Chapter 13 Violet #2
He laughed softly, more breath than sound. “I know this air,” he said. “I know what it can do. I won’t let it take anything from you that you didn’t choose to give.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m not… drunk. I’m just—”
“Loosened,” he finished, his mouth brushing the corner of mine. “You’re allowed to be. You’ve had nothing but war and secrets and training since you found out who you are. Let the realm make it easier for once.”
He kissed me before I could answer.
“You need to rest,” he murmured against my mouth.
“I’m not tired,” I protested automatically, even as my knees betrayed me by softening. “I can—”
He guided me backward until the backs of my legs hit the bed. I made a token attempt to resist, more reflex than conviction.
“Sebastian—”
He laid me down anyway. His hands were careful, precise—tucking, adjusting, making sure I was comfortable.
“I really like your hands,” I muttered.
“Thank you.” He leaned down to press a final kiss to my forehead. “Now sleep.”
His shadows loosened bit by bit, slipping away like smoke.
Sleep came easier than it had in weeks.
* * *
Voices drifted up the stairwell, overlapping and warm.
Someone laughed in the courtyard below, the sound bright enough to snag on my ribs.
A cart rattled over cobblestones outside, wheels clattering in a rhythm that sounded almost cheerful.
The air smelled of baked bread and sugar, sweet enough to make my mouth water before I was fully awake.
I blinked, the world slow to settle.
Sebastian was propped on one elbow beside me, head resting on his hand, watching me with that quiet, intent focus that always made my stomach do a strange, unnecessary flip. As if my existence required monitoring. As if I might do something interesting just by opening my eyes.
“How long have you been staring?” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep.
“A while,” he said easily.
“That’s unsettling.”
“You drooled.”
I groaned and dragged a pillow over my face. “I hate you.”
“You don’t.” He plucked the pillow away with infuriating gentleness and dropped a kiss to my forehead. “Come on. Don’t you want to see the market?”
I did.
I really, really did.
We dressed quickly. I braided my hair back from my face, muttering a warning at it to behave. It caught the light in the mirror anyway, glowing faintly like it was pleased with itself.
I sighed. Traitor.
Downstairs, Adar sat alone at a long table, arms crossed, half a plate of food abandoned in front of him. He looked like he’d been awake for hours, possibly judging the inn for existing.
“You slept in,” he said flatly.
“You’re welcome for that mental image,” I replied, stealing a warm pastry straight from the tray as I passed.
It tasted obscene. I took another bite without thinking.
Adar glared at me.
I blinked at him, then smiled.
The market sat just a few blocks from the inn, spilling out from a wide square.
Stalls lined every edge, canopies stretched in bright, impossible fabrics that caught the light and refused to let it go.
Flowers piled in careless abundance beside fruits cut open to show jewel-toned flesh.
Cloth shimmered. Jewelry winked. Things I couldn’t identify pulsed faintly, as if they were breathing.
Petals carpeted the cobbles in places, crushed underfoot into fragrant smears of vibrant colors that stained the stone.
I caught myself wondering how long it took for the scent to fade.
If it ever did. If people here eventually stopped noticing it or if it rewrote their senses so they didn’t want to.
Music wove through everything. Strings and soft drums, a flute with a liquid sound that curled around ankles and tugged people forward without asking.
Laughter rang out—easy, unguarded—and the air shimmered with small, indulgent magic.
Tiny lights blinked in and out of existence.
Floating petals hovered just above the ground, never landing.
I stopped at the edge of it all.
Just for a second. Just to take it in.
“So?” Sebastian asked at my side.
“It’s…” I searched for the word and found too many of them crowding at once. “Alive,” I said finally.
His hand brushed the small of my back. “Come on, then,” he said. “Go be alive with it.”
He kept close as we moved into the crush, his presence solid, grounding. His shadows stayed low and unobtrusive, not threatening—just enough to make the flow of bodies bend subtly around us. People hesitated without knowing why. Adar… I wasn’t really sure where Adar was. I didn’t really care.
A woman selling fruit leaned forward, eyes bright, holding out a slice of fruit that looked like a peach crossed with a star—golden flesh edged in blush, juice glistening. “First taste is free,” she crooned.
I jumped at her voice.
Then, I reached for it without thinking. My hand was already halfway there before I realized I’d moved, curiosity blooming hot and fast—what did it taste like, what would it feel like on my tongue, would it—
Sebastian’s fingers closed around my wrist.
“We’ll pay,” he said calmly, already dropping a coin into her palm. He selected a different piece from the tray—similar, but not the same. “Not that one.”
The woman’s smile didn’t falter.
But her eyes flicked to him, assessing, before she stepped back, already turning to the next customer as if nothing had happened at all.
I stared at the fruit in Sebastian’s hand.
“What was wrong with it?” I asked, and only afterward realized how breathless I sounded.
He glanced at me, thumb brushing once over my pulse point. “Nothing,” he said.
At a stall draped in climbing roses, the blooms turned their faces toward me as we passed. The nearest petal brushed my wrist, and for a heartbeat the scent sharpened.
Then Sebastian’s shadow slid neatly between my skin and the flower, breaking the contact.
“Ticklish,” I said, forcing my voice light even as my pulse took an extra beat to settle.
“Persistent,” he corrected.
We stopped at a jeweler’s table glittering with rings and chains and delicate metalwork laid out on velvet the color of ripe plums. My fingers hovered over a simple band shaped like a vine, tiny leaves etched into warm gold.
“Try it,” Sebastian said.
I did. The ring slid onto my finger as if it had always belonged there. I looked up at him, and he was already watching me. Closely. Like he’d been counting my breaths again.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said immediately. Then, catching myself, “But I don’t need—”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I glanced back down at my hand. The ring caught the light when I flexed my fingers, the leaves seeming to shift as if they were alive. My thoughts drifted—how it would look catching firelight, how it would feel warm after hours on my skin, how—
“I love it,” I said finally.
“Then it’s yours.”
The jeweler practically beamed as Sebastian paid.
Adar made a small, unimpressed sound from behind us. “We should move,” he muttered. “We’ve been in one place too long.”
I jumped at his voice, heart stuttering. Gods. When had he gotten so close? He hadn’t been there a second ago—or maybe he had and I’d just… drifted.
We kept moving through the market. I tasted things Sebastian approved first—fruit, bread, something sweet that melted too quickly on my tongue. I listened to music. Watched a woman weave living vines into a crown that never wilted.
And for a small, precious stretch of time, I stopped thinking about thrones and bloodlines and realms made of ash.
For once, I was just a girl in a foreign place with the man she loved, wandering through color and sound and scent—spending stolen hours in someone else’s story before the world remembered who I was supposed to be.
Then the illusion shattered.
“It’s time to go,” Sebastian said softly.
We made our way back through the streets. The crush of bodies faded first. Then the music. But the scents clung—petals and spice and sweetness trailing after me like a second skin I couldn’t quite shrug off.
Outside the inn, Adar was already readying the horses, movements efficient, expression as sharp and watchful as always. As if the realm hadn’t touched him at all.
I paused at the edge of the street and looked back.
Vines stirred where there was no wind. A lantern flickered and steadied. For a heartbeat, I had the absurd thought that if I stayed—if I really stayed—it would wrap itself around me gently and never let go.
The thought didn’t frighten me.
That frightened me.