Pre-Author's Note TW: A quick trigger warning for everyone reading: this fic contains scenes of capture, attempted sexual assault, and references of past sexual abuse. Blood and gore is also seen and mentioned, so just a quick heads up! Also, a quick disclaimer as well, this story is split into 4 parts, updated weekly, and inspired by Taylor Swift's song "Castles Crumbling" - felt like I needed to mention all that, so happy reading!

"My foes and friends watch my reign end. I don't know how it could've ended this way." - Taylor Swift

Elain was careful of the patches of mud as she stepped over another root.

Orange rays of the lingering sunset spotted the ground beneath the shade of the forest surrounding her, fleetingly guiding her path as best it could. Weeds rustled against her skirt the farther she walked on, some even reaching high enough to brush the underside of the basket slung over her wrist.

Wildflowers of varying shades, sizes, and petals nearly burst the wicker of it, and she was shocked that the handful of berries she had picked from at least seven different bushes in the last hour were still intact, and not leaking from the bottom.

Elain knew she hardly could have complained, though. It was for a more than valiant cause.

The cause in question being the very thing she hadn't been able to hear enough of from Jurian for nearly the past week.

Vassa's birthday was no more than two days away, and the poor human general had driven himself nearly mad in trying to arrange a suitable night for her when she returned from the lake. Even when he had tried to feign nonchalance, and assured Elain whenever she arched a brow at him whenever the conversation would circle back - again - to the fire-bird queen's big day, she never missed the nervous flex of his fingers, or the way he swallowed a bit too thickly to brush off as casual. Which, inevitably, had led her to finally taking one load off his shoulders that he had been satisfied to haul around himself until Vassa returned.

The woman in question had nearly kissed Elain the first night she had taken a bite of her freshly-made pie (accompanied by a groan that had Elain blushing and Jurian choking on his wine). For two weeks after, Vassa had all but demanded she make one again, and Elain had either begrudgingly agreed or innocently shrugged that they were fresh out of the ingredients she needed to bake another; more often than not, the latter hardly turned out to be true.

Only today had Elain gone to the cupboard and searched high and low for the tart, jam-like pie filling that seemed to send her friend to a higher plane of existence. And, for the first time since she had lamely used the excuse that her hands were completely tied without the ingredients she needed, Elain was at a loss to make Vassa her special birthday surprise.

Not even half-an-hour later, Elain had changed into a traveling dress, hoisted a basket into her arms, and trekked out into the woods surrounding Jurian's manor. And all for the fiery woman she knew would thank her for decades to come over a simple pie.

Just the thought brought a chuckle to her lips, and Elain ducked between another gathering of trees.

It had nearly been three months now.

Three months since arriving on the manor's doorstep, a traveling bag with only her dresses and nightclothes stuffed inside clenched between her hands. Three months since she had sat in the living area before the three members of the "Band of Exiles" and told them exactly what she had said to Feyre. Three months since she had braved herself and confessed her want to assist in breaking Vassa from Koschies' clutches and her curse in anyway she could, including by means of the powers that had been content to lock themselves away in her soul, only content to taunt and haunt her in the late hours of the night and only in the confines of her mind.

Not that she had told any of the Inner Circle, Feyre included, about that last bit of information she had all but rambled to Jurian, Vassa, and the male that had seemed ready to bolt from the room or skewer her with a scalding stare the moment she stepped past the front door's threshold.

It had taken her nearly three hours to convince the woman she now considered to be one of her closest friends to allow her help. Vassa, even more so than the other red-haired figure that had deigned from saying a word, had resembled more of viper than a fire-bird in the time it took for Elain to say her piece, and it had only morphed to a dissatisfied and watchful hawk when the four had settled on her agreement to stay and Jurian had led her to her room.

Her initial goal to despise Elain and her presence in the manor lasted all but a day-and-a-half.

The moment it clicked that Elain had a gift when it came to gardening and the kitchen, and that Vassa no longer remained the only female in the high stone walls of Jurian's estate, her switch in character nearly had Elain's head spinning. And while she herself had remained ever-so-slightly weary at first that one wrong move would have the queen slipping into her room in the night to incinerate her with only a glare, nothing could sway her from the overbearing truth that she had found a true friend in the feisty red-head after those first few days.

Their rocky start - to which Vassa revealed had solely been built off the disdain she had towards her for seeing a certain male return miserable from his monthly visits to Velaris - had shot to the past and stayed there. Now, they giggled like school girl's in their rooms, linked arms and walked the length of Jurian's grounds (to which Elain was usually content to listen to Vassa spew every bit of gossip she could get her hands on), sat before the fire and sipped their wine simply content in one another's company. It was the moments Elain secretly yearned to fulfill with her sisters that the mortal queen had taken on herself, and it warmed something in her heart to see it.

Vassa, in all her goodness, was not the only member that had taken kindly to her. Jurian, seeing the fast friendship that evolved between her and his queen, made it his mission to make Elain equally so. The general, more often than not, filled their time together with stories that left her either gasping in shock, clutching her stomach from laughter, or blushing enough that it ran from the tips of her pointed ears down to her neck (and usually earned him a solid whack on the arm, having been inspired by Vassa's quick swats to the back of his head when he threw her grins that made him look nothing short of a rake).

It was in moments like those, the two bickering souls nearly getting nose to nose with how furiously they'd argue, that Elain's eyes would drift to the only other member in their little group.

Lucien.

Her mate, who had ignored her for a large majority of the first month she had been in the Human Lands. Her mate, who had avoided speaking to her unless absolutely, blindingly, and unavoidably necessary, and she in turn to him. Her mate, who had remained collected, calm, and cordial, even in the moments her eyes caught his stare and something deep within her chest buzzed.

It had since the moment she had seen his russet and golden eyes widen the second they landed on her walking into the living room behind Jurian on that first day. A cool indifference had shortly followed, lingering in every word or short quip they had to exchange.

And even when every rational thought told her it wasn't true, something in her heart urged her to acknowledge the other reason she had wanted to get out of Velaris and away from the Inner Circle.

But not even she had the strength to admit to such a thing. Not yet.

Not when just three weeks before, something had finally - finally - shifted, if only a few inches. But a few inches they were all the same.

Elain trudged down a short hill, and her arm flew out to the side to keep her balance. Her minor slip wasn't enough to keep the memories that had re-played in her mind over and over again every time she sank into her bed for the night from flying to the fore-front of her thoughts.

The first time had been an accident.

Vassa, having already had to flee back to the lake, and Jurian, still working with the lords and nobles in the area over the treaties and guidelines that would need to be laid out regarding the now non-existent wall, had left the manor just to the two of them. Boredom had her legs wandering the halls of the manor, and eventually to the opulent library in the West wing.

Lucien had been sitting on one of the thick sofas just to the right of the fireplace, shadowing him in a glow that seeped with the very essence of autumn. She had froze upon seeing him, unable to take her eyes off the male strewn back on the pillows, looking so at ease, molten hair tied back at his neck and revealing every handsome feature she cursed herself for so blatantly noticing.

Even now, she wasn't sure what had spurred her to ask the first question. Why she had asked after the book he was reading, and why she had to physically clench her hands behind her when he had glanced up in surprise, straightening himself to reveal the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in.

Why, after he had cleared his throat and offered a short response, she had lingered by the shelves, even in the pit of the awkward tension that had swirled between them.

Why - ever the courtier and the cordial male that had kept himself at a polite distance since the moment Nesta had ripped her from his arms the day she had been thrown into the depths of the Cauldron, and her soul bounded itself to his - she slowly walked forward and took the seat across from him when he tentatively offered her the spot on the other side of the sitting area to read something herself.

No words were exchanged after. Nothing but the rapid beat of her heart tuning itself to his when she reached to the table between them and grabbed the first book on top (of course, it had been one of Vassa's beloved romances; she and Nesta would have talked for hours).

Nothing said. Only a silence that stretched with the crackling fire, and a quiet that slowly eased into something relaxed. Almost peaceful. She had almost nodded off three hours later, curled in the chair, when he had carefully closed his book, stood from his seat, and gave her a quick bow and an even quieter 'good night, my lady'.

Elain had desperately tried and failed to forget the voice in which he had said the words, low and almost gentle. Two days even passed where they had only, for the first time, actually exchanged polite nods with the other when they entered a room. That was until both of their companions left the manor to just the two of them again, and Elain had found the time to busy herself with preparing a special dessert for the night's dinner in honor of Vassa returning.

The steaming apple pie she had taken from the oven nearly clattered to the floor when she had turned and found him standing in the doorway, watching her carefully. Only by a short interrogation did he admit to following the scent of cinnamon and caramelized apples, landing him in the kitchen. And only by a few words, and a short chuckle from him, did Elain nearly throw herself out the window when she dared to tease him.

His answering surprise had nearly drowned her in mortification, but she was graciously saved when a tiny smile - a real smile - twitched at his lips. She had nearly tossed herself out the window again just by the speed in which her heart jolted at the sight of it.

He had almost left her then to her business, about to part with a polite dip of his chin as always, but Elain didn't miss the way his eyes had lingered on the ingredients and the pie nearly overflowing with sweet apples.

Out of pure instinct, she had asked if he liked the dessert. Out of cordiality, she assumed he answered politely that it was actually one of his favorites, and his mother's most requested recipe from the ladies in her court.

So there was no reason, after dinner that night and too many hugs passed between her and Vassa, that she scribbled the ingredients, steps, and cooking time onto a spare card she found in one of the drawers and left on the library table.

None at all.

With everyday that passed, an inconsistent routine began to build. Elain would accidentally stumble upon him, or Lucien wouldn't purposefully mean to interrupt whatever she was doing. The few would exchange a few words, sometimes slipping into tense silence or not knowing how to fill the awkward pauses. So they would politely bow or excuse themselves, and they would go about as they were.

Each day, the conversations got a little longer; the pauses a little shorter; the accidental run-ins became a silent, unspoken agreement they could find each other in the library, or the kitchens, or the gardens right around a certain time.

And for every slip one of them would make away from the calm and collected manners they pushed onto each other, whether it was a tease, or a chuckle that would overflow into a hearty laugh, Elain had shocked herself the first time he hadn't been outside of his study on the dot, and a pit of disappointment had curled in her gut.

She had wanted to bump into him. Had wanted to have a conversation, even if it barely lasted five minutes, and over something as futile and safely polite as how warm the weather was. Had wanted to be brave enough to steel every one of her nerves when he had stepped out onto the terrace one afternoon, figuring her to be in the gardens, and instead going stock-still at the sight of her seated at table with a pot of tea and two cups in front of her.

Elain hadn't said a word when he carefully took the seat across from her. She only poured herself a cup, then slid the pot towards him. The moment he filled a cup for himself, and set it aside, a small glass of cream and bowl of honey popped into existence beside it. Exactly how she took her tea.

Neither spoke. And Elain had known they didn't need to.

It wasn't possessive and cruel as she had initially thought. It wasn't a stake in her life, or her freedom, or her choices. It wasn't the torturous itch she would never be able to scratch for the rest of her immortal life.

The bond she had with Lucien was slow. And awkward. And tentative, like both were afraid to break what had been built between them; too worried they would mistakenly shatter the friendship that had started to bloom in a hopeful ray of sunlight.

And she couldn't have hoped for it more.

Elain, blinking when her foot snapped a branch beneath her, shook herself, and finally glanced up again, unwilling to believe she had walked for nearly fifteen minutes completely lost in thoughts surrounding her mate.

She bit her lip to keep back her traitorous smile, and walked ahead into a small clearing.

The trees around her reached for the waning pinks and oranges of the sky. Between their swaying branches, the few nocturnal birds she had spotted out her window swooping along the tops of the garden's hedges sang their final notes, hidden from view.

It saddened her, to an extent, how much duller the colors seemed now in the Human Lands. The sounds, less pronounced. The smells, not nearly as gratifying as her garden back in Velaris.

But it was a beautiful glory of nature all the same, and Elain released a heavy sigh.

Her eyes drifted back down to the clearing, and it was only then they brightened on a bush just on the other side.

Thick, ripe berries, such a deep red that they nearly resembled blood, hung from its leaves.

They swayed with the wind, and just the idea of their sweet tartness, and Vassa's extra approving groan whenever she bit into one of her pies with a bit more tang to it, had her feet moving of their own accord.

She was half-way through the grass - mind already scrambling to think of a way she could incorporate them into her recipe - when a twig snapped behind her.

Oddly reminiscent of belonging to a foot.

Elain froze.

Every muscle in her body went taught, and she turned to face the trees again.

Miles and miles worth of trees. Some even still glinting against the dimming sun were all her eyes could see as they swept back and forth.

Nothing.

A rustle in the branches above nearly made her gasp. Her grip on the basket tightened, and loosened. The birds that had chirped above her fluttered down and took off in the direction she had come, wings beating as if they were racing one another to get away.

But to get away from what, she had no idea.

"Hello?"

Elain carefully spun in a full circle, scanning every crevice that the trees provided her to glimpse into the forest beyond.

"Is someone there?"

Nothing.

She could see nothing.

But Elain couldn't lie to herself. Not as she turned back to the bush of berries. Something deep within her gut forced her to acknowledge the hairs standing on the back of her neck, and her ears straining to hear every tiny and insignificant sound she had long learned to shield herself from.

She took slow steps towards the fruit, and whatever instinct that damned Cauldron had given her, whatever senses the High Fae seemed to be both cursed and blessed with, curled deeper. Like a beast with its claws prepared and its tail swishing in tune with her heart picking up speed. Ready to attack whatever predator dared to stalk it.

A slice of fear roiled through her gut, and Elain took a slow breath.

Jurian's slurred words, edging on him being so drunk he could barely stand only three nights before, echoed back to her. 'Pissed' had been putting it lightly for the frustration in which he threw back glass after glass of amber liquor. For every meeting he had attended, every chance he could take to try and sway the humans to believe that the fae were not creatures they needed to fear, some simply couldn't grasp the idea.

Nor could they find it in themselves to respect, much less bother to listen, to a human that housed, not one, but two faeries himself.

And they weren't keen on changing those ideas anytime soon.

It was for that reason alone, and the controlled fury burning in Lucien's eyes when they had briefly flicked to her, conveying all she needed to know to stay as far from the villages for now as she could, that she had snuck back to the armoire in Jurian's study and slipped one of his daggers to the bottom of her basket.

Before she had even stepped foot out the door, before even stopping by Lucien's study where she had told him she would be out for a few hours (and promptly left before his brow could settle into that frown she was now so accustomed to that it would have forced her to do something stupid to her tongue and invite him along), she hoped to whatever gods or Mother herself was there that she wouldn't have to use it.

Gods knew she didn't even know how to.

The times in which Cassian had come forward and actually invited her for a few short rounds of training came too soon after Solstice. Too soon, in which time hadn't yet healed her wounds of embarrassment and humiliation. Too soon was the risk of facing the male that called what she thought had been a beautiful and budding passion nothing but a mistake.

That had been nearly a year ago. And Elain internally scolded herself for passing up the opportunity to learn even a basic level of self-defense in favor of saving her the risk of bumping into Azriel again, especially when his eyes would have been straying, not to her, but towards the red-haired priestess.

That wound had long since scarred over and healed, even before she had all but begged Feyre to just let her go, but it slashed itself against the shame and guilt of not being able to put it aside then.

Especially when she needed it now.

Elain walked closer to the bush, heart now thudding and urging her to grab a few and return to the manor as fast as her legs were willing to carry her.

She leaned down over the leaves and reached for one of the ripe berries in its center.

Her fingers barely brushed against its smooth exterior, just as she glanced to the base of the plant.

She glimpsed the rope sticking out below a branch - and her foot - a moment too late.

In the next, it surrounded her.

The momentum of her feet flying off the ground swallowed her scream.

Her arms flew out in both directions, grappling to sweep nothing but the air that should have been there.

Instead of the thick rope that cut into the fabric of her sleeves and back of her dress.

Her legs scrunched above her, knees tucking so far they almost touched her chin.

Her stomach lurched when the pull upwards stopped so suddenly it nearly tossed her upside down.

Elain frantically twisted her body left and right, trying to pull herself upright between the holes of the knots bound together so tightly, they didn't budge when she yanked and pulled against them.

Her breaths were short. Uneven.

The canopy of leaves from the trees looked too close. Much closer than they had seconds before.

The earth that had just been beneath her feet felt too far. Where she should have felt herself lying against grass was nothing but a plummet to a snapped neck.

Tears blurred the corner of her vision, and Elain kicked, pulled, shoved, and wormed her body in every direction. Looking for something - anything - to assure her this wasn't real.

But the more she thrashed, the more she clawed at the rope surrounding her, the tighter her trap seemed to become.

Her breathing became desperate gasps.

The hem of her dress fell up towards her chin, baring her slippers and pale legs, nearly to her undergarments. She pushed the fabric away from her face, vicious shrieks that sounded like a wounded animal surrounding her.

It took her longer than a moment to realize it wasn't a wounded animal.

But herself.

An animal caught in the jaws of a predator she had been too sure had only been her imagination.

And it wasn't the tangle of her dress that finally ripped a scream from her trembling lips.

It was the raucous laughter, far, far below.

Hey guys!

Wow, has it been a minute since I've written anything. Life was life, things got busy, and then I discovered ACOTAR. And holy crap, this series is literally crack in book form.

That being said, I'm on ACOSF right now (haven't finished it, but I spoiled some parts for myself and included some of those bits in the story - woops), it's freaking great, and I just need everybody to get their happy ending. Thus, for the time being, fan-fiction!

Happy reading, stay tuned for the next three chapters, and as always, hope you guys have a great morning, afternoon, evening, or night!

- Summerwinds