Chapter 48 Jules
Jules
The carriage rocks gently as it carries us away from the Crimson Spires and deeper into Lucian’s realm.
I sit back against the velvet seat, one hand resting on the window ledge, watching the countryside unfold beyond the window.
The city portion of the Bleeding Court—if you can even call it a city—felt oppressive to me.
It was all towering stone, narrow streets, iron balconies, and shadows piled on shadows—not to mention the weird people I met there.
Maybe it looked strange because I’d only seen it at night or maybe it was because I was terrified and running for my life.
But this—the landscape I’m seeing as the carriage rolls on—this is beautiful.
The road winds through rolling fields that glow under the red-gold sun, tall grasses bending and whispering as the carriage passes.
Trees line the way on either side, their leaves turned every imaginable shade of autumn—deep crimson…
burnt orange…copper and gold. Some are so dark they’re nearly black, their branches etched sharply against the sky.
Others look like they’ve been set on fire from within.
The air smells different here too. It’s clean and crisp.
There’s a faint sweetness to it, like apples and fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke.
When I crack the window just a bit, the breeze slides over my skin, cool enough to raise goosebumps on my arms but not unpleasant.
It feels like early October back home—if Florida ever actually had a real October, that is.
It’s usually just another month of Summer for us.
But this is what Fall is supposed to feel like and I love it.
I never get this, I think wistfully. Back home the leaves just turn brown and drop off like they’ve given up.
Here, everything feels deliberate—like the land itself wants to be beautiful.
Hanna shifts beside me, peering out her own window, and for a while neither of us speaks. The carriage wheels crunch softly over gravel, the horses snort now and then, and the whole world seems to slow down.
Then she says, quietly but pointedly,
“You’re really falling for him, aren’t you? Lucian, I mean.”
“What?” I turn to her, startled. “No, I’m not!”
She raises one eyebrow.
“I mean—I’m not,” I insist, even as my cheeks warm. “He’s just… it’s just that…”
I trail off, searching for words that don’t sound ridiculous even to my own ears.
“It’s just that he makes me feel like no other man ever has,” I finally admit. “I mean—he really seems to care about me. He’s so protective.”
“Try possessive,” Hanna says dryly.
“That too,” I concede. “But not in a bad way. He just wants to keep me safe.”
“And keep you here,” Hanna says. “In this fucked-up world.”
I gesture out the window.
“Does this look fucked-up to you?”
She hesitates, then sighs.
“Well… no. This is actually kind of nice.”
“Right?” I say softly.
“But the rest of this place is weird, Jules,” she points out. “I mean really weird. Skeleton Dons and demon bazaars and blood magic? Not to mention the fact that curvy women are so desired we’re outlawed. We have to get out of here and go home.”
“I know. I know,” I say, letting my head rest back against the seat.
But inside, a treacherous thought takes root.
Why? Why should I want to go home?
It’s not like I love my awful job or my crappy apartment. The only thing truly pulling me back to the Human Realm—now that Mr. Mittens is here, washing his paws somewhere back at the Spires—is my Book Club friends. My people…my life as it was.
And suddenly… that feels thinner than it used to.
I open my mouth to say something to Hanna—something honest and probably dangerous—but the carriage slows, and the driver pulls the reins gently.
We roll to a stop in front of an antique barn that’s been lovingly converted into a store and I’m instantly in love with it.
It looks like something straight out of Vermont during leaf season—the one time I went with my Grandma, years ago.
Weathered wood siding is painted a deep red that’s faded to a soft wine color.
Wide doors are thrown open to reveal warm lamplight inside.
A hand-painted sign hangs above the entrance, carved with curling letters that read, Pomme de sang.
Below the words are an image of a fruit that looks like a red apple but darker, almost bruised looking.
Vines with blood-red flowers trail along trellises nearby, leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The whole place smells like apples, earth, and old wood.
Like I said—I’m in love.
Our bodyguard-slash-carriage driver opens the door for us but before I can even move, an older couple steps out from the barn.
They’re vampires—I can tell, because when they smile, the sharp points of their fangs show just beneath their upper lips—but otherwise, they look like any elderly farming couple.
The man is tall and stooped, wearing worn boots and a flannel shirt.
His wife is bundled in a knitted shawl, her silver hair pulled back neatly into a grandmotherly bun.
The farmer vampire bows deeply.
“You must be our new queen! Lord Lucian sent word that you and your friend were coming.”
I blink, startled at this welcome.
“Welcome, Your Majesty! You are most welcome at our humble orchard,” the old lady vampire says, dropping into a deep curtsy that makes me want to dive out of the carriage and catch her.
“Oh! Oh no, please don’t do that,” I blurt, worried for her knees. “I’m just an accountant.”
“The Lord Lucian said you would be modest, my Lady,” the old lady says kindly as she rises, smiling at me. “Come—please. We are to give you and your esteemed friend a tour of our orchard, where you may pick as many Pomme de sang as you wish.”
“And after that,” the farmer adds, “perhaps you’d like to peruse our store. We’re proud to have you on our premises.”
“Oh—thank you,” I say, still flustered. “That would be great.”
Hanna and I exchange a glance.
This is weird…but it’s also kind of nice. A private tour of a beautiful place and people who seem genuinely pleased to meet us. I mean, what’s not to like?
I step down from the carriage, my boots crunching on gravel, and follow the old vampire couple toward the orchard—my heart lighter than it has any right to be.