Page 114 of Fate

But it left Firen feeling oddly shaken. Elements of old teaching and new awareness warring with one another in ways that left a sickly lump in her stomach.

That might have been her. If Lucian had not been caring. Been gentle. Had put her above his family and their ideals.

Except...

She had a family to go home to. That would have taken her in and held her while she ached from the poisoned bond, filling her mind with empty promise of love and protection if only she’d go back where she belonged, back to the man that didn’t love her, didn’t value her...

She’d seen Ellena’s family. Seen them as cold and calculating as Oberon.

She’d had so few choices available to her.

Only one.

Terrible as it had been.

Firen swiped at her eyes and laid her hand on Lucian’s back between his wings. He turned his head slightly, and she was certain he felt her pain through the bond. She couldn’t help it,not now, and she was sorry for its distraction while his parents still stood in their courtyard.

It was a strange sort of stalemate, as Ellena waited for Oberon to leave first, and he gestured for her to ascend before him.

She didn’t want to—that much was clear from the way her eyes darted back toward her son. Then to Firen. “Thank you, my dear,” she murmured softly. “You set a fine table.”

And then she left before Oberon to reprimand her for even that compliment. He turned as if to follow, but paused, his wings outspread. “I will protect my family,” he cautioned, eyes severe as he looked at his son. “I will not permit false rumours to spread throughout the Halls.”

Lucian stood firm. “I will ensure to only protect mine with the truth, then.” He bowed his head, but only just, and turned his back to his father and took up Firen’s hand. “Come along, love,” he murmured, and she swallowed thickly, nodding her head and allowing him to lead her back into their home.

He bolted the door with shaking fingers, and before she could even think to move toward him, she found herself wrapped in his embrace. It was as if all the tension he’d held in his frame came shuddering out of him, and it was all she could do to keep him upright. “I am so very proud of you,” she soothed, her fingers combing through his hair, the edges of his wings, the spot on his neck that pained him when he poured over his books for too long.

Her arms ached with the weight of him, and she must have made a sound or he felt a twinge through the bond, for he suddenly stood upright. Pulled her into their sitting room and sat in his favourite chair.

And was not content until she was sitting on his lap, his face buried somewhere between her shoulder and her hair.

Sheltered. Safe.

Which was strangely endearing—that she might be that for him. That he needed her in such a way. She’d thought him so intimidating at the start. Imposing in his stature and the harshness of his eyes, but that seemed so long ago. “I never wanted you to have to choose,” she admitted quietly. She would need to check on her mother, but not yet. She was needed here far more. “I never wanted you to have to lose out on anything just because of me.”

He snorted, but did not emerge from the sanctuary he’d made for himself. “As if it was any hardship to lose it.” It was a comment bitterly given, and she could not let it stand.

She shifted, coaxing him unhappily out so she might touch his cheek and smooth her fingers through the edges of his hair. “That isn’t true,” she chided gently. “That was your home. The family you loved. Still love. It’s all right to miss it. To wish you could have it back.”

His eyes hardened, and she had not meant to upset him, but it wouldn’t quite be them if they did not quarrel before they loved. Which they wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not with her mother in the kitchen, but there would be later. When she drew him back into her embrace and peeled his clothing from him one at a time, until he was bare and all hers.

Until everything else fell away for a little while. Books and responsibilities and family alike.

Just the two of them.

But for now, they would squabble, and she smiled softly as he glared, gesturing toward the kitchen down the hall. “Your family would be worth mourning. Your family would be a loss. Do you think I could not see it? The way they...” his voice caught, and he closed his eyes. “The way they love you? Would have accepted anyone through their door, because it was enough he was your mate.”

He shook his head and when he opened his eyes, there was no mistaking the pain he harboured there.

She pulled him back to her, let him hold her as tight as he pleased. “I could not give you that. Could not give you what you’ve given me.”

Firen stilled, mulling over his words. She needed to be careful, could not dismiss him when it obviously troubled him so greatly. But one thing was evident to her, and he needed to hear it. To believe her. “That was not your job,” she promised him. “It was theirs. Your mother is trying, despite it all, and I will come to love her. I’m sure of it. As for your father...” She lacked the words to express quite what she felt about him, but she didn’t need to. “He might come to regret his choices. Not yet, but someday.” Her fingers moved through his hair again, and she felt the shudder go through him. “Do you have any fond memories of him?” She nudged him with her shoulder. “I should like to hear one, if there is one to share.”

He was quiet far longer than he should have been. So long that she almost regretted asking it of him.

“I was young. Had my flight feathers, but not for long, I think.” Firen nodded, and waited for him to continue. “He brought me into his study. Which was... not something he’d ever done before. Set me on his knee and showed me the first book of governance. An old one, passed down through our family since...” he grimaced, which she only just caught before he tucked his face away again. “Well, the beginning, I suppose you’d say.” Beginning of what, she did not ask. It wasn’t the time for those lessons, not when he was hurting. “He said I had a marvellous future ahead of me. One steeped in tradition and responsibility, but he was certain I would excel.” He snorted, shaking his head. “That sentiment did not last.”

Her throat hurt. “I’m sorry.”

---