Chapter Text

Chapter One

The dough needed kneading. Push down and press, push down and press, over and over. Fold the dough, push down and press. Fold the dough, sprinkle more flour onto the countertop. Fold, push down, press.

The work was repetitive, methodical. Over and over, Elain kneaded the wheat flour dough, letting her hands and arms do all the work, focusing all her attention on its tackiness. She rolled it beneath her hands, forming the loaf and pinching the ends beneath itself, before placing it in the oil-coated bread pan. A gust of heat hit her face as she opened the oven door and slid the bread inside.

Elain wiped her hands on her apron as Nuala clicked her tongue at Cerridwen. “Cerr, I asked you to go ahead and cut those onions.”

Cerridwen rolled her transparent eyes at her twin. “And I told you that I needed to set up the dining table for tonight’s meal. I’ve been busy.”

“I’ll cut them,” Elain offered quickly, stepping up to the chopping block with confidence. The vegetables being used in tonight’s soup had been washed and waiting to be chopped – carrots, onions, celery, peppers, and roots. Elain pulled a paring knife from the wooden block before starting with the first onion – cut the two ends, peel the outer layer, slice in half, slice in quarters, slice into pieces…

Cerridwen smiled at Elain warmly; being a wraith, with translucent gray skin, shadows that moved around her body, and floating black hair, being warm in any capacity was a feat itself. “Thank you, Elain.”

Elain Archeron gave her a small smile as she busied herself in her work. “Think nothing of it. I enjoy working in the kitchen, really.”

Nuala snorted softly as she began to cook the meat in a skillet. “Cooking is the easy part; it’s the dishes that are the real pain in the ass.”

Elain gave a polite chuckle before trying to zone back in – cut, cut, peel, cut. She truly did enjoy cooking: she enjoyed the wonderful smells that accompanied a successful new dish, especially when she was able to use herbs grown in her garden. She loved baking cakes and sweets that she donated to the children’s home or set out for her family to enjoy. She even loved plating each and every dish she served with love and a trained eye, although Nuala and Cerridwen usually tutted about how she was too concerned about pretty plating when people were going to tear it apart in seconds.

But the best part of working in the kitchen was the distraction. Repetitive motions, step-by-step instructions – she had to focus on every action she took to make sure she did not mess up her icing application, cut off her finger, or, Mother forbid, burn down Rhys and Feyre’s home. Tedious motions were a wonderful distraction for the mind.

Peeling carrots kept her visions at bay. Chopping carrots with her fingers precariously close to the edge kept her from thinking about the ones that haunted her dreams.

The icy cave beckoned, like a master calling its dog. The water was cold as she waded in, barefoot, naked, exposed. She tried to cover herself as her body took a step forward, then another, then another, but her arms refused to move. She could feel eyes on her, watching her with hunger and greed.

“I see you,” the water whispered as it touched the backs of her knees, “and I hear your cries. I can help you. Let me help you.”

The ice water kissed her thighs, and Elain shivered as she stepped further into its killing embrace. Her head felt numb. This wasn’t right – she couldn’t swim –

“I’ll carry you to shore,” the voice whispered, a hissing lullaby echoing off the rocks that pressed closer and closer with every step. The light was fading. She hated the dark. “Take my hand – I’ll give you what you need.”

Her hand extended outward as the water touched her breasts. No, no-

“Ah-!”

The knife clattered to the floor as Elain jerked away, holding her finger tightly in her hand. Nuala appeared in front of her in an instant, her body partially in the countertop as she held out her hands with concern.

“What happened?” the wraith demanded, her voice soft as her brows furrowed.

Elain let out a heavy breath as she released her grip on her finger; blood was spread across her palm from the knife’s cut. “It isn’t that deep,” she said, trying to keep her voice light despite her irritation at herself. She had allowed herself to slip into a vision again; she had not slipped in weeks, and yet after one nightmare, she was back to square one.

Nuala examined the wound with pursed lips. “It’s deep enough,” the wraith muttered. Her ghost-like hands lifted a dish towel and wrapped it gently around Elain’s finger. Her voice was quiet as she asked, “Another vision?”

Begrudgingly, Elain nodded.

“Same one that’s been bothering you?”

Elain removed her hand from Nuala’s, holding the towel in place. A red spot was beginning to surface. The cut must have been deeper than she thought; her Fae magic would have healed her usual knicks by now. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Nuala did not seem convinced as she tucked her straight, black hair behind her ear, exposing her dangling piercings. “As your friend, I’m allowed to worry about whatever I please.” Thankfully, the stew meat began to burn, and Nuala cursed as she returned to her abandoned post. The lecture Elain dreaded had been postponed, and, if she was lucky, forgotten.

Elain used her good hand to turn on the tap and wash the blood from her palm. “I assume this means I’m off kitchen duty for the night,” she said over the water.

“You assume correctly,” Nuala said with a smile reserved for her teasing. “Fae blood does not add to the flavor of tonight’s soup.”

Elain chuckled, although there was a certain dryness to it.

Fae blood.

The words were ash in her mouth, especially as her eyes raked over the iron band hugging her ring finger.

She was never meant to be Fae. She never asked to be Fae, and she never wanted to be Fae.

And yet, here she was, living in Fae territory, with her pointed ears, heightened senses, and Seer abilities. Oh, and supposedly mated to a male named Lucien who she so desperately tried to avoid.

Allowing herself to be around him would shatter the little human that still resided within her. If she accepted him, if she fell in love with him like she feared, she would have to remove the iron band and turn her back on the human world. Even though she knew she could never be truly a part of it again, there was still a longing in her heart that hoped Graysen could see past the ears or the ethereal beauty. She was still the same Elain whom he promised to wed.

But was she?

If Nuala noticed the downturn in Elain’s mood, she did not acknowledge it. “Will you tell my sister to get her lazy self in this kitchen before I drag her here myself?” she asked as transferred the chopped, bloodless onions into a pot to start the stock. “I swear, she invents other duties to get out of helping.”

“I’ll pass on the message, but I make no promises Cerr will listen.” Elain shut off the tap and dried her hand on her apron, just before hanging it on its hook. “I’m going to get dressed for dinner early, since you’ve banned me.”

“Banned until further notice,” Nuala pretended to scold with a shake of her spoon.

Elain could only grin softly as she left the kitchen, taking the bloody dish cloth with her as she headed for her room. She passed Cerridwen, who was dusting a spotless vase that held Feyre’s favorite flowers, and delivered her twin’s message. The twin wraith simply looked amused as she promised to help, although she appeared in no hurry.

She made her way to the east wing, where her bedroom overlooked the gardens that Feyre and Rhys had gifted her. Her slippered steps were light on the hardwood floor, as she could hear them in the shut rooms she passed – Rhys and Feyre, purring about things she had no desire to hear; Mor and Amren, sitting together in the library, already through their first bottle of wine. Elain hurried to her bedroom as quickly and quietly as possible before the anxiety and envy came over her.

To them, making decisions about one of the Fae Courts came as easily as breathing. They had been born Fae, raised Fae; even Feyre, her little sister, had assimilated so easily, so willingly, into Fae society that Elain could hardly see the ounce of human that was once so deeply engrained in her.

Maybe she envied Feyre for that. Maybe she envied the way Feyre took everything in stride, made the best of every situation, fought so hard, so selflessly, to find the light at the end of her tunnel.

Feyre had been made Fae, and she had become the High Lady of the Night Court.

Elain had been made Fae, and she had the love of her life stolen because of it.

She was no Fae – perhaps in flesh, but never at heart. Never, ever at heart.

And yet, here she was, ready to adorn her Fae body to attend a Fae meeting for High Lord Rhysand’s Inner Circle, to discuss Fae politics and Fae issues.

She twisted the iron band around her finger as anxiety rolled through her.

She may be living in the Night Court, and she may be attending their political meetings at Rhysand’s request, but she was no Night Court Fae.

She knew, deep in her soul – her human soul – that she did not, and would not ever, belong here.