Chapter 13 Violet
Violet
The forest thinned gradually, trees stretching taller and farther apart. Leaves shifted from deep green to brighter shades. Then, almost without warning, the world tipped sideways.
Color struck first the moment we crossed the border.
Vines climbed the stone border walls in impossible hues—coral and deep wine, a blue so saturated it bordered on painful.
Blossoms spilled over balconies and arches, petals layered thick as velvet, some glowing faintly as if lit from within.
Lanterns of blown glass and woven stems hung from curved posts along the road, each one pulsing with a soft, steady light.
And the scent—
Rose and citrus tangled together, threaded with something warmer beneath it. Honey, maybe. Or spice. It clung to the back of my throat, sweet enough to make my pulse slow and my thoughts blur at the edges.
The Flower Realm didn’t feel like the Forest or the Night.
Everything was too harmonious. Too inviting.
“Careful,” Sebastian murmured against my ear as our horse climbed the gentle slope toward a town. “The air has influence here.”
I leaned back into him slightly, eyes tracking the movement of color and light around us. “What kind of influence?”
Adar snorted from ahead, not bothering to look back. “The kind that makes people forget they have better judgment.”
Sebastian’s tone stayed even. “Pleasanter than poison. Worse than wine.”
“It makes people stupid,” Adar muttered.
“It makes people happy,” Sebastian corrected. “Happy enough to stop listening to their instincts. Happy enough to let go.”
I wasn’t sure which version unsettled me more.
As we rode deeper into the town, I felt it settle in. My limbs loosened. The tight coil of tension I carried between my shoulders—the one that had lived there since I learned I was meant to rule a realm that no longer existed—unwound a fraction.
Sebastian noticed immediately.
His hands tightened, one on the reins, the other steady at my hips.
“You all right?” he asked softly.
I took a slow breath, testing myself. “Yes,” I said, surprised. “Actually… yes.”
He hummed. “We stay one night,” he said, mouth near my temple. “I want you to see it. Not drown in it.”
The sky had begun to deepen toward night-blue, though night meant very little here. Strings of lights were already being lit, drifting across the square like floating stars—soft, golden, too pretty to ignore for long.
The inn sat tucked between two vine-choked buildings, its windows glowing a warm, buttery yellow. Flowerboxes spilled over every sill, petals brushing the stone like they were alive.
The innkeeper—a woman with deep brown skin and tiny blossoms braided through her hair—looked up from the counter when we opened the door. Her gaze slid past Sebastian and Adar without so much as a hitch before landing on me. Her smile curved slowly.
“One room?”
“Two,” Adar said, far too fast.
The word hit wrong. Sharp. Irritating. Why did he—?
Any other time, I would’ve flushed. Or laughed it off. Or made a comment sharp enough to shut the implication down and move on.
Instead, a hot spike of offense flared in my chest.
Excuse you.
Why was that his instinct? As if I’d—
As if he wouldn’t—
The thought slid sideways, uninvited.
I mean. If anything, I would be the one turning him down. Obviously. It wasn’t like he was pleasant to look at. Not even remotely. All angles and scowls and—
Gods, he looked like he had some kind of plague.
And anyway, I’m not exactly—
My mind snagged. Skidded.
I am a catch. Objectively. I mean, I’m powerful, and intelligent, and—
Gods. And my breasts are actually quite—
What is wrong with me?
“In the back,” Sebastian said smoothly, cutting through my spiral. “Facing the courtyard. Not the street.”
The innkeeper’s eyes flicked to him then—really looked—and something shifted. Recognition. She straightened slightly.
“Of course,” she said, inclining her head. “Dinner will be sent up?”
“Yes,” Sebastian replied.
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself by sheer force of will.
My thoughts felt… loose. Slippery. Like they were drifting instead of lining up the way they usually did.
I didn’t like it. Or did I? It was kind of nice to just let everything run free and—
Sebastian’s hand brushed the small of my back and my mind snapped back into focus just enough for irritation to replace whatever that had been.
We separated in the narrow hall upstairs.
Sebastian unlocked the last door and stepped aside for me.
The room was simple but comfortable—one wide bed, a low table, a window opening into a small inner courtyard tangled with flowering vines.
Lamps were already lit, their flames caught in colored glass that softened everything.
A tray waited on the table with covered dishes and a bottle of a liquid that was pale and sparkling.
Inviting, my mind supplied unhelpfully.
Too inviting.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the noise from downstairs dulled. The hum of the realm didn’t fade, though. It seeped in through the open window instead—the faint pulse of music from somewhere distant, low laughter, the thick, clinging scent of flowers.
I toed off my boots and flexed my aching feet. The relief came fast.
“I feel like I’ve been vibrating all day,” I said.
“Riding will do that,” Sebastian replied, shrugging out of his coat. Shadows slipped free of his shoulders, stretching along the floor. “But the Flower Realm doesn’t help. Its magic works soft. It slips under your guard.”
That tracked.
“Should I be worried?” I asked.
His gaze swept over me slowly.
“No,” he said finally. “You’re aware of it.” A small tilt of his mouth. “And you’re used to much worse.”
“High praise,” I said, though my voice sounded lighter than I meant it to.
He stepped closer, fingers brushing my wrist. The contact grounded me for half a second—just long enough for my thoughts to trip over themselves again.
His hands are nice.
Why am I thinking about his hands?
I’ve never noticed his hands. But now—
Is that normal or—
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Warm,” I admitted. “A little… light. Like everything’s turned up.” I hesitated, then added, quieter, “Like it’s easier not to think about the Sun Realm for a minute. Or the throne. Or—everything.”
He nodded once, understanding settling in his eyes. “Then don’t. Not tonight.”
I lifted the lid on one of the dishes. Soft bread, still warm. Herbed oil shimmering faintly gold. Roasted vegetables glazed in something citrusy and sharp that made my mouth water instantly.
I picked up a piece of bread and tore it open with my fingers. Steam curled up.
That smells… obscene.
I dipped it into the oil and paused, studying the way it clung to the crumb. Too much, my brain noted distantly. Too much oil. Too fragrant. Too—
I took a bite.
The taste hit all at once—salt and herb and heat, bright citrus cutting through the richness. My eyes fluttered shut before I could stop them.
Oh.
That was… really good.
Unreasonably good.
I chewed slowly. Had bread always tasted like this? Had I just been eating wrong my entire life? Was this what everyone else experienced all the time and I’d been missing it because I was too busy being stressed and thinking too much and—
I reached for another piece without thinking.
“Careful,” Sebastian said mildly.
I froze mid-dip and looked up.
He was watching me. Elbows braced on his knees, plate forgotten for the moment, eyes dark with quiet amusement.
“What?” I asked, heat creeping into my cheeks.
“You’re inspecting the bread like it offended you personally. And you’ve forgotten to breathe.”
“It just tastes… really good.”
His mouth curved. “It does that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You knew.”
“I suspected.” He took a sip of his drink, gaze never leaving mine. “You slow down when you’re… influenced. You get thoughtful. Then indulgent.”
“I do not get indulgent.”
He arched a brow.
I looked down at the bread in my hand. At the oil. At the fact that I was already reaching for a third piece.
“…Okay, maybe a little.”
That earned me a quiet huff of laughter.
We ate sitting on the edge of the bed, plates balanced on our knees. I made myself take smaller bites this time—though every one still bloomed too brightly on my tongue. The wine—or whatever it was—was crisp and faintly sweet, floral without being overpowering.
I found myself watching Sebastian between bites—the way the light caught on his knuckles—his fingers…
gods, I wonder if he’d let me lick this oil off—fuck Violet stop—the subtle tension in his shoulders even while he was relaxed.
His shadows drifted closer every so often, brushing my ankle, my calf, before retreating again.
By the time we finished eating, the warmth of the realm had sunk deeper into my bones.
Sebastian set the empty tray by the door and turned back to me. His gaze lingered—on my mouth, the fall of my hair over my shoulder, the exposed line of throat above my collar.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“I’m thinking,” he replied.
“About what?”
His eyes darkened in that way that always sent heat creeping up my neck. “That I brought you here to see the realms, and somehow, I forgot I’d have to share you with them.”
“That’s not how sharing works.” I crossed the space to him anyway. My hands slid up his chest on instinct, fingertips catching lightly on the buttons of his shirt. His shadows stirred in response, coils brushing my hips, my thighs, the curve of my spine like they were mapping me by memory.
His hands came up my arms and closed gently around my wrists.
Gods—his hands. Strong without being rough. Long-fingered, callused just enough to remind me he’d earned every inch of control he wielded. If he would just let me—
“Violet.”
My name cut clean through my thoughts.
“What?” I asked, blinking.
“Did you hear a word I said?”
Did he say something?
I shook my head.