*AN: SOoooooooo the only excuse I have for not updating this sooner is that I forgot- I've been cross-posting on AO3, so they've got all the chapters. Thank you to my reviewer who gave me the reminder that this existed on fanfic. Good news for y'all; this means you've got about five chapters buffer! Yay! Anyways, I took some liberties with this chapter. Let me know if anyone is too OOC. Enjoy!

"Feyre, you are a fricking godess."

Two weeks ago Feyre hadn't been aware this ball was happening. It was the annual gala held on midsummer's eve, an open invitation (and common knowledge) to anyone clearance level 3 and above. That had Feyre sighing in relief; she was only clearance level 2, and had feared that she'd been living under a rock when Mor had brought it up.

To convince Feyre to go, Mor had spilled the beans that Rhys was planning on inviting her, which had prompted a small explosive reaction. It ranged from "You're kidding me." to "What do I wear?!" to "Why hasn't he asked me, then?"

The end result was Morrigan dragging Feyre from store to store for an entire afternoon after a three hour drive from the facility to the nearest city. Feyre had been ready to wear her pyjamas to the thing if it meant they could go home, but Mor had insisted on trying one more dress.

As Feyre looked at herself in the mirror, she had to thank Mor for her persistence. The dress looked really good . It was a gauzy, floor-length, v-necked affair, both elegant and sexy. The inner shift was made of a blue fabric so dark it was almost black, and was slit nearly to the top of one thigh. The outer layer was black chiffon, randomly shot through with metallic threads of silver and gold. The v-neck plunged to the waistline, where a fabric band cinched it together and the chiffon skirt began. Thin straps drew over the shoulders and crossed over the back, but other than that Feyre's back was bare.

Feyre's hair had been curled, piled and pinned to the back of her head, with a few strands left to frame her face. Mor had used some kind of miracle gel to hold it all in place, and her gold-brown hair shone while remaining soft. Her lips had been painted in a glossy nude shade, with winged eyeliner and a blend of gold and silver eye shadow finishing off the look.

Never had Feyre felt more glamorous.

Mor appeared over her shoulder, rearranging a few folds in Feyre's dress before humming satisfactorily. "There," she said, turning Feyre to face the body length mirror. "We just stepped off the cover of Vogue."

Feyre had to agree. "Mor, you get all the credit, and could be the cover yourself."

Mor's dress was a deep wine red, and it was cut to hug her every curve on its way from her shoulders to her knees. Her blonde hair was left down, flowing freely down her back. Lips painted to match her dress and a smokey eye on her lids, More was gorgeous. If Mor hadn't done such a good job on Feyre's own look, she'd have been jealous.

She was just slipping on a silver bracelet when there was a sharp knock at Mor's door. "That should be Rhys!" chirped the blonde, slipping on her shoes before running out of the bedroom.

Feyre stared herself down in the mirror, taking a deep breath for courage. She could hear Rhys and Mor complimenting each other in front of the door, which did nothing to calm her.

You can do this, she thought, you've only been asked to a gala you shouldn't be at by the head of Night court. No biggie.

She exited the room, begging her heeled feet not to betray her. The two months of ribbing, flirting and sexual tension between her and Rhys would not be ruined by Feyre stumbling.

Thankfully the gods smiled upon her. Stepping into the foyer of Mor's suite with no incident, she was greeted by the very welcome site of Rhysand in a dark, tailored suit and bow tie. Mor must have let slip the design of Feyre's dress, for Rhys had somehow found a black bow tie with subtle gold and silver accents. His shirt stretched across his chest in an enticing manner, and Feyre had to resist the urge to touch his hair.

Rhysand smiled, slow and just for her. He looked her up and down in an appreciative manner, and Feyre was torn between blushing at the heat pooling in her or basking in his violet gaze. "Hello, Feyre darling. You look ravishing."

Feyre smiled back. "You don't clean up too badly yourself, Rhys."

Mor huffed in mock annoyance, rolling her eyes and making her way out. "Could you two please stop having eye sex in my rooms so we can go to the gala?"

The gala was beautiful. It was outdoors in a secluded corner of the grounds, under the boughs of a giant oak tree. Lanterns had been artfully strung in the branches, casting the scene in a warm glow. A wooden dance floor had been laid down, a small ensemble playing music in a corner. The faint smell of citronella wafted on the breeze, and the flames in the tea candles littered across the small, high tables guttered. Several of the house staff wove through the guests, holding trays laden with hors d'oeuvres or flutes of champagne. Snatches of conversation and laughter drifted to her ears, but all Feyre could focus on was Rhys' hand splayed on the small of her back.

Cassian and Azriel were laughing between themselves near the trunk of the tree, and Mor began to make her way over. Feyre and Rhys followed, but were detained by someone wanting to gain favour with the head of Night.

Rhys brushed his thumb against her back in apology, and Feyre shivered. "Allow me to introduce my beautiful guest, Feyre." Rhys smiled at her, and Feyre held out her hand for the other man to shake.

"It's good to meet you," she said, and tried her hardest to listen to the small talk. Feyre nodded and smiled when required, but her eyes were drifting around the crowd. A moment later she spotted Lucien, a champagne flute dangling from his elegant fingers as he entertained a small crowd. His other hand gestured as he spoke, and a wave of laughter came from those gathered around him.

Feyre excused herself from the drab conversation, now turned to the rising price of oil, and walked across the grass. She could feel Rhys' eyes burning into her back, asking why she'd abandoned him to so dull a death, and she turned and smiled cheekily. Rhys only cocked an eyebrow at her before subtly waving her off. Go have fun, said the wave. You'll owe me later, said the brow.

Feyre could only guess what he'd want in payment for being abandoned, but she hoped it would involve significantly less clothing than she had on now.

Upon Feyre's approach, Lucien had also left his own little group. Lifting a glass flute off a passing tray, he met her in the middle and passed her the champagne.

"I don't know who picked this champagne," he said, downing the remainder of his own glass in one fluid motion, "but it is absolutely divine."

Feyre smiled. "Rhys chose it," she said, which was true, and she was hoping to incite a reaction.

Lucien looked almost lost for a moment before hastily depositing his empty flute on a passing tray. He straightened his already-straight tie, tipping his nose in the air. "Drinking in moderation at these things is always smart," he said, ignoring Feyre's snickering. "And the champagne was acceptable at best."

"Gods, you two drama queens need to get over yourselves," said Feyre, still laughing. "You should see Rhys when I say anything good about you around him."

"He's just jealous of my stunning good looks and award-winning personality."

"You wish. Anyways, I was hoping to find Rose with you. Do you know where she is?"

The redhead laid a hand over his heart, his brows furrowing. "Feyre, you wound me. No "It's good to see you, Lucien," or "you look stunning, Lucien," before asking for favours? I taught you better than that."

Feyre rolled her eyes at him. "You look great, and it's good to see you." Though the tone was sarcastic, the words themselves were true. Lucien was wearing a navy suit, tailored to fit his tall and wiry frame. A narrow black tie was knotted around his neck, and his hair was partially pulled back. He looked good in the warm light of the lanterns, with that sly smile on his face.

And it had been a while since the two friends had properly caught up. Ever since Feyre had been snapped up by the Night court to finish her training, she'd hardly seen Lucien or Rose. She didn't venture often into the medical bay, and she tried to avoid the Spring court whenever possible. Tamlin still pissed her off.

"And you look… presentable, for once. I almost didn't recognize you coming down the lawn." Ah, and that's why she hadn't lost any sleep over not seeing him.

"You're still an ass."

Lucien chuckled before checking the time on his phone. "Rose is still working for a couple more hours. It's a shame tonight fell in her schedule." Just as he went to slip his phone into his pocket, it buzzed. He looked to Feyre, and she flicked a hand at him.

"Oh, go ahead," she said, taking a sip of champagne.

Looking at the screen, he smiled. "Speak of the devil and she shall appear."

"It's Rose?" At Lucien's nod of agreement, she bent over his phone. The glare and tiny text made it difficult to read, and after squinting for a few seconds Feyre just asked. "What's she saying?"

Lucien smirked, something heated sliding through his gaze. "It's a reminder to stay in my suit after the gala, and that she found the handcuffs."

Feyre choked on her champagne. "Oh gods," she said, "I did not need to know that." A second look at the bronze smirk still present and she continued, "Rose may be small, but she's full of energy. Are you sure you can keep up?"

Lucien did not deign to reply, instead flipping her off before stalking away.

Feyre laughed at his retreating form. She would go soothe his ego later. For now, she would gloat. Rhys would find the whole thing hilarious.

Feyre-1, Lucien-0

"So," said Mor, "on a bad night, this just ends with everyone returning to their rooms a little tipsy. You've got nothing to worry about Feyre, there's no rules list to follow here."

"And what happens on a good night?" Cassian choked on his drink, and Azriel started grinning. Mor smirked.

With a pointed look at Cassian, Mor casually said, "There was this one year where Cass snuck in vodka, got drunk off his ass and started an orgy in his rooms."

Feyre gaped at the tall man, making Cass self-consciously run a hand through his hair. "It a very satisfying experience." Azriel raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's not what you said while cleaning up the next morning."

"Hey! I'll remind you that you and Mor were both heavily involved."

Feyre snickered. "Well, they didn't start it." Everyone was laughing, Cassian trying to regain his dignity, when a sudden, strange hush rippled out from the centre of the gala.

"Oh, shit," breathed Cassian, and he herded them closer to the scene.

There on the edge of the dance floor stood Lucien, hackles raised and baring his teeth at an older, paler and shorter version of himself.

"Hello, Lucien," said the man. "Where's your new whore, little brother? I thought I'd say hello." Feyre winced internally. Every word from Lucien's brother was frigid, with the words 'little brother' spat like a curse.

Lucien stepped closer, drawing himself to his full height before snarling, "If you speak of her like that again, or touch a single hair on her head- Eris, so help me god I will slit your fucking throat." In that moment, with his hands fisted and fire in his eyes, Feyre fully believed he would.

Eris laughed, a cruel sound with no humour. "Just like you did our brother? Are you also going to carve out my mark and then burn my body, leaving just that scrap of flesh untouched for everyone to find?" Eris leaned in close. "I never took you for a violent one, boy. Then you used our trademark on my brother… Showing your true colours, hm?" The older man planted a hand on Lucien's chest and shoved, forcing the emissary to take a few steps back. "You may have renounced your title and you may have run, but that doesn't erase your roots. You can never 'stop' being mafia. It's a stain on your soul."

Feyre winced. That was a low blow, reminding Lucien of everything he had done to escape the inescapable shadow that would have consumed him. The Vanserra Mafia was the most feared crime syndicate on this side of Prythian. They had their fingers in drug dealing, arms dealing, money laundering, and almost every vice in the country. All of their family had a stylized 'V' tattooed in black just to the left of their hearts, meant to be worn as a badge of honour and a reminder of loyalty. Beron Vanserra was their Don, and it was said that Eris had inherited every drop of cruelty that his father possessed.

Lucien's hand was inching towards the pocket he kept a knife in, and Feyre stepped forward. She firmly grabbed him around the wrist, squeezing tightly to get his attention. "Don't let him get to you, Lucien." She glared at Eris, her grey-blue eyes meeting his cold amber ones. "You're better than him."

Eris smiled, but the expression only curdled something in Feyre's gut. "Oh, how quaint. Is this the youngest trainee of the Night court? We've heard of you, all the way back home."

"Leave her out of this, you slime-tongued little-"

Suddenly, a dark figure seemed to materialize beside Feyre, briefly resting a dark hand on her shoulder before setting it on the back of Lucien's neck. Rhys. His aura was dark and threatening, and Feyre drew on it to feed her courage. The Vanserras were not people you messed with and lived to tell the tale.

"Though I might change the wording, I must agree with Lucien. If you have grievances with members of the Night court, you can take them up with me." Rhys spoke with absolute authority, his tone cool but commanding. "Why are you here, Eris Vanserra?"

Eris held up his hands and dipped his head, his arrogance shining through the show of submission. "As absurd as this may sound, I'm here to strike a bargain."

The crowd murmured. Vanserras never bargained, it was always do-or-die. Lucien actually burst into laughter. Simultaneously, Feyre dug her nails into his wrist and Rhys tightened his grip on Lucien's neck. The redhead grit his teeth but swallowed the laugh.

"And what bargain may that be?" asked Rhys, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

"I give you the information, you clean up the mess. Sounds good, no?" Eris smiled tightly.

A beat passed before Rhys said, "Deal."

"What the hell, Rhys-" Lucien whispered harshly, but Feyre clenched her fingers tighter. She was sure she'd leave bruises.

"Good. We seal it in blood." Without further flare or fancy, Eris drew a switch blade and made a shallow cut along his palm.

Silently, Lucien shook off Feyre's wrist and handed his own throwing knife to Rhys, hilt first. If Rhys was going to be rash, Lucien thought he might as well throw his full support into the mix. The head of Night repeated the cut, and the two men firmly clasped hands.

"Feyre, you have to witness this," said Lucien. "Repeat after me."

The words came strongly and steadily out of her mouth, and she took the time to look both Rhys and Eris in the eyes. Repeating Lucien's softly spoken phrases, she said, "Eris Vanserra and Rhysand of the Night court, while under this oath you are honour bound to this agreement. You are each protected from the other until this oath is fulfilled. I do so witness this."

Eris withdrew his hand immediately after the words were said, wiping the blood on a golden handkerchief. Rhys just let his hand drop.

"Now that we both likely have an infection," he said, "what's the news?"

"Beron is working with Amarantha." Feyre quickly masked her alarm. The infamous Vanserra mafia allied with the biggest threat in the country? Not good. Lucien muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'you're snitching'.

Rhys merely blinked. "Why the warning? Surely you'd rather watch us all burn than tell us out of the goodness of your heart." He absently shook his hand, a drop of blood splattering onto the wooden dance floor below.

Eris' lips thinned. "Amarantha is trafficking people, which we all took a blood oath against. By allying himself with her, Beron is breaking that oath. I am merely balancing the scales and restoring our honour."

Rhys hummed in thought. "The more information you give us, the easier we can do what you asked." Rhys smiled lazily, the nonchalance in the action a blatant show of power. "Think of that as my bargain for you."

Eris nodded once in assent. "Before I go, I have one more score to settle. This is more official business."

Eris stared at Lucien, eyes narrowed. "I have a warning for you, little brother. It should be delivered by leaving your dead body in your whore's bed, but alas," Eris arrogantly waved his hand around, "We have company."

The older Vanserra drew his knife again, his blood still coating the blade. Eris put the point against Lucien's collarbone, and Feyre tensed. She felt Rhys' presence step closer, ready to intervene should the situation spin out of control.

Eris didn't draw blood, merely slicing down his shirt.

"You little shit, that was nice shirt," said Lucien, the clenching of his jaw the only visible sign of his fear. Feyre was impressed at how composed he was; Eris had a reputation for cruelty. Give the man a knife and add their family history, and Feyre was surprised Lucien could still taunt him. But then again, it was Lucien.

Eris merely smiled at him, not bothering to make a clean cut through the expensive fabric.

Still holding the knife, Eric opened Lucien's shirt, exposing his lean chest. There, an inch left of his heart, was the defining Vanserra tattoo. It was slightly different from the one Feyre had studied and learned to recognize. All the usual blank space in the motif of Lucien's tattoo was coloured a stark blue.

Eris hummed, tapping the blade against the inked skin. "The added colour is a little sloppy, but we did have to hold you down to do this."

"Eris, your favour is running out," warned Rhys. Eris didn't seem to hear.

"Remember, little brother." He placed his hand on Lucien's chest, palm directly over the tattoo. The older redhead leaned in, saying, "You may be a Vanserra, but you're marked."

Lucien's bronze skin paled but he held his ground, baring his teeth in a feral grin. "I know. After you murdered her, I'm glad of it."

Turning to Rhys, Eris pocketing his knife. From the same pocket, he pulled out a necklace. Dangling from the leather cord was a metal 'V', enameled blue. Eris handed it to Rhys. "For harbouring a marked traitor."

Rhys looked at it dispassionately before shoving the necklace into his suit pocket. "Pretty trinket, but I'm not into mobsters. Thank you for the flattery, though." Rhys stepped forward, moving in front of Feyre's line of site. "Now get out of my party."

Eris started to turn away, but seemed to pause for a moment. "Feyre," he said, and she didn't like the way her name sounded from his lips. "Be careful who you keep close. I'd hate to see you in blue."

And with that, Eris left.

Those attending the gala began talking again, and it was like Feyre had stepped out of a bubble. Everything that had happened felt so isolated, and now, suddenly there existed other people.

Feyre felt a long-fingered hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Lucien. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his chest, where the tattoo was bare and bold against his skin. It was strangely beautiful, all curving lines and twisting patterns filled in blue. Lucien awkwardly fisted his shirt closed and held it in place. "Feyre… you didn't have to put yourself in danger for me. That was very brave of you, confronting Eris like that, but I don't want you getting hurt. If you had been hurt, I'm pretty sure Rhys would have taken my balls for collateral." The attempt at humour fell flat when Feyre merely glared at her friend.

The beginnings of annoyance bubbled in her throat. How are men so thick-headed, she thought. "Don't tell me what to do."

Lucien, in a fashion very unlike himself, fumbled with his words. "Shit. Gods, I'm sorry. What I meant to say was… Feyre, thank you. I would have done something stupid-"

"As usual," coughed Rhys, winking at Feyre.

"-but you stepped in." Lucien affectionately squeezed her shoulder, then turned to Rhys. He stuck out hand, and after a moment Rhys smoothly gripped it. He arched a brow.

"Finally coming round to me, foxboy?" Rhys' other hand crept into his pocket, where the necklace seemed to be burning a hole through the fabric. The charm was cold and felt too heavy for its size. Rhys scraped the edge of his nail along the enamel and the metal's sharp edge bite into his finger.

"Hell no," said Lucien. His eyes, russet and gold, stared at the head of Night unblinkingly. "We're both dead men walking, and we'll probably be sharing a grave. Thought I should at least shake your hand once before our corpses spend eternity together."

AN: Az and Cass are so difficult to write, but they'll be popping up more often. I've got a chapter in the works where the inner circle features more; not sure where it falls in posting order though. I've always thought Lucien would be on the kinky side, so I couldn't resist! In regards to Vanserras and their deal with blue, its basically a mark as to who's on their hit list. Constructive criticism is welcomed, and please please request something you want as part of this AU! I'll write pretty much anything ;)

Enjoy your day!