The day he had finally decided to track Nuala down to talk, was the same day a messenger had interrupted Lucien's meeting with the Inner Circle to announce his father's death.
And the rise of a new High Lord of Autumn.

Eris.

Thus, Lucien's plans were violently thrust in another, more hostile direction. 
Father is dead.
Cauldron, he'd waited so long to hear that news. 
Waited but not hoped. 
Now that the day was finally here...
He was being sent to Autumn both as former son of the deceased, and as emissary to ensure relations between courts.
Now that his father was dead, Lucien had no further excuse to give to Rhysand and his goons to avoid Autumn. 
It was his cauldron-damned job.
And he cursed it.
He cursed it the entire journey, winnowing a few miles at a time down through Day, Dawn, and stopping, for three full days, at Kallias' palace in Winter.
Kallias and his wife had been welcoming and hospitable.
But even they knew that Lucien was delaying the inevitable.
The morning of his departure, Kallias saw him off alone.
They stood side by side at the entrance to the cave that would take him into Autumn.
Where his brothers and the rest of the wolves of Autumn waited.
Kallias spoke, his warm voice cutting through the frost of the air, betraying the ice of his visage.
"I remember how Beron was. He will not be missed in Winter, Lucien Vanserra."
Lucien snorted, unbothered by how indecent that might be now that he served as emissary to Night.
"He was damned long before Eris decided to take the throne, Lord Kallias."
He glanced at the young High Lord, before shouldering his bag and taking a step forward.
"He'll not be missed anywhere."
And with that, he stepped through.
The world spun, and music filled his ears, the scent of apples and fire in his nose.
Until it all gee so intense, Lucien thought his head might explode from the ringing.
And then, there was light.
It blinded him at first, but Lucien did not need to see to know where he was. 
What it looked like.
And yet, he found himself breathing in deeply, savoring the crisp smell of the bitter air. 
The sun had yet to rise, so the leaves on the ground were coated in pale frost.
Here, though, it was different. 
In winter, the frost was lovely.  It glittered and shimmered.
The snow was soft and clean, and even if it was dangerous, that cold, it was inviting and childlike. 
Here... the frost in Autumn was a reminder.
Everything here was harsh.
Lucien shuddered as the air burned his lungs and the sharp wind blew his unbound hair back.
He hadn't bothered to tie it up this morning. 
The color of his hair matched the leaves still on the great trees in the dim light.
Sometimes he resented it. 
Another reminder of where he was from.  Of who had sired him. 
Of who had shattered his heart.
But others... other times it made him ache for home.
As it had been once. 
The scent of apples was faint in the wind, but it reminded him keenly of his mother.
She had been so gentle, so kind. 
Lucien's eyes scanned the treetops, remembering how she used to sing to him beneath the apple trees, while he devoured them by the bushel. 
How she would hold him in her arms and rock him back and forth when he was just a boy, and tell him fantastic stories of heroes and gods that pulled the sun across the sky.
And suddenly, the wind was not so harsh, the air not so bitter, the sound of leaves rustling not sharp and unwelcoming.
Lucien sighed.
That would be his saving grace, today and in the days to come.
His mother, his beautiful, wonderful, wounded mother would be there.
He had not seen her...
He walked forward, leaves crunching beneath his feet as he tried to recall the last time he had seen her.
A glimpse, Under the Mountain?
The last time they had spoken, though, was clear in his mind.
It was the day his fiancée had been murdered by his father.
Lucien shook his head violently, as if to rid himself of the memory.
It was dangerous to reminisce now. 
He looked up, eyes narrowed in the dawning light.
The sun had just begun to rise above the treetops.
There would be sentinels nearby. 
And they would not be there to welcome their estranged prince back home. 
Moving forward in the direction of the palace, Lucien put a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip. 
Beautiful and elegant, it would look merely decorative, or ceremonial to the people of the court. 
But once he made it inside... his brothers would see it as a challenge.
Lucien could only hope that Eris had better sense than the others. 
He had always been evil, but he was far more cunning and restrained, aware of politics and the public eye. 
Beron had cared little what the people thought of him. 
Only that they fear and respect him.
Eris had gained respect through admiration. 
And there were some in Autumn who still harbored love for Lucien. 
He scanned the treetops once more, the forest floor and the shadows of trees in his periphery, his ears open and waiting for footsteps, or the hiss of a sword.
Lucien had forgotten some things about Autumn.
Now, as he looked up at the jewel colored leaves, he started to remember why it was so dangerous.
The land, the plants, the fruitful trees and the bright, warm colors that spoke of good food, harvest, and companionship, was all a farce.
The beauty was a trap. A distraction.
Nigh on every creature in Autumn wanted to catch and kill.
It was a court full of hunters and predators.
There was a mask of polished society, of propriety and civility. A very thin mask.
Underneath it was savagery.
The citizens and rulers of Autumn were no better than well behaved animals.
No matter how cunning and intelligent they were.
It was all to satisfy some base instinct.
And yet, Lucien still found himself losing focus, caught himself admiring the trees as he had done as a child, before his father had beat the naivety out of him.
His path became loose and aimless. 
The fallen leaves around the base of the trees were spread out, glowing gold and vermillion.
Cardinals and woods birds hopped from branch to branch, and a swallow flew so near to his face that its wingtip grazed his cheek.
The sun had given the forests a halo, and beams of light pierced through the the ground.
A rustle sounded to his left.
Lucien's head whipped around, eyes sharp and alert once more.
His searching gaze landed almost immediately on a wide eyed doe, who had stopped in her tracks, staring at him with just as much caution and surprise as he stared at her.
He loosed a tense breath, and spun slowly once, eyes examining every tree and shadow.
Nothing.
Nothing but that birds and that damn deer.
He cursed himself soundly for falling prey to the beauty of the forest, and trudged onward.
This time, he was careful to keep his footfalls soft and his mind alert. 
In the time he had fallen into his reminiscent trance, he had covered a troubling distance, already closing in on the nearest village outside of the palace.
The sun, he noted, was fully risen now, and the morning frost melted.
Lucien's golden eye whirred, reacting to his sudden shift in mood and aggravation.
The wind had picked up now, and despite the cover of the trees and the sun, it's chill broke through and buried itself deep in Lucien's bones.
A shiver crawled down has spine.
It had been a long time since he had felt the scrape of such ill-meaning winds.
Even when he had passed through with Feyre, he had been distracted enough, his kind elsewhere or too focused on keeping her alive to notice.
Now, he was hyper aware.
The chill raised the hair on the name of his neck.
His own footsteps and the rustling of animals set his teeth on edge.
They should have found him by now.
Autumn sentinels always patrolled this close to the northernmost village, because it was closest to the portal.
By the time he made it to the clearing, the village within shouting distance, Lucien's nerves were raw, and his mood considerably worsened.
The blanket of fallen leaves thinned and disappeared as he stepped onto the gravel path.
The only sound in and between the dozen or so houses on this acreage was Lucien's boots crunching over pebbles and cobblestones.
Other than that, it was eerily silent.
And completely empty. 
Lucien stopped walking.
His eye clicked and whirred in distress, straining to pick up any signs of movement. 
He gritted his teeth and turned slowly.
It would seem, that Autumn court had emptied out.
Had Eris done this?
Was it a witch hunt for any and all who had supported their father?
Lucien's face paled and his stomach soured.
They were a harsh, cold people, but most of them were still simply citizens, content to live their own lives.
Nausea gripped him.
Was Eris worse than he thought?
Would he be a greater blight to this land than their father had been?
Lucien shook his head and snarled silently to himself, gathering his strength.
"Enough of this," he muttered, and winnowed.
Directly to the palace gates.

It would seem that Eris had moved every guard and sentinel that used to patrol the perimeters and the woods directly to the doors of the palace.
At least, it had felt that way when they had leapt into action the second he appeared in their midst, still dazed from winnowing.
"You there! In the name of Lord Eris, state your business here!"
Lucien felt two hands grip his arms and snap his back into an upright position and force him to his knees.
Gravel stabbed at his skin through his trousers, flashes of bruising pain radiating from his joints and the iron grips on his arms.
Despite his discomfort and the hot flashes of rage rolling through him, Lucien tossed his hair out of his eyes, revealing his face and this prosthetic.
Recognition flashes through the guard's eyes.
He was a low level soldier, outfitted with the standard leather tunic, padded pauldrons and a standard issue short sword.
Lucien smirked.
"You and you're lads might have known my purpose if you had been at your posts, soldier," he said smoothly, with ice and venom.
With a little less poise and self control, he would've spat at the guard's feet.
But he was saving that for Eris.
The guard said nothing, but his eyes darted from his brothers in arms to Lucien.
It was clear that he had no idea what the protocol was on the return of the dead high lord's son.
But Lucien was getting tired of being on his knees before these fools.
"Fetch your high lord, soldier. Eris is expecting me."
He grinned.
"Is a son not expected to mourn his father?"
The guard hesitated, but motioned to the two holding Lucien's arms.
"Up. Bring him."
Lucien's eyes were trained on the soldier, even as the brutes at his sides hauled him to his feet and pinned both of his arms painfully behind his back.
He growled, but said nothing as they marched him forward.
"Open the gates!"
The shriek of metal on metal ground against his ears, the rattle of chains almost deafening. 
The palace was hidden by massive wooden walls, every post sharpened to a spear point. The outer gates were two mammoth doors of oak and iron.
It greatly resembled a militant fortress. 
And it bespoke the paranoia of a long line of High Lords.
The ground shook as the gates creaked and groaned open, just wide enough to allow single file entry. 
The guards at his sides, whom Lucien refused to acknowledge, grunted in disapproval and dropped his arms, allowing him to slip freely past the gates and into the palace courtyard.
Their needlessly forceful grips returned, and Lucien fought back a groan as he stumbled, his arms roughly twisted against his back.
But the pain faded to the back of his mind as the palace loomed before him.
There were three levels of battlements, each with four guards at, one at every station.
Their bows were at their sides, their quivers still full, but he knew better than most how quickly that could change, especially with their eyes trained on him. 
The rest of the courtyard was carpeted with a generous layer of fiery leaves, but otherwise bare. 
So far, the only thing that had changed in the centuries Lucien had been gone, was the sentry duty.
The metal studded doors, miniatures of the front gates, thudded as the bar was lifted, and the guard in charge pulled on the metal rings that served as handles.
With some strain, the doors eased open, and Lucien was led back into the wolves den.
...
Eris sat in the antler throne atop a dais at the end of the long hall, where their father had sat for centuries before.
Lucien's three other brothers, Brandt, Einar, and Hagan, stood stiffly behind him.
Less than thrilled to have lost the competition, and no doubt already planning Eris' downfall. His older brothers were all the same as they had always been.
Straight backed, cold, harsh.
But Eris... he had changed the least. It was as though no time had passed since Lucien had last seen him.
Even his hair was shorn close to his scalp, a fashion insisted upon by their father, because they were warriors and cutthroats.
It revealed the sharpness of his face, the arch of his knife like ears.
Lucien fought a sneer and a scowl, and failed miserably, as he was marched forward and thrown to his already aching knees.
A snarl escaped him at the bruising impact on the smooth stones.
When he lifted his eyes, brow low, he found all of his brothers, save Eris, snickering like a pack of hyenas with a fresh kill.
The draping fabric of flags and insignias behind them hung heavily, velvet and leather, all colored dark greens and blood red, auburns, like tongues of flame.
Each was a battle won, a high lord's child born, a land conquered.
Or a high lord crowned.
Lucien had studied those banners, learned their marks and symbols.
Now there was a new one.
It was a deep, emerald green, with a symbol etched in the center in silver thread that he knew, but could not name.
Something that lurked in the back of his memories from his childhood.
"Hello, little brother."
Lucien's attention snapped back to Eris.
His voice was like frigid water, smooth and biting, but it rolled with something dangerous and deep. 
Lucien clenched his jaw, and flexed his shoulders under the weight of the guards holding him on his knees, but said nothing.
Eris dipped his chin ever so slightly, eyes fixed on his soldiers, and they instantly released him and retreated back outside.
The doors shut with a dull thud, and Lucien got to his feet, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
"Eris."
He took a deep satisfaction in the indignation and rage that spilled out of his other brothers' eyes at being ignored, unacknowledged.
And he made no effort to hide his smirk. 
It was all too easy to fall into the sadistic, twisted patterns of Autumn Court. 
A high ranking guard, outfitted in plated armor and armed with a spear in one hand and a sword at his hip, stepped forward from the shadows to Lucien's left.
"You will address the High Lord as such or not at all, faerie.  Do not presume to be so familiar," he commanded, as though Lucien were a grunt in his army. 
Lucien raised an eyebrow. 
His mechanical eye clicked once.
Then, he threw his head back and laughed, his mockery echoing and scraping over the stone of the long hall. 
There was nothing warm or happy in his laugh. 
"I will speak to your high lord in any manner which pleases me, soldier."
Lucien turned back to Eris, whose face was stone.
He ignored the gleeful expressions of Brandt, Einar and Hagan.
"You sent for me-"
A gloved hand struck out and cracked against Lucien's jaw, hard enough to spark stars in his vision and send him reeling, stumbling back down to one knee.
Pain throbbed in his face, but before he could get his wits about him, a hand gripped his long, and now regrettably unbound, hair and yanked his head back, making him hiss and snarl at the hot needles of stabbing pain.
His golden eye whirred and spun and clicked with his distress as he was dragged forward, scrambling and clawing at the hands he couldn't reach.
The hands, which Lucien had deduced belonged to the high ranking soldier, dropped him at Eris' feet.
He could see in his periphery that the male was raising his hand again to strike Lucien.
Before he could, Eris' voice rang out in a commanding bark.
"Enough! Back to your station, soldier.  You act on my command alone."
Lucien's head spun, and there was a dull ringing noise in his skull.
He could feel the bruise blooming on his jaw.
Eris didn't move.
"Get up, little brother.  This has taken too much of my time as it is," he said.
Lucien forced himself to look up, his eyes traveling up his brother's now very near leather boots to his stoic face.
Once more, he stood.
But this time, Lucien fought the throbbing pain in his face, and spit on Eris' fine boots.
Eris looked down slowly, face still like stone.
When he looked back up, his eyes sparked and he stood.
Lucien refused to back away, even as he could feel his brother's steady breath on his skin.
Eye to eye, toe to toe.
Before Lucien could blink, Eris' hand was around his throat, squeezing, unbearably hot.
He strained, but refused to gag, or choke, or cry out.
Eris wouldn't kill him. 
Not yet. 
It was too anticlimactic.
So he stared rebelliously into his brother's eyes, the same as his own, and suffered silently.
Whatever had overtaken Eris was still there, blazing. 
And it didn't disappear when he finally released his crushing hold on Lucien's neck.
The effort not to sag and gasp for breath as the blood finally found somewhere to go other than his head was astronomical.
"Watch yourself, little brother."
Lucien watched through stinging eyes as Eris sat back in his throne, and gestures for the guard to return. 
"Take my brother to the emissary's chambers."
And that was it. 
Without another glance, Lucien was led away, out of the main hall.
...
The emissary's quarters were... lavish.
Once he took the time to take in the room, after having been all but tossed in, the door all but locked behind him, Lucien was surprised.
Confused.
Why would Eris waste such finery on a brother that he loathed?
There was no one to impress.
Every noble and lord in the palace knew and hated Lucien.
And there were no other courts present.
From the the shut doorway, he scanned his new, temporary accommodations.
His mechanical eye seemed just as confused as he was, having trouble processing the difference between the dungeon that Lucien had expected, and this.
The stone floors were spotless, smooth and polished.
A woven rug of gold and moss green lay spread out in the center of the room.
The ceilings were high and arched, exposed beams stretching gracefully from the floor to the ceiling.
The walls, decorated with ancient weapons and a large window shrouded by thick, dark green curtains, were covered in murals of forest folk, detailing a history of the beautiful and savage faeries who had allied themselves with Autumn long ago.
The bed was in the furthest corner of the room, backed against the wall.
Lucien almost smiled, amused by the fact that every bed in Autumn was set up like this.
It meant that, if someone came into your room as you slept, you were always facing them, that you knew where they were coming from because the wall was to your back.
He still felt uncomfortable in Night court because of that.
Everything was free, open.
Vulnerable.
Furs and pelts covered the bed; foxes, wolves, beavers, deer.
The frame was solid, dark walnut, the head and foot boards carved with the images of hunters and animals.
In the opposite corner of the room was a fireplace.
Cold and dark.
Lucien did laugh this time.
If the barren fireplace was supposed to be spiteful, the chill of Autumn pervading the damp stone walls, then Eris was not trying very hard.
Without moving his feet, Lucien cast a hand in the direction of the fireplace, and a flame roared to life.
Stalking to the window, he gripped the heavy, velvet curtains and tossed them open, crisp daylight piecing his eyes and filling the room.
The view was incredible. 
His own rooms as a child had never been so beautiful, and he had surely never been allowed a view like this.
From his window on the third floor of the place, Lucien could see the stretch of ruby and citron colored trees spreading in every direction, farther than even his mechanical eye could see.
The only sound was the mechanisms in it working and shifting.
A tightness built in his chest, looking out the window.
It grew ever tighter when he turned back and drank in the room. 
As many terrible things had happened here... as horrible as his brothers had been and however worse his father had been...
There was still relief in his bones.
The cool air, the brilliant angry colors, the closeness and comfort of the setup of his room. 
It was familiar. 
And despite himself, Lucien caught the word in his thoughts.
Home.