Hope Griffin Diaz

“Her eyes were the brown of a fawn's coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze.

'Who are you?'

He knew without demanding clarification that she was aware of what he was to her.

'I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.'

And a whole lot of nothing.
...
For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. 'Lucien,' she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. 'From my sister's stories. Her friend.'

'Yes.'

But Elain blinked slowly. 'You were in Hybern.'

'Yes.' It was all he could say.

'You betrayed us.'

He wished she'd shoved him out the window behind her. 'It- it was a mistake.'

Her eyes were frank and cold. 'I was to be married in a few days.'

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who'd claimed her and shred him apart. The words were a rasp as he instead said, 'I know. I'm sorry.'

She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male's bride.

A mortal man's wife. Or she would have been.

She looked away- toward the windows. 'I can hear your heart,' she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

'When I sleep,' she murmured, 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. 'Can you hear mine?'

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, 'No, lady. I cannot.'

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. 'No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really.' A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. 'He did. He saw me. He will not now.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“The flame in her eyes was not of your usual sort, I take it.'

Lucien shook his head. 'No. It spoke to nothing in my own arsenal. That was... Ice so cold it burned. Ice and yet... fluid like flame. Or flame made of ice.'

'I think it's death,' I said quietly.

I held Rhys's gaze, as if it were again the tether that had kept me in this world. 'I think the power is death- death made flesh. Or whatever power the Cauldron holds over such things. That's why the Carver heard it- heard about her.'

'Mother above,' Lucien said, dragging a hand through his hair.

Cassian gave him a solemn nod.

But Rhys rubbed his jaw, weighing, thinking. Then he said simply, 'Only Nesta would not just conquer Death- but pillage it.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“Do you know,' Cassian drawled to her, 'that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?'

Nesta's burning gaze slid to him, still outraged- but hinted with incredulity.

He just went on, 'It was Amren's fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.'

She blinked slowly.

But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be.

Until Lucien breathed, 'What are you?'

Cassian didn't seem to dare take his focus off Nesta. But my sister slowly looked at Lucien.

'I made it give something back,' she said with terrifying quiet. The Cauldron. The hairs along my arms rose. Nesta's gaze flicked to the carpet, then to a spot on the wall. 'I wish to go to my room.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“Lucien. It was Lucien.

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he'd run from the shore.

His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little. But Elain only wrapped her arms around herself and remained at my side.

'Are you hurt?' he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain's hands.

He halted short as he noticed the King of Hybern's decapitated head on the other side of the clearing. Nesta was still showered with his blood.

'I'm fine,' Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, 'Are you-'

'Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... yes, I'm in one piece.'

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips. But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, 'I heard- what happened. I'm sorry for your loss. All of you.'

I just strode to him and threw my arms around his neck, even if it wasn't the embrace he was hoping for. 'Thank you- for coming. With the battle, I mean.'

'I've got one hell of a story to tell you,' he said, squeezing me tightly.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin