kissed Lucien’s skin. She’d do it all over again if she could.

**

Lucien could not bear a second more of the screaming. “Sit down,” Eris ordered, shoving another glass of whiskey to Lucien. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” he demanded, pacing the room like a caged panther. “The death of my wife?”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Women have children every day–”
“Not my–”
“Yes, Lucien, your wife is special. You have been saying so all morning. Now sit down before the midwife murders you.”
Eris didn’t bother to respond, glass swirling in hand. Lucien heard another scream, louder than the last, shredding what little self-control he possessed. How did men manage to create such large broods if this was what they had to endure in order to achieve such families? His nerves were frayed, his mind utterly empty. Not for the first time, Lucien burst into the birthing room, well aware all he would find was his wife, face pressed into the mattress she leaned over, one hand gripping the bedpost.

“Lucien!” Arina exclaimed, exasperated with his constant instructions. “Go away!”

“No,” Elain panted, looking up at him through her mass of tangled, sweaty hair. “No, Lucien, don’t go, please–” her words crumbled into a cry, fingers gripping the bunched blanket. Lucien looked helplessly to the midwife carefully pouring bloodied water into a tub as to not contaminate the rest of her rags. 

“Any moment now,” she told him, bright eyed with excitement. Lucien only felt dread, reaching for Elain’s hand.

“I can’t do this,” she told him, her face beet red as she sank to her knees. “Lucien, I can’t–”
“You can,” he assured her, using the hand she wasn’t gripping to oblivion to push the hair off her face. She had to, though he had the sense she didn’t need to hear that. “You’re so close, Elain. C’mon…” he looked up at the midwife, unsure what to say.

“Big push,” she murmured, a blanket in hand. “Hands and knees, now.”
Elain shook her head no, sobbing quietly as Lucien and Arina helped put her in position. The mood was strange–behind Elain, the midwife was practically humming, a towel slung over the shoulder of her brown dress. Arina’s face was stark and pale, perhaps reconsidering her own child that would be due in mere months. Elain pressed her forehead into Lucien’s forearm as the midwife asked, “Would you like to cut?”
“The baby?” he gasped as Elain screamed in frustration.

“The cord, Lucien!” 

“Yes, yes, of course,” he replied, utterly oblivious and terrified of making things worse. He wasn’t supposed to be there, was only allowed to stay because she’d begged. 

“Big push,” the midwife told her again. “Do you feel that?”
Elain screamed as Arina reminded her not to hold her breath. She was gripping his hand so hard he genuinely thought she might break it, her teeth sinking into his skin.

“There she is,” the midwife murmured as Elain gasped, eyes flying open. “One more, she’s all but out.”

“Her?” Lucien asked, her stomach tightening. “A girl?”

No one responded, too focused on getting the baby entirely out of Elain’s body. She pushed again, this time without biting him, exhaling relief when she finished. There was a moment of terrible silence and then the midwife asked, “Lord, your daughter–”
“Let me see her,” Lucien demanded, pressing a quick kiss to Elain’s forehead before scrambling to his feet. The midwife offered Lucien, cord already cut much to his dismay, and wrapped in a thin blanket.

“Rub her back,” the midwife ordered, turning back to attend to Elain. Lucien pushed back to the blanket from her little face, sinking back to his knees to show his wife. 

“Look at her hair,” he murmured, feeling as if he might weep at the sight of the little red curls peppered over her scrunched little face. The baby opened her mouth, emitting the loudest scream Lucien had ever heard in his entire life.

“I don’t think she’s as happy as we are,” he told Elain, who was quietly crying beide him. Arina and the midwife helped her into bed, laying blankets beneath her for the blood. He was instructed to keep an eye on her and call for the physician downstairs should anything change before the pair left, congratulating him softly.

Lucien climbed into bed with Elain, who reached for the furious infant. She looked so tired, had been laboring for so long. Lucien couldn’t decide if taking the baby to allow his wife to sleep or staying and forcing both of their presence on Elain was the better course of action.

Elain nestled the baby at her breast, sighing with releif. “That’s better,” she murmured, head dropping to his shoulder.

“You were wonderful,” he assured her, noting the way her eyes cut towards him slyly.

“Do not think you will escape our arrangement so easily, Lord Vanserra. This is a daughter. I promised you two sons before you could return to your rakish ways.”

As if he could even remember them. Grateful she was teasing him instead of screaming in agony, Lucien opted to play along. “What a terrible conundrum. I am, of course, deeply displeased…” he trailed off, his words far too affectionate to be believed. 

“She is the loveliest baby I have ever seen,” he told Elain. “You did this. I would not ask it of you again.”

“You better,” she replied easily, some of the life returning to her face. “I knew it would be difficult…next time you’ll stay?”

He nodded, though the thought of a next time made his stomach churn. “There is no need, Elain, I am content–”
“You will have your sons,” she insisted with that sweet gleam in her eyes. “Just so I might rub it in your face that you are far too busy and far too content to take a mistress.”
“You are so utterly charming, darling wife,” he said with a kiss to her cheek. “Let us hope your daughter has half your spirit.”
“Ivy,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over the suckling cheek. Lucien had not considered any names at all though he and Elain had gone through more than their fair share. 

“Lady Ivy Vanserra,” he murmured, noting how her eyes opened wide to look up at him. Whether she saw him or not, Lucien could not say. It was recognition all the same. His chest tightened at the sight, his wife cradling his daughter in his bed. Safe. Happy. Loved. 

“Are you crying?” she asked him, rubbing his face. Perhaps he was. “Is this marriage everything you hoped for.”

Lucien settled beside her, head atop her own.

“I would do it all over again, if I could.”

And he would.