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Chapter Text

“Vi, oh god Vi!”

Shouting comes from another room, joining the symphony of noise already filling the manor. Violet makes her way up the stairs towards the sound, dodging servants and members of the wedding party. She wears an emerald green dress that she has to hike up past her knees as she takes the stairs two at a time because she hears the shrieks increase. She bounds into a room at the top of the stairs filled with girls in dresses matching her own, and one in white.

“Violet, there you are!” Reagan signs along as she shouts the greeting.

She has deep brown skin that glows in contrast with her wedding dress. Her hair has been styled in a swooping up-do pinned with flowers, curls cascading down the back, and pulled out to frame her face. She looks absolutely stunning, the woman beside her is nearly a mirror image, with high cheekbones and an oval face, plump lips, and kind brown eyes. She, on the other hand, wears a dress that matches Violet’s, and her hair hangs down her back in sleek box braids.
Rhiannon, the twin in green, pulls Violet into her arms as the other two women in the room descend on the bride.

“Raegan is losing her mind Vi,” the woman whispers into her friend’s ear, holding her close. “She’s also had far too many flutes of champagne”

Raegan's voice rings out again, hands flying along, signing in time. “Jes, Mira, these hairstyles won’t do, I want you all to have braids, I think it will look best. Violet please!”

Shaking her head, Violet smiles at the bride and winks at her sister. Violet’s hair is already braided in a crown on her head, flowers tucked in the front lending to the illusion of a real crown. Mira had sat on the bed earlier, meticulously braiding the brown and silver strands around Violet’s head while she sat between her sister’s knees on the floor. It was a common scene from their lives together, and Violet had felt calmed by it in all the chaos and change of the day.

Violet reaches her hands out to the girls in front of her, guiding them over to a chair by the window.

“I can braid a crown like mine for Mira and Mira, give Jesinia two long braids, and weave flowers in, to match Rhiannon, how does that sound, Your Majesty?” Jesinia's eyes are trained on Violet’s hands as she speaks. The brunette’s lips quirk as she ribs her friend, Raegan sighs dramatically, halfheartedly tossing a handbag in retaliation at Violet.

“Yes, yes, that will do.” She waves her hand as she says it, already moving on to sit in front of a mirror as Rhiannon begins to drape her in their family’s jewels.

The three other women line up, Jesinia seated on the floor, Mira on the chair, and Violet standing behind her. Mira’s hair is rather short, hanging just above her shoulders, but Violet has experience braiding it along her sister’s head, giving the illusion of having much longer, more socially expected ‘feminine’ hair.

The women chatter as they continue to get ready for the wedding soon to commence, their laughter and teasing flood the room. Jesinia is facing the mirror where the twins stand, so she can see the signing of the sisters behind her reflected in it. Sunlight filters in through the large windows overlooking the street, gauzy white curtains billowing around as a breeze filters through the open glass doors. Violet feels warm as she takes in the scene, full and sated. If this were all her life ever held, she would be content. There had been a time she was sure that her life would only ever be filled with these women, with the family they’d built, but things changed when her father died last year, and now all was less certain for her and Mira. Navarrian law had evolved in the past decade and allowed for her and Mira to inherit property when their father passed, which at least bought them time. The sprawling townhouse they were in was in Violet's name now, she had been given the Manor in the capital, while Mira had inherited the country estate.

Violet hums as she weaves the last few strands of hair together, pinning them in place and tucking some loose flowers into the braid. She steps back to survey her work as Raegan brushes past her to stand on the terrace.

“Has everyone arrived?” Raegan rests her folded hands on her abdomen just below her belly button, rubbing patterns of worry on the fabric there. “Masen was supposed to arrive with the Tyrrish delegation, but I don’t see their carriage.” The bride leans across the stone-carved railing, attempting to see farther down the street as her sister comes up behind her.

“Relax Rae, he’ll be here. He is beyond in love with you. You know they were finalizing the treaty with the King today, they might’ve just been held up.” Rhiannon reaches out to rest a reassuring hand on her sister's back, but the other woman hadn’t heard her approach and startles at the contact.

She let out a shriek, “Grandma’s earring!”

The movement must have jostled it from her ear. Violet rushes to the terrace in time to see the earring fall into the paved walkway below.

“Oh no oh no oh no!” Reagan begins to breathe sporadically, sending herself into a panic. “It's a bad omen”

Her twin tries to soothe her, gesturing for her to take deep breaths and murmuring calming words. Seeing that Rhiannon is in no position to retrieve the earring and Mira and Jes are still mid-braid, Violet takes the assignment upon herself. She eyes the earring and the traffic surrounding it, the risk of it being kicked and vanishing if she makes her way through the whole packed manor is high. So with a quick inspection of the wall beside the balcony, Violet opts to throw her leg over the railing and use to stone blocks making up the facade as a ladder.

The movement seems to distract Raegan from her panic.

“Violet, what are you doing?”

“Getting your family heirloom back, of course.” With a sly grin at Raegan, Violet begins her descent.

The women above release breathless, nervous laughs, effectively cutting the tension as Violet had hoped.

“Violet, you’re insane.”

“Always so high achieving Vi,” Rhiannon chuckles as she teases.

Violet really shouldn’t have done this, she knows it the moment she rests most of her weight on her right arm. She feels her joint stretch, the muscles extending and reaching near their limit. Having a subluxed shoulder on her friend’s wedding day was not part of the plan. One step at a time she scales down the side of the manor, cheered on by her friends leaning out of the windows above.

She’s sure her shoulder is about to give out when her toe brushes the ground, and she gingerly lowers herself the rest of the way, landing neatly.
As she spins away from the wall, she is met with the incredibly tall form of a man in a suit. He has windblown black hair, curling around his ears and his dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong, squared, and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble. When he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, as he quirks a brow at Violet.

Catching her breath, she rushes out the words on her exhale. “I’m not escaping or anything”

She flashes a smile, eyes darting over him, taking in the scar on his raised brow, the onyx of his eyes, and the bow of his full lips, a sly grin stretches across them. He’s dressed like a wedding guest, but she’s sure she’s never seen him before. Her gaze quickly moves on to find the golden rings of Raegan’s earrings. She notices them just in time to see the ridiculously handsome man kick the earring away with the back of his shoe as he steps closer.

“It would only be concerning if you were the bride.” His voice is deep and smooth, sending a bolt up her spine as she tries to dart around him to grab the gold jewelry on the ground.

“Well, as you can clearly see, I am not” gesturing at the color of her gown. She’s startled by the way his eyes follow her motion, traveling up her form. Before she can focus on the impertinence of the look, she continues. “Now, will you please be a gentleman and assist the damsel in distress?” Violet uses her chin to gesture at the lost earring on the ground just behind him. His eyes don’t leave her face, seemingly sizing her up, and Violet can’t help but wonder if he likes what he sees.

“You do not strike me as either of those descriptors, you seemed rather capable while scaling down the side of the building.” He holds her gaze as he watches the flush spread across her cheeks. Without looking away, he slowly crouches, and Violet can’t help but become transfixed as his long, elegant fingers loop through the rings of gold on the ground. He twists them hypnotically as he raises back to his full height and takes a step towards her.

Violet finds her voice again and draws her eyes back to his face as she holds out her hand. “What a gentleman”

This time, the sly grin on his face turns definitively to a smirk, and he presses the earring into her outstretched hand, lingering a breath longer than necessary.

“Come inside, Violet the wedding! You better not have ripped your dress.” She looks up to see Mira leaning out the window, her arms still extended inside, still at work on Jesinia’s hair. Her sister leans back inside the room, Violet is sure that from that angle, Mira hadn’t seen the man standing in front of her, otherwise, she surely would’ve shouted more aggressively. Her sister was nothing if not fiercely protective.

“Yes, my wedding.” Raegan says, seemingly disenchanted with the idea, though as she turns her head, she catches sight of something that makes her eyes light. The man before her lets his gaze dance between the woman before him and the one shouting on the balcony.

“Oh, Vi look! It's the delegation’s carriages, you were right.” Violet turns and catches the last on one of the Tyrrish carriages as they round the corner to the front of the manor. There seem to be a couple of Navarrian royal carriages with them as well if the flags were anything to go by.

“I told her they were just caught up with negotiations. But I suppose calm logic does not generally abound on one's wedding day.” Violet speaks without really thinking that she is still addressing the stranger. She nearly jumps when his deep voice offers a response.

“No, I should think not.”

She looks back at him to find he seems to be assessing her, for what exactly, she wasn’t sure. If he was attending the wedding surely he knew the groom was Tyrrish, but maybe something else was drawing his attention.

Leaning out the window onto the stone-walled balcony, Raegan beams as she announces to the world, “I’m getting married!” She’s a vision of joy and love, which fills Violet’s heart with a warmth she’s not sure how to name. Laughter echoes down from the room above as Raegan ducks back in to finish getting ready.

“Well, I think I’ll take the stairs back up.” Violet says as she tilts her head towards the servant's entrance that she can see Marie leaning out of to let her in.

“How wise.” His tone was wry throughout their interaction, not a hint of a true smile, but Violet felt a tug in her chest whenever his eyes caught her own. He had the disconcerting habit of holding her gaze longer than was socially acceptable. And she thinks it might just be her new favorite thing.

The manor is decorated vibrantly, flowers spilling from every possible vessel. Lord Masen Sanborn stands at the front of the room beside the priest, enrapt as his bride steps down the aisle. He’s a tall, lean man with light brown skin, a pointed nose, and golden brown eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses.

But Violet isn’t looking at him; she and her friends lean against each other as enchanted as Masen by Raegan’s beauty, eyes trained on her every movement. The ceremony is gorgeous, Rhiannon cries, and their father pretends not to. Once they are officially wed, and Raegan is Lady Sanborn, the guests drift into the ballroom and the rest of the manor. The party sprawls across the ground floor, string quartets in multiple rooms, long tables of hors d’oeuvres, and stations stacked high with champagne flutes at every corner. Violet and her friends wander, greeting guests and entertaining friends both old and new.

Violet had been so enchanted by her friend, she hadn’t noticed that the King was with the Tyrrish delegation when they’d arrived. She and Rhiannon are tucked into one of the terraced alcoves on the second floor overlooking the ballroom when they notice him. He’s a stocky man, not tall, but imposing nonetheless. They watch as he seems to hold court just below them in the corner of the room, Rhiannon’s father and Violet’s mother among his audience.

It’s objectively an honor for Raegan and Masen to have the King of their country attend their wedding. Though Masen is Tyrrish, he’s also Navarrian. Tyrrendor is a province within Navarre, one that had tried to secede five years prior, unsuccessfully. A vast majority of the province’s ruling class died or were executed in the final days of the rebellion. The crown revoked all the titles their children would’ve inherited and pushed all the orphans into loyalists' homes to be raised.

About a year ago, negotiations had commenced among the oldest of those orphans and the Navarrian government, while Violet’s mother had certainly been involved, Violet was not privy to the details. The only information the public knew was that the titles of all the orphans had been restored and Tyrrendor had renewed its allegiance to the crown, the specifics were confidential. Masen and Raegan had fallen in love over the summer while he was in Basgiath for the second round of treaty negotiations.

It was a whirlwind romance all the city’s papers found perfectly salacious.

The two women stand close enough to hear the King, especially as he projects to be heard by the crowd he has gathered. Violet tugs her friend’s arm and the women crouch behind the flowers decorating the balcony, obscuring them from view.

“It’s been such an honor to have the delegation join the festivities.” One of the officials says Violet can’t quite place his voice. The crowd murmurs their agreement.

The King’s voice rises above the chatter. “I think now is as good a time as any to announce that we plan on sending a contingent of Naverrian men and women to participate in Tyrrendor’s debutante season, as it will be the first in many years.” Violet raises her eyebrows at her friend, and they both lean closer into the railing. “As we remain one nation, we think it wise to promote full integration, to assist Tyrrendor in removing themselves from self-imposed isolation.”

Rhiannon rolls her eyes at this, earning a sly smile from her friend. While neither woman is at all sympathetic to the Tyrrish rebellion, they have always found the King to be rather tiring. Violet was better acquainted with him and his sons because of her parents' involvement with the Navarrian military. And she was equally, if not especially, disenchanted with the King’s charms.

“What a lovely idea, your Highness.” Lilith Sorrengail’s voice rings out below them, and now it’s Violet’s turn to roll her eyes at her mother’s performance. While Navarrian women generally did not have any power or influence, forced to survive within a patriarchal monarchy, Lilith Sorrengail had found a way to be an exception. Which is why Violet was certain her mother had been part of this decision.

Lilith Sorrengail is the puppet master behind Basgiath's military college, if not Navarre’s military as a whole. During the first Continental War, Lilith took matters into her own hands. Married to their father, a director at the university at the time, she used his access to get into the right rooms and convince the generals they were underutilizing their greatest asset, information. Lilith convinced them to use the networks already in place, servants, traders, and artisans, to place operatives within Poromiel and the Barrens. It was, of course, a great success. And Lilith became the elusive headmistress of the School of Shadows within Basgiath. Reprising her integral role in the rebellion a few years prior.

Violet's country is at a societal crossroads, which absolutely infuriates her. While many Navarrian men are perfectly willing to admit women are intelligent and capable, are willing to take their counsel, and even allow them to make decisions and enact plans, it must be behind closed doors. Like her mother. They are willing to admit women are just as smart as men, but they refuse to equal their power and their freedom. Violet thinks it's because they know that if they do, things will still not be egalitarian, as women will surpass them.

Violet is so lost in her own thoughts on the matter, and she misses some of the next part of the conversation, catching only one phrase regarding the new Duke.

“The newly appointed Duke Riorson is an eligible match, and I’m sure he’ll want a wife of good standing to maintain his own.”

He’s the highest-ranking Tyrrish noble now and surely has no interest in marrying a noblewoman from the place that executed his father, but no one was asking Violet’s opinion.

The voice of Rhi’s father cuts back into her thoughts.

“It’ll be an honor to have Raegan’s bridesmaids join in Tyrrendor for the season. To expand their prospects and offer different paths of unity for the Tyrrish nobility.”

A wave of nausea hits Violet as she and Rhiannon stare open-mouthed at each other. Emotions fly across each of their faces: rage, fear, and cold calculation. Both women compartmentalize their feelings in order to figure out the angle, the plan that their parents must have been a part of.

“They all feel honored at the prospect.” At her mother’s words, Violet’s expression lands on rage. For she knew none of them were aware of the prospect, let alone honored by it.

Violet raises her body slightly to look through a break in the floral display. She studies the faces of the group around the king, trying and failing to read her mother’s. But she isn’t the only one, as she catches sight of her sister staring their mother down from the outskirts of the crowd. She, too, must’ve heard the announcement.

The King seems to have moved on, discussing the prospect of having a smaller number of seats available to Tyrrish nobles at Basgiath University the following year, “as they have their own academy now, supposedly”.

Mira takes the opportunity to gesture at their mother, who must’ve sensed her eldest daughter’s furious gaze. Lilith nods and calmly follows her daughter from afar as the two head to a private wing of the house.

Needing to know what exactly their mother promised the king, Violet rushes to her mother’s study. She attempts to do it as surreptitiously as possible, given that the house is still full of revelers. Rhi had darted off to see if Raegan had any more information than they had. Her joints ache as she makes her way down the hall, dancing and being on her feet all day was starting to take its toll. And in retrospect, scaling the side of a building hadn’t helped. Violet knows that sometimes she pushes her body by taking unnecessary risks, but sometimes she just needs to prove to herself she can. That she is as allowed as anyone else to make reckless choices. She can hear raised voices as she approaches her mother’s door. She’s glad the room is set far back in a wing of the house that isn’t open to the party. Her mother’s study sits adjacent to the library, designed for when their father was alive. The two liked to have the door open between the rooms and work in companionable silence. Occasionally inviting the other in to see what they were working on. Or troubleshoot. Regardless of her mother’s attitude towards her children, Violet knows her parents had been in love. The type that’s big and true.

The door is ajar when Violet reaches it. She steals herself for a moment before pushing it open. Schooling the pain out of her expression.

“I suppose I understand why you’re sending me, I can even wrap my head around Rhiannon, she hasn’t had enough training, but at least some. But Jesinia? Violet? Are you truly trying to marry them off?”

She walks through the open door when she hears her name. Stepping fully into the room and latching it behind her, she turns to meet her mother’s eyes.

The tall, imposing woman stands behind a desk across the room and scoffs at Mira’s words. “I’m presuming you overheard as well? This house is full of gossiping busybodies”

Violet nods, stepping up to stand beside her sister. Her mother continues, answering the question from before Violet entered the room.

“And Mira, don’t be so dramatic, you needn’t marry anyone. Be smart, you were trained for espionage, why do you think you girls are joining the aristocratic women?”

Mira crosses her arms, stance wide and imposing, completely at odds with the image of a demure bridesmaid they had been attempting to portray all evening.

“But Violet? She trained with father, not you.”

“Come now, being raised in my house was training enough. You will go to Tyrrendor to discover what it is their new nobility is hiding. If making them think you want to marry them is part of it, so be it. But uncover what it is they’re up to. The king does not trust the new Duke any more than he trusted his father.”

“Well, our father wouldn’t want this!” Mira argues, color flushing up her neck.

“I loved your father, but he’s dead,” Lilith says as if reading off the servant's schedule. “I doubt he wants for much these days.”

Violet had spent her years at Basgiath following her father’s footsteps, working as the best research assistant he could ask for. He had been the dean of the university, overseeing all the smaller schools and disciplines within, but at his heart, he was a scholar. He had been Navarre’s best code breaker, archivist, and in Violet's opinion, father. She misses him terribly.

“I can handle it.” Violet holds her head high, finally interjecting in the conversation that transpired as if she weren’t in the room.

“I know you can Vi, but you shouldn’t have to. You’re fragile, if things go wrong…” Her sister trails off as fire flashes in Violet’s eyes.

“Are you saying I’m weak?”

“No, of course not, just…that…your body is more breakable than mine and I fear what they would do if they discover us.” Her sister holds up her hands clearly conveying that her fight is with their mother, not Violet.

“Then don’t get caught.” Lilith levels a stare at both of her daughters. “Violet is possibly more equipped than anyone for this. As she lives in pain every moment of her life, and yet she moves through the world convincing everyone she is fine, she might be a better actress than you.”

Violet’s eyebrows raise as a swell of pride fills her chest against her better judgment. It sounded an awful lot like a compliment, something she rarely heard from her mother. While it’s for something Violet had complicated feelings about, it feels like a compliment nonetheless.

“So we are meant to act the part of demure debutants, batting our eyelashes at the Tyrrish nobility?” Her mother nods, though her expression is a bit exasperated.

Violet doesn’t mind the idea of joining in the type of work her sister has been doing for the past couple of years; she does mind the idea that it isn’t a choice, but her only option.

While things in Navarre were changing for women, it was not as quickly as they may have hoped. Meaning, that while Mira and Violet could continue to pursue educations at the university, they were expected to become governesses, not professors or directors at Basgaith as both of them hoped. Their mother had only been afforded the privileges she had due to her marital status. Something neither Violet nor Mira had much interest at all in mimicking.

“So that’s it? You are truly willing to just send us away. Losing one child wasn’t enough for you? You want to marry one of us off to his murderers?” Mira seethes.

Violet’s chest tightens at her sister’s words and the memory of her brother. No one dares to mention Brennan, not in the five years since he died fighting the Tyrrish rebellion in the south. Violet always would say if asked that her mother tolerates her, and respects Mira, but loved Brennan.

Their mother’s jaw tightens, and her eyes threaten retribution as she coldly glares at Mira.

“Go, before people notice you girls are missing. Your assignments begin tonight. There is a major benefit to having two of you from my school of study and two from your father’s. You will be lethal, physically and mentally.” Her mother’s eyes stray away from her sister and finally rest on Violet. There seems to be a glimmer of the woman her mother was when their father was still alive. “And to be frank, you are more equipped to take down a possible rebellion than any man who has graduated Basgiath.”

The freedom with which her mother was giving these compliments was increasingly alarming to Violet.

Violet wanders back through the revelry, her mind miles away in Tyrrendor, a place she will be spending the next year of her life despite never setting eyes on it. The reception is in full swing, and many of the guests are well on their way to inebriation. Violet dodges dancing bodies and a few leering men as she weaves her way around the perimeter of the room. She makes her way up the stairs in an attempt to find a quieter alcove off the mezzanine, not quite in the mood for the festivities anymore.

Lost in her thoughts and not looking where she’s going, Violet nearly runs into the same chest for the second time that day when she reaches the top of the stairs. At the last moment, her mind catches up to the present, and she swerves out of his way, at the same moment he does. Blocking each other's paths again, they both go to move in the opposite direction. Violet looks up to meet his eyes, letting all of the frustration show on her face. She had been hoping for some time alone, and instead, she’s stuck dancing around this man on the stairs.

Maintaining eye contact, Violet goes again to move around the man’s tall frame. He too moves, again standing in her way, she glares and a soft laugh escapes from his lips.

“May I have this dance?” He raises an eyebrow as he asks it. Emphasizing the inquiry, seemingly poking fun at both of them for not being able to accomplish the simple task of walking around each other.

At the absurdity of the request, Violet’s expression breaks, and she lets out a scoff.

“Since we are already spinning around one another.” He dips into a half bow, extending a hand to her.
Her mother’s words flicker through her mind. Your assignments begin tonight.

So, without thinking it through, likely because she’s absolutely wrecked after the day, she takes his hand in hers and lets him pull her in a hand-width away from his chest. The music can be heard up where they stand, Violet wrapped in his arms, it mixes with the melody of voices and laughter. Lending to the illusion that they’re in a magical world of their own.

Violet takes the opportunity to study him between spins, leaving her eyes downturned as she looks at him through her eyelashes. She considers the possibility he may be Tyrrish. His warm brown skin signifies he's likely from the south, though not necessarily Tyrrish. He could be like Rhiannon’s family, from Morraine, not Tyrrendor, or have moved away from the province generations before.

She doesn’t recognize him from Basgiath, but then again, she wouldn’t have moved in the same circles as he most likely, even if he weren’t Tyrrish. The male aristocracy tends to train in the military section of the college. While her mother was lightly involved with that branch Violet had minimal contact.

“You are quite unexpected.” Violet lifts her eyes to meet his at the words, finding them already trained on her.

“I could say the same of you.” She straightens to meet his gaze as best she can, standing a full foot shorter than him.

She thinks she catches a ghost of a smile on his lips at her motion, “You’re not like the women I typically expect at an event like this.”

“So you frequent events like this?” He gives a noncommittal hum as he pushes her into a spin, catching her against his chest once she completes three revolutions.

“Well, if you do, how is it we have never met?” His eyes dance at her questions.

“You’re rather curious, have you never been told it’s unbecoming?”

“And you’re rather mysterious.” She bristles at the other part of his comment. Unable to rein her temper in. “Of course I have. I’ve been called every euphemism for un-lady-like under the sun, for I haven’t aspired my entire life to find a husband.” It's been a long day, and she’s still in so much pain. She knows as soon as she says it, she’s blown her little practice assignment. So much for Lilith being impressed by her pain tolerance and ability to compartmentalize.

His lips turn up into a soft smile, it’s the first one she thinks he’s shared that might actually be true.

“I never said I, myself found it unbecoming. Simply wondered how you kept the habit despite, I'm sure, valiant attempts to grind it out of you.” Violet bites her tongue successfully this time. This arrogant man just may be the death of her. He continues not seeming to notice her ire. “A woman with wit is likely the most disarming of weapons.” And despite her frustrations, she finds that she is the one disarmed.

A distant voice echoing in the room draws her out of her haze.

“I’m sure the girls are around here somewhere. And they’d love to be introduced before the season begins.”

Violet's body tenses in recognition, Colonel Aeros, head of the military branch of Basgiath. Without thinking about the implications, she laces her fingers through those of the man before her and tugs him down the stairs. They fly across the entry hall, and she pulls them behind one of the many floral displays, obscuring them from the people making their way onto the mezzanine. The voices continue, down the stairs and into the ballroom to the right.

“They’re all wonderful specimens.” Violet pulls a face, forgetting her company. But the man doesn’t seem offended by her derision. If anything, his jaw seems more tense than it was moments before.

The colonel continues. “My son and some other representatives from the university, as well as the aristocracy, will be joining the group. We’re also in the early stages of seeing if the prince will visit when…”

The men move out of earshot. Violet's skin feels warm and prickles as she and the man continue to meet each other's eyes. He is just as captivated by the flecks of blue in her hazel eyes as she is with the gold in his.

He’s cold, but there’s something captivating about him, and Violet can’t help but feel the way his eyes trail her like he, too, can’t look away.

A man with similar coloring and features catches his eye from across the room, tilting his head toward the door. The man, whose hand she realized was still wrapped around her own, returns the gesture with a nod. Violet wonders if they’re related.

“I have to go, something in Tyrrendor requires my attention.” He lifts their joined hands, releasing hers and then tucking it into his elbow as they step out from behind their floral refuge. A vision of propriety, he leads her out the door and down the steps so that they stand in front of her home, something she’s sure he doesn’t know.

Violet tilts her head, giving him a calculating smile as they step apart to face one another. “You certainly enjoy your secrets” She hopes the smile reads as interested and doesn’t reveal her pride at being correct in guessing his origins without needing to pry.

“I do, but I must say, there is something about you that makes me want to spill them all.” A wicked grin breaks across his handsome face as he tilts his chin in farewell, turning on his heel and stepping into a carriage behind him. The candor makes her heart race for a moment, his grin thoroughly derailing her.

Violet regains her thoughts as she watches him pull the door closed behind him.

“I’m Violet.” She shouts as a parting gift, realizing that she might already be ahead on her mother’s assignment, without even meaning to. She surveys the carriage, taking in the quality and the number of footmen. Ascertaining that he must be one of the newly elevated nobility of Tyrrendor. Her gaze lingers on the horses, and the black one stares back at her, seeming to see into her mind.

“Well, Violet, it's been a pleasure, maybe we’ll meet again.”

As she watches his carriage depart, the past couple of hours tumble through Violet's consciousness. Lost in thoughts of onyx eyes and rebel plots, she steps back into the manor to rejoin the festivities.

Chapter Text

Whoops of joy echo across the lush green hills as Violet leans her body out of the carriage. Raegan leans out the opposite side, lifting her voice to the skies, chanting and singing her elation. The air is warm and fresh, the sea crashes against the cliffs below, and Violet’s heart feels ripped open at the sensation of this new world. She bends back, face up to the sky, letting her body shake with laughter as the Sun warms her face.

I’m so glad you’re here

Raegan’s words filter back to her on the wind whipping around her, trying to untangle the braid firmly pinned to her head.

Breathless and sated Violet sinks her body back into the carriage, leaning into her sister who had remained seated while the other two yelled wildly.

“Tire yourselves out yet?” The older woman asks, turning a page of her book. Violet shoots Rhiannon a smile across from her and answers. “For now.”

A rather pregnant Raegan had come in the carriages to meet their train from Basgiath. She claims there are about two and a half hours of riding along the countryside until they reach Aretia. It’s peculiar the train doesn’t go to the city the way it does in Basgiath, but Violet knows it was a strategic choice on the part of the late Duke of Tyrrendor. An exceptionally astute one. Aretia, their capital city sits in a valley ringed by tall mountains, making it a defensive dream. Why would one ever allow a direct path into a fortress like that?

Jesinia and Rhiannon are tucked across from Violet and her sister, Rhi in the middle, a hand resting on her twin’s hip. Raegan still presses the top half of her body out of the carriage, curls whipping around her face in the mountain breeze. The two sets of sisters have known each other nearly their whole lives. Growing up in the capital city of Basgiath side by side, their fathers both worked for the University. Mira and Rhiannon had both eventually enrolled and joined the School of Shadows under Lilith’s instruction. Violet had joined the university the same year as Rhiannon, but she studied in the same school as her father, to be an archivist.

But while Violet hadn’t trained for espionage in the way they had, she was still Lilith’s daughter. Their mother was likely the greatest spy in Navarre. In many ways, women are invisible, older women especially, because no one looks very closely. It’s a disguise their mother had taught them could be used to their advantage if only they had the wit and the courage.

When Dain and Halden had stopped wanting to invite her to their games, Violet had been livid. She didn’t understand why being a girl suddenly changed things when she was thirteen. When she was no longer allowed to wear whatever she wanted and run around barefoot and wild. Typically, her father was the one able to reach her, but this time she was inconsolable. It was her mother who pulled her away, into the library, and finally told her words that made her settle.

Nothing about you has changed. It is they who have decided to treat you differently, and you must ensure that their mistake is to your advantage.
You can no longer move through the world as you once have, you need to harness your cleverness, to disarm them with wit and presumed naiveté. They will underestimate you, and you will let them.

Her mother’s words had helped her become the top scholar at the University without being seen as a threat. It’s absurd what men can be convinced of when they are resolute in their belief that women couldn’t possibly be more clever than they. She convinced people she had no great aspirations, that books were just a lovely escape because she couldn’t be bothered to be expected to understand modern politics and social customs. She was just a simple girl who loved to read, so what if she was good at it, she would never amount to anything anyway. Being able to read a dozen languages didn’t make her any more clever, it was just a little hobby.

Since her father’s death, the King had called her into more than one closed-door meeting to interpret some of her father’s research or translate top-secret texts. But that was not for anyone outside the room to know.

While Violet lost herself in books, Mira studied all the ways to break into a castle, write coded messages, and kill a man without a trace. She had also become top of her class, it was part of why she was the oldest on the trip, twenty-six and still unmarried. She’d spent the last few years traveling across the country, shapeshifting into whatever was needed to give the Crown an advantage.

Which is why for the next hour or so of the ride Mira decides to offer the other girls unsolicited instruction.

“Rhi and I will be in with the other debutantes, but you and Jes will have a bit more freedom to move around unnoticed. Use that.”

So life as usual for you and me Jesinia signs. Violet smirks.

“Be observant, make sure you notice everything and everyone around you and seek out advantages."

The countryside whips by the carriage window.

“Don’t get attached to any of these men.”

Violet hums along at each of her sister’s advisements, Rhiannon and her sharing smiles and sometimes teasing Mira for her intensity.

“…do not underestimate these women. They too, are here on a mission, it may be different than the one we’re on but it’s vital to them nonetheless.”

“Women on the hunt for a husband are some of the most dangerous of predators” Rhiannon nods solemnly as she offers the comment. Raegan now rests her head in the crook of her twin’s shoulder, their hands are intertwined and resting on her belly. Violet wonders if they can feel the baby within, if Raegan can feel the life, the heartbeat growing inside her.

“Make alliances, but not friends. Tyrrish women are just as much a source of information as the men, we shall not overlook them, as we are so often overlooked.”

The three women nod at this.

They make a final turn away from the cliffs that drop off to the water below and slip through a road cut between two of the enormous mountains. The road winds it's way down into the valley and the young women are given a view of the city. It’s breathtaking. They can see the scars of the war and pockets of destruction, but there are also swatches of color, swipes of vibrant and bustling neighborhoods. The city is warmer than Basgiath, even though if Violet squints she can make out snowcapped mountains in the distance.

Their carriage drives around the outskirts of the city, taking a road that seems to circle the perimeter of the buildings, between them, and the rise of the mountains. The women are pressed to the windows of the carriage, soaking in their new environment.
On the far side of the valley, the city is made up of rolling hills, nestled between two and seemingly built into the mountain behind, is a fortress. It somehow looks like a Lord’s manor, and a military building all in one.

“Riorsen house” Raegan murmurs seeing where Violet’s gaze rests.

Mira’s eyes snap to the building “I just remembered.” Her voice drops, and Violet leans in, heart jumping at the urgency in her tone. “Stay the hell away from Duke Riorson.”

Violet’s brow furrows “Isn’t he the whole point of this?”

“No.” Mira’s voice is firm, dangerously so “figuring out what they’re up to is. He will not be the weak link. And he is not someone you should go anywhere near. He can’t exactly kill us at a ball, or at all for that matter. But he’ll wish he could I’m sure.”

Rhiannon’s gaze held Mira’s at the jarring statement “Because of your mother?”

Mira nods. Violet knew their mother had been a major part of revealing the rebellion, and the information she’d gathered was the reason many had been executed. She didn’t realize the Tyrrish nobility knew, but Riorson must if Mira was convinced he would want to exact revenge. His father had been executed because of their mother’s work. Though Mira might just want to kill the Duke herself, as the rumor was, Fen Riorson, the former Duke, was responsible for Brennan’s death.

To think that Brennan had been in this city, the one they now rode into, welcomed and dressed as tributes, that it was the last place he saw before he died. To know that he rode here in armor, ready to give his life for his country. Violet loses herself in memories of her fierce older brother. A battle medic and a brilliant scholar, he had always been everyone's favorite, the best at everything he endeavored, and her most loyal protector. He and Mira had been inseparable, she turns to study her sister, wondering if she too is lost in remembering.

They move into the hillier part of the city, toward the fortress, following winding cobblestone roads, to arrive in the drive of a lovely manor. They gather themselves as the carriage nears the entrance, and Mira voices one more note on the Duke.

“He studied at Basgiath you know, it was part of the treaty after the rebellion, the King wanted to keep a closer eye on them. I don't think it worked, if anything it made the Crown fear him even more, he was the top of his class. Mother will never admit it, but I think he impresses even her. He’s ruthless .”

Before Violet can ask her to elaborate on ruthless the servants swoop in, opening the carriage doors and helping them step out.

Masen stands out front, he’s not dressed like a lord, in fact, if she hadn’t known him she might think he was a stable hand. He wears a flowing white shirt tucked into black riding pants, his hair a tight halo of golden brown curls around the top of his head. He grins widely as Raegan catapults herself out of the carriage and into his waiting arms. Her feet lift off the ground and when he releases her his glasses are askew. The reunion is not what Violet expects from just a few hours of distance, but then again, she had never been in love, not really.

“Welcome, welcome!” His voice is warm, and lilts in a way Violet has begun to associate with Tyrrendor. She knows the written language of the land well but has rarely had cause to hear it spoken. She thinks she’d rather like the sound of it, if the accent is anything to go by.

“Happy to have you all here, it’s an honor to host you all. Raegan has practically been buzzing in anticipation of your arrival.” He squeezes his wife’s shoulder as he leads them all up the stairs to the entrance. The servants behind them gather their belongings from the carriage and whisk them away through another door into the manor. He continues as Violet devours every detail of their surroundings.

“If I didn’t know better I might be offended, thinking that she doesn’t like her new home”

He walks them through the manor, an attentive host and tour guide, his arm wrapped around Raegan's shoulders at every opportunity.

Violet studies them with a tender hesitance. She’s happy for Raegan, she deserves this love story, a whirlwind romance, the life of a court lady. But there’s something behind her smiles that Violet can’t place, and she worries that this life isn’t what she’d hoped.

They reach the upper floor, in the wing where their rooms are, Masen gestures to their doors, “Settle in, we have dinner at the Cardulo’s tonight, as most of the delegations are here, it will be an informal meet and greet of sorts.”

Rhiannon finally voices a question Violet had since the moment they entered the city.

“Might we get a chance to wander the city a bit, it looked so stunning on our way here.”

Masen seems to hesitate, for a moment the host persona fractures, and a calculating expression slips through. But it’s gone in a breath, and if Violet weren’t who she was she might’ve missed it, she’s sure the other women catch it as well.

“Of course, generally we’d have the carriages for you and since you’ve just arrived we can arrange for someone to show you around. I wouldn’t want you lost! The city is quite welcoming but it is old and has been rebuilt many times. Some of the roads twist and turn and end abruptly.”

In the end only Rhiannon and Violet venture outside of Sanborn Manor, the others caught up preparing for dinner and settling into their new rooms, or in Mira's case doing strengthening exercises in the loft of the stables.

One of the stable boys leads them out on horseback, they venture to the edge of the upscale neighborhood of manors and towards the city. Aretia is beautiful. It’s like nothing Violet could’ve ever dreamed up at Basgiath. It’s nestled in a valley and while it has the sprawl of a city, Masen's words rang true, they were still rebuilding. They ride through a neighborhood that shows almost no signs of its previous destruction. The homes are all built from deep warm wood and grey stone, and the doors are all brightly painted. Violet can’t help but smile in wonder at the city. There are unique carvings in the eaves of roofs, stylistic paintings around door frames, and knotted ropes arched around windows and hanging beside doors. There is so much life and personality to the city itself, its refreshing. Though none shows on the street. Very few people walk them, they pass no other horses, and the children they do see playing outside quickly scamper away at the sight of them.

Part of Violet understands that the people of Aretia would be hesitant around outsiders, but Violet's sure Masen had somehow sent word that they would be riding through here. She asks the boy if they can see the Great Market she had read about, but he tells her it's closed and on the other side of the city, too far for them to make it there and back in time for dinner. She knew for a fact it was not. But she let the boy do his job, leading them through the residential neighborhood and back to the manor. It wasn’t his fault he had been instructed to keep them in the dark about the truth of Aretia, whatever that may be.

The Cardulo Manor isn’t far from the Sanborn’s, but they still take the carriages. It’s a larger building, more imposing, with fortified gates, a drawbridge to the front door, and turrets she can see crossbows peeking out of. She knew the late Tracila Cardulo had been executed after the revolution, but she hadn’t thought she was part of the military force, this manor implied otherwise.

Lilith had been sure all four women had decadent gowns for the season, something Violet was still acclimating to. She loved to wear the finery, she just didn't have as many occasions in Basgiath. She wore a deep sapphire blue gown with capped sleeves and layers of skirts cinched in ruffles across her frame. Rhiannon and Jesinia were both in shades of green, a rich emerald for Rhi, with jewels decorating the neckline, and a soft sage for Jesinia, highlighting the bronze and olive tones of her skin. Mira wore a burgundy gown so deep it was nearly black. The top looked like a stretch of fabric twisted tightly around her frame, bursting into a lovely gathered skirt at the waist.

They make their way into the grand entrance hall, and Violet is impressed at the warmth of it, considering the harsh exterior. There are rugs across the floor, tapestries and paintings on the walls, and soft candlelight flickering around the room. Her eyes scan the room, subtly searching for the tall man she had met all those months ago back in Basgiath. She doesn’t even see the man she thought might’ve been his relative. There are quite a few folks from the Tyrrish nobility that share their coloring, but none are him. She scolds herself for feeling disappointed.

“Find Dain Aetos,” Mira mutters as they cross the threshold.

“Dain?” Violet can’t help but smile at the thought of seeing Dain. It had been nearly a year, and she’d missed his soft brown eyes and the way he laughs, the way every part of his body joins in. He was sent to the front after graduating, his father a Colonel in the Navarrian military. Violet missed their friendship and the moments she thought it might turn into more, because of the way he looked at her, like someone worth noticing.

“I hear his father sent him here. He’s been rising, a lieutenant now. Don’t smile like that,” Mira chides. “He doesn’t know why we’re really here, and seducing him is not part of the plan.” Mira bumps her sister, drawing her gaze.

“But he’ll be good at making sure no one unsavory takes too much of an interest in you.” Violet nods as Mira gets pulled away and into an introduction with two devastatingly gorgeous women.

She thinks the man beside them is a Poromish noble. Violet hadn’t realized Poromish women would be included in the season, but if these two are anything to measure them by, Violet feels she doesn't stand a chance. Lithe frames, each standing at least five inches taller than Violet, with glossy black hair and full, just-bitten lips. The one on the left seems about Mira’s age, her hair rests in two braids, silver chains woven amongst the strands. The other woman’s hair is mostly loose, cascading around her shoulders, with some strands clipped back, away from her face. Her eyes are big and brown, captivating against her pale skin. Violet is sure the older one will capture Mira’s attention. Hopefully, she can reign in her hatred for Poromiel long enough to forge one of those alliances she was encouraging Violet to make.

Ripping her eyes from the women, Violet notices there are still plenty of people she recognizes in the room. Some from the University, others just from Basgiath. Many she hadn’t seen since she’d enrolled in the university, nobles' lives tend to diverge from ones like her’s after a certain age. She notices Ridoc Gamlyn chatting in the entry to the dining room, a taller brown-haired man with freckles across from him. Taking Jesinia’s hand in hers she walks over to the two, knowing that talking with Ridoc will bring a sense of normalcy to this experience.

Upon seeing her, the shorter stocky man perks up from where he leans against the wall.

“Violet!” his arms are flung wide as he takes a step towards her, his floppy umber hair waving around the brown skin of his face. His wide smile is a brilliant flash of white framed by full pink-tinted lips. “My favorite flower, I missed you.”

She steps into his arms and lets him wrap around her, it brings her back to nights in Basgiath, grounding her feet firmly in reality. Ridoc had studied with Rhiannon and been part of her class in the School of Shadows. They had become fast friends, and Ridoc had become somewhat of a pillar in Violet’s life at University, a flirtatious, loyal, and bitingly funny pillar. When he pulls away he flashes a smile at Jesinia to her left.

“M’lady” He lightly bows reaching for Jesinia’s hand and placing a kiss close to her wrist. The man beside him also has his eyes trained on Jesinia, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Jesinia, this is Ridoc Gamlyn, Ridoc, Jesinia Neilwart” Violet signs the introduction, finger spelling Ridoc’s full name for her friend, but giving Ridoc Jesinia’s preferred sign name while finger spelling her last name.

Ridoc smiles wide, lifting his own hands “You can call me Ridoc though.”
At his name, instead of spelling, he twists his fingers to the sign for the letter ‘r’ and wiggles it similarly to the sign for ‘flirt’. Violet lets out a bark of laughter.

“Who gave you that name?” Jesinia smiles beside her as she asks it, shaking her head.

Ridoc shrugs his shoulders, no embarrassment on his face. “My sister.” Jesinia laughs. “But! Where are my manners? This —” he gestures to the man beside him whose eyes had gone wide, following all their hands as they spoke. “—Is Sawyer Henrick.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t sign” He looks bashful. Violet translates, she knows Jesinia is an adept lip reader, but she always appreciates confirmation of said lip reading via sign if possible.

“It's ok, I don’t speak every language either.” Jesinia smiles sweetly as she signs it, Sawyer doesn’t look away from her as Violet voices the translation.

At that moment Rhiannon walks up with Dain, eyes darting between the man leaning towards Jesinia and her brunette friend. She raises her brows at Violet, who mimics the expression in response.

“Look who I found.” Rhiannon interrupts the moment, moving into the conversation and dragging Dain between the two, still staring at each other. Violet takes a breath to drink him in. He's broader than the last time she saw him, his wavey brown hair cropped shorter, but his amber eyes just as warm as she remembers.

“Dain” Violet smiles as he wraps her into a tender hug. “Vi” He whispers against her hair, and she nearly melts with the comfort of it all.

“I can’t believe Lilith sent you here, any of you, but you especially Vi.” She rolls her eyes as she pulls away from him, lightly smacking his shoulder with the movement.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know I just —” Not wanting to have this conversation, again, Violet interrupts him. “Who are those women talking to Mira?” She juts her chin toward the entrance.

“The Cordellas, they're sisters, and in line for the Poromish throne. Dear old dad wants me to at least try courting one of them. He’s always scheming.” Dain shakes his head.

Something twists in Violet’s chest at the thought of Dain with one of those beautiful women. But his arm is still around her waist, and it fills her with a sense of pride, that he wants to hold her like that. She studies her sister’s stance, tension in every inch of her, but she seems to be playing her part rather well, smile on her face, head tilted as if rapt at their words. One of the women says something that piques her sister's interest, and she glances where the older of the women points.

She's gesturing to a tall man across the room, who looks like he could be related to the sisters. Glossy black hair, tousled around his head as if he hadn’t brushed it after an earlier ride, full lips and square jaw. He’s lean, though maintains an air of being dangerous, it's the same grace the dark-haired sisters have. He’s deep in conversation with another dark-haired man, much broader and with smaller features. A woman with hair not quite blonde, not quite ginger walks up to him. She’s tall and strong, everything Violet is not, she envies the way the woman moves, clearly her body listens to her, allowing her to be powerful. The strawberry blonde leans into the stockier man, seeming to tell him something. He quickly springs into action, gathering guests and gesturing to the dining room. Violet had been so busy studying her sister’s conversation that she missed out on the one happening around her.

“We have to go find our seats, lovely meeting you both.” Dain was saying. Turning away and leading them from Ridoc and Sawyer, his hand still resting on her waist.

They move farther into the space and are directed to their seats by servants standing at attention throughout the room.

The table is endless, seemingly miles of silver-covered trays and bouquets of flowers. Violet feels almost lost at sea seated on the end closest to Viscount Tecarus from Poromiel. He has no children of his own but was the man with the Cordella sisters. Apparently, he’s inherited the stewardship of them as they will be participating in the season. He’s also the face of the Poromish delegation in Tyrrendor. It’s still a shock for Violet to see them here, for Navarre has been at war with Poromiel on and off for decades, but relations in this province seem much more cordial. Violet wonders if King Tauri knows the full extent of it, and if it has anything to do with what they think the Duke is 'plotting'.

Across from her sits the man and woman she’d observed in the entry hall, Captain Tavis and Imogen Cardulo, their hostess. Imogen had barely glanced at her, opting to speak with the Viscount and those seated in that direction. Violet’s been chatting with Captain Tavis and Luca Dillon, another Navarrian noble seated beside her. Violet’s known Luca for years, they’ve never been friends, but there’s always been a level of civility between them, though Luca is known to be catty, Violet’s not sure she has many friends at all.

“Violet knows all about old art, isn’t that right Sorrengail?” Ridoc’s voice calls her from across the table. He's a few seats down on the same side as Captain Tavis.

Across from her Imogen’s eyes snap to hers, narrowing, seemingly trying to peel away Violet’s skin with her glare.

“Sorrengail?” she sneers at the name as she says it. “I hate your mother.”

The man beside her seems to rest a hand on her thigh beneath the table, it's subtle, but something Violet is quick to catalog in her memory.

She shrugs “She’s a divisive figure.” Her mind races though, she has always thought people didn't know the extent of her mother's work, but it seems the Tyrrish nobility has more insight than she knew.

Before Imogen can break away from Tavis and lunge at Violet, Ridoc tries to divert the tension, gesturing to the painting on the wall behind him.

“We were simply curious about the painting above the buffet.”

Imogen’s eyes stay on Violet, who in turn studies the painting.

“Is that a Gentileschi? I’ve always wished to see one of her paintings.” Violet surveys the canvas on the wall, studiously ignoring the hazel glare. “though I’ve never read about this one, it's arresting.”

“Her paintings were all removed from the Royal gallery years ago were they not?” Ridoc offers when the silence stretches too long for comfort.

Luca scoffs. “Sorrengail, only you would read about paintings no one cares for. Is that what you’ve hid away studying all these years? No wonder you’re here looking for a husband, no one in Basgiath would want you.”

“Watch it, Dillon.” Dain cuts a harsh look to Luca from down the table.

Luca inhales sharply through her teeth and glares at Mira beside her, Violet is sure her sister kicked her below the table. She’s both comforted and annoyed by their defense of her.

Violet had spent her whole life around Navarre’s elite, but something about this setting made everything feel charged in a new way. She supposes it’s the competition of it all, that previously she had never been seen as a peer, as a threat, while now contextually she is both. It's not a shift she enjoys. She never thought she’d miss solely being known as the youngest, forgotten, Sorrengail.

“It is my favorite from my collection.” Ignoring Luca’s comment Imogen raises a brow at Violet, she’s not sure if it's a challenge. Everything from the young women feels like it might be.

“I can see why, she’s captivating .”

Violet knows the story, Judith was a widow who used her beauty and wit to con the General threatening her city into a state of vulnerability. When he was drunk and weak she used his own sword to decapitate him with her maidservant’s assistance, effectively rescuing her people. Violet feels a sense of kinship with Judith, she’s sure her mother would. A woman as a weapon.

Most paintings of the scene show Judith as small, dainty, and lacking emotion during the act of decapitating the General. They show an old woman at her side, an observer, not an active participant in the scene. But those were all painted by men. Gentileschi’s depicts them both holding him down, while Judith’s strong bare arms dig the sword across his neck. Violet has never seen the female artist’s rendition, but she’s read about it at length. The painting on the Cardulo’s wall is of the moment just after the famous decapitation.

The light in the scene illuminates the women from the left. They look soft, voluptuous, bathed in shadow. One crouches, cradling a decapitated head, the other standing over her with a sword, in a defensive stance facing the light. Her hand is held up, the palm glowing in the candlelight, casting a shadow back on her face like the waning moon.

“I’d only heard reference to the other five paintings in the series, never descriptions. Not that a description would have done this justice. She is both lethal and utterly…soft.” Something Violet can’t quite convince herself is approval flickers through Imogen’s eyes.

“The painting of Judith slaying him, is at Riorson house.” the woman finally says, her gaze not quite a glare anymore, but still unsettling. Violet’s brows raise at this. Gentileschi had been a prominent painter from Tyrrendor, but she was also often disregarded by men and the upper class. Her paintings were much more empowering of their female subjects than those of her male contemporaries. The King himself had removed all her works from the royal gallery before Violet had been old enough to appreciate them. Violet was intrigued that a man like the Duke would display such a painting. She knew Tyrrendor had more progressive views of women than the rest of Navarre, but still.

She supposes, though a man, the Duke was also a revolutionary like Judith, trying to slay those threatening his home.

“I’d quite like to see it.”

Imogen gives a curt nod at this, looking away, seemingly unsure how to engage with Violet anymore. The man to her left turned to Luca.

“And you, love. What do you think of the Gentileschi?” Violet noticed his arm was still hidden by the table, reaching ever so slightly toward the intense strawberry blonde at his right.

Luca’s mouth opened and closed. “I like…her hand.”

Imogen does not repress the eye roll she makes at the comment, while Garrick impressively only allows a twitch of his lips.

“Yes, her hand is rather nice I suppose.”

The rest of the dinner passes without much incident, which Violet is grateful for. The large party retires to some of the drawing rooms across the entry hall. One has a piano, another has small tables set up with decks of cards, all with sofas and chairs for lounging. The night continues with laughter and chatter, and Violet begins to feel comfortable in this world, less intimidated by the task ahead.

Ridoc grabs her at one point to go see one of the rooms with a balcony that overlooks the mountains, he insists it will take her breath away. As they wander down the hall they see Masen and Raegan arm in arm talking with the tall man Violet suspects is a Cordella. Her pregnant friend raises a hand in greeting, wiggling her fingers and smiling. Violet returns the gesture when she hears her sister's voice behind her.

“Drake Cordella?” Mira shouts it, and Violet turns as she charges down the quiet hall towards Drake. “As in the Nightwings?”

The man gives Mira a charming, yet cocky smile. “Oh, you’ve heard of me?”

“You were instrumental in the revolt at Monserrat last year, were you not?” Her eyes narrow.

“I was.” His grin expands. At this point Mira has stepped up to the man, invading his space. She stands a few inches shorter than him, glaring up as he smiles down at her.

“Well I was in Monserrat then, so was my little sister. She was just a bystander, an archivist.”

She reaches up and rests her hands on his shoulders and he furrows his brow as she knees him straight in the groin.

“Ooh.” Ridoc winces beside Violet, whose hand flies to cover her mouth. It's an impressive move considering the heavy skirt of Mira's dress.

“He’s going—” Drake grunts and hits his knees, as Rae gasps. “—down,” Ridoc finishes.

Drake inhales sharply, regaining his voice “You, must be Mira Sorrengail,” he manages to say, pain etched in every line of his face. He looks up at her, his chin level with her navel.

“Guess you’ve heard of me, too.” She looks down her nose at him. Violet thinks her sister looks powerful in that moment, reckless, but powerful.

Mira crouches down to his level. “That little rebellion nearly got my sister killed.”

Violet had been working on a special research project at the library in Monserrat when the fighting broke out. Mira had been stationed there trying to quell the rebels from the inside. Violet had been excited that visiting Mira had overlapped with her work, but Mira was unsuccessful, and when all hell broke loose, they both barely got out alive.

“If you ever, endanger her life again, it will be a blade, not my knee.”

Reckless

To his credit, Drakes lifts his head and sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Noted.”

Violet wonders how Mira has ever convinced anyone she is anything but a warrior, she seems to not be trying very hard right now. Her own desire to protect Violet seems to supersede her need for discretion. Then again after all these years, Mira had earned a reputation, simply by being an unmarried woman. So maybe, this only helped the narrative that she was untamable, a wild outlier, hopefully Tyrrish men enjoy a challenge.

Violet can tell from the look in Drake’s eyes as her sister storms away, leaving him kneeling on the ground, that he loves a challenge.

Later that night Violet lay in a pile of limbs on the bed in Rhiannon’s room. Her head rests on Jesinia’s abdomen, her hand in her friend's, signing against her palm as the women chatter. Mira’s forehead presses into Violet’s, her body curled up on Jesinia’s other side. Raegan’s hands slowly unweave the braid pinned to Violet’s head, and she feels the warmth of her friend’s pregnant belly at her back. All the women still wear their gowns from dinner, twisted around their lounging bodies.

“Girls, I’ve been so starved for beauty and laughter” Raegan sighs.

Violet reaches up to squeeze her friend’s wrist in comfort. She releases the half-undone braid as her twin takes her other hand, interlacing their fingers and resting them on her hip, just above Mira’s head.

“Sawyer certainly seemed starved tonight” Rhiannon wiggles her brows at the comment.

“Though he is friends with the Tyrrish nobles from his time at Basgiath he’s not exactly a prime target” Mira signs the words against Jesinia’s other hand as she says them. Jes lifts her head just enough to roll her eyes at Violet, who smiles widely in reply.

“Oh let Jes have her fun!” Raegan exclaims, seeing that Jesinia’s gaze includes her now, she raises a hand to sign it in the air. Violet feels her friend’s belly move beneath her as she laughs, the sensation sending warmth through her whole body. Her bare feet hang over one edge of the bed and she lets them swing casually.

“We should be getting to know more than one man, explore our options, why get tied down to a Lord if we can catch a Viscount or a Duke” Rhiannon arches an eyebrow, mirth and cunning in her eyes.

“Yes, or a Captain” Violet bumps her forehead against her sister’s with the comment and waggles her brows once the elder girl meets her eyes.

“Oh hush Violet I have no interest in Garrick Tavis, though flirting with him would certainly upset that Cardulo woman, so that would make it worthwhile”

“Not who I was referring to”

Mira’s lips part and after a beat transforms into nearly a snarl.

“There just seemed to be some tension, some history between you and one Captian Drake Cordella.” Violet chuckles at her sister's expression. "Now he’s certainly no Tyrrish noble, but I think Mother would be just as excited by you bringing home high-ranking Poromish military instead.”

“With connections to the royal line nonetheless” Rhiannon adds.

But it’s still Violet who Mira targets and she is merciless in her attack. Lunging across Jesinia’s torso to dig her fingers into Violet’s sides, where she knows her sister is ticklish.

“Mira, Mira no!” Her laughter is ripped from her throat, breathless. “I take it back!”

Rhiannon’s legs wrap around Mira’s shoulders restraining her arms as Violet gasps, her skirts hiked up around her waist to allow for the motion. Raegan jabs a finger to Mira’s flushed cheek as she tries to wiggle out of Rhiannon’s thighs around her shoulders.

“Oh my god! you. want. him.” Raegan punctuates each word with another poke of her finger.

“I do not.” Mira sighs, ceasing her struggle. “I’d like to punch him certainly, the expression of pain on his face was exceptionally satisfying.”

A wicked smile stretches across Raegan’s face. “are you sure it wasn’t just him falling to his knees in front of you that was exceptionally satisfying ” She pauses, letting the implication settle. “he certainly looks like he would be.”

“Raegan!” Rhiannon exclaims, laughing as she swats her sister.

“Mira does love a man on his knees” Violet boldly adds, only just regaining her breath.

“Marriage has made you wild Rae” Jesinia adds, purposefully flicking Violet as she signs.

Something shifts in Raegan’s expression and she softens.

“I suppose it has." She stares at the ceiling "I love him. But it is lonely here, I am so selfish in hoping that you girls find love here too.”

She let her eyes dance across her friends' faces at the confession, all of them gazing back with unadulterated affection.

“Sometimes I have glimpses of this place that seem like our world. And Masen, he's like us, he’s worked hard and knows struggle. He is kind and takes joy in life with both hands.”

She mindlessly draws patterns on her belly, painting fantastical pictures for her unborn child.

“But then there is the Court. And it seems sometimes like they’re all playing a part. Like they know they must convince the rest of the country that they are not their parents and that Tyrrish culture is assimilating. Changing. And to be frank, it’s bereft.”

Violet thought of the streets they’d been able to explore earlier, the patterns etched into walls, the colorful sea of doors. The idea of erasing those things, and what she was sure was an even more vibrant world beyond them, seemed like a terrible heist. Basgiath was deprived in comparison to even the glimpses of Tyrrendor she had seen.

“Because sometimes Masen goes out with the Duke, or the Council, or to the Academy and he comes back with light in his eyes, crackling energy around him. He’s never like that after public Court events, never after I’m there.”

There’s a sadness in Raegan’s voice, a grief for something she may never know.
“I think they don’t trust me yet… or if they ever will. I don’t think they know why you are all here, but they would have to be simple to not suspect.”

She darts a look at Mira, who grumbles a response. “I know they’re smart, incredibly so.”

“Sometimes I wonder if they are all like us, but better at hiding it, for their own self-preservation” Raegan meets Violet's eyes at the observation, before flopping her head back onto a pillow and sighing.

Violet thinks of the dinner that night, of the derision she received from Luca, of the looks from some of the other Navarrians. It would be easier if she made herself smaller. She was used to doing it, but she was tired, it made her think of that conversation on the stairs at Raegan’s wedding. When she had been so exhausted, she opened herself to that handsome stranger, telling one too many truths.

Then she thought of how Imogen hadn't filtered her rage, how she and Captian Tavis had stood leaning together and sharing too many glances. How Masen glowed when Raegan had returned from just a few hours away, not worried with propriety, wearing his riding clothes and wrapping her in his arms. She thought of her Tyrrish mystery man's lethal grin as he told her he wanted to share all of his secrets after spinning around her on a staircase, holding her too close. It had thrilled her. And none of those were things Navarrian high society typically allowed. Maybe Raegan was right, the outward sobriety of the Tyrrish was a shield, and the truth of them all was much more vibrant.

And Violet couldn't help but feel like maybe, their way was the better way.

Chapter Text

Aretia in the spring has a sense of magic. Of course, Violet did not know the city in any other season, so maybe there was a sense of magic year-round. It’s lush, evenings full of cool rain showers, causing a heady mist in the morning when the sun rises to burn it all away. She gets used to the smells of it, fresh hay and sweet flowers, the tea the cooks brew in the mornings, and cool mountain air made humid in the light of day. It was a treat to be somewhere new. Unlike Mira, she had rarely had cause to see their kingdom, only going from library to library occasionally, never seeing the cities surrounding them.

Violet eases into her life at the Sanborns. She spends her mornings with her sister in the stable’s hayloft. Stretching her muscles and practicing how to break a man’s nose so she might distract him enough to run away. In the afternoons, they wandered the parts of the town where they were allowed to go, rode horses along the hillside, or simply lounged around the manor, catching up on every little detail of each other's lives. There is a strange plurality in knowing each other as long as these women have. On the one hand, there are no boundaries to be crossed, no secrets that won’t be well received; on the other, there is all the greater risk of loss. Her days are full, she learns of the research Jesinia has been pursuing on Navarrian folklore, of Mira’s latest mission, and far too many sordid details of Raegan’s sex life.

But she does not tell them about her onyx-eyed man — and she is sure there are mysteries withheld from her, sometimes saying something out loud gives it too much power.

Their nights at the manor are often quiet, dinners in the small family dining room followed by chatter in a cozy salon overlooking the mountains. Some nights, Masen's friends join, and Violet is always fascinated by them.

Soleil draws Violet in with her beauty alone, all rich shades of brown; copper skin, chestnut hair, and amber eyes. She was petite in stature, but her body was built for strength, all curves and muscles. Violet always notices Mira and Rhiannon noticing her, appreciating more than Violet ever could. Where Soleil goes, Eya tends to follow. She has a quiet and strong presence, which Violet finds comforting, often finding herself chuckling softly in the corner with the tall brunette while the others vie for attention in the center of the room.

Sometimes, Garrick accompanies them, though Mira does not follow through on her threat to flirt with him.

Against her instincts, Violet also comes to appreciate the Captain, finding his company to lend a necessary steadiness to their group. His ability to seem like the most rational adult in the room, before landing a cuttingly funny remark, is refreshing and brings Violet more amusement than she’d care to admit.    

One afternoon, after a week or so spent exploring every inch of the Sanborn home, the women dress to be presented to the Tyrrish court. As the younger daughter of an unmarried elder sister, Violet is not officially being presented, but she is still eligible. Therefore will still be in attendance but does not have to dress in white. So she is wrapped in a silk dress of her preferred shade of blue while Rhiannon and Mira are swathed in reams of off white fabric.

Marquess Durran’s home is stunning and well-decorated for the occasion. The young women gasp upon entering the entrance hall and quickly disperse to greet their peers.

“Dain.” The warmth from her smile filters through the rest of her, reminding her of home. “It’s so good to see you.”

They had been able to dine with other members of the Basgiath delegation during the past week, but it was still so nice to see a friendly face so far from home. He returns her smile, reaching for her in greeting.

“I still can’t believe you’re here Vi.” He’s leaning into her space, intent on not being overheard. She gives him an empty smile in response. Not sure where he’s going with this. “It’s dangerous.” She suppresses an eye roll.

“I might get blisters from dancing too much? Be serious Dain.” She refuses to meet his eyes, looking out at the sea of attendees.

“No Vi, you don’t understand, it’s not safe for you. With who your mom is, and how these people are. There is more going on here than you realize.”

Violet turns to study her oldest friend, looking for a tell. She’s never considered Dain’s aptitude for lying before, and now she feels at a bit of a loss. She considers whether Dain's father has motives and orders separate from her mother's. She weighs her response thoughtfully.

“I know that tensions have been high, and wounds don’t heal in five years. But that’s why we’re here, to ease relations.” He's shaking his head before she finishes speaking, and she wants to shake him. “But you weren’t trained for this.”

“Who better than a historian, a student, to bridge the gap. This isn’t a military mission Dain, I don’t need to be anything I’m not.” She searches his eyes. Desperate for him to understand, to believe in her.

She doesn’t find what she’s looking for.

“Drop it Dain. I don’t want to argue tonight.”

“Fine.” He breathes, leading her around the room on his arm, and they nod and greet other people they know. Violet is leaning on the advantage of having Dain do most of the social niceties while she can just hum, smile, and nod along. After a lap around the hall, he can’t help himself.

“I saw Mira at the Cardullos.” Violet looks at him sidelong, arching a brow. “Hit that Poromish Captain, and I don't blame her. But you’ve got to lay low here.” Now, both of her eyebrows reach her hairline. “You need to play by the rules here Violet, just because they’re uncivilized doesn't mean we should stoop to their level.”

Fire rages in her chest, it’s indignation and disappointment. How dare he make sweeping judgments like that, she thought of Masen, Soleil, and other Tyrs she’d met. Even Drake, though militarily opposed to them, seemed to be at least friendly with Rae and Masen. The Dain she thought she knew was curious and empathetic, but the man in this conversation felt like a stranger.

“Understood.” She has to use all of her control to grit out the word.

Thankfully, his scolding is cut short by the musicians beginning to play and the announcement of the debutantes. She excuses herself under the ruse of looking for Jesinia, but she just doesn't want to be touching him anymore.

Violet's eyes seek out Mira and Rhiannon. They both look so elegant in their flowing white dresses. The debutantes are all in varying shades of cream, signaling their supposed virtue. It all feels a bit antiquated to Violet, but such are the traditions of Navarre. She notices the differences between the dresses of the different delegations. The embroidered patterns on many of the Tyrrish gowns, white on cream, create an illusion of vanishing swirls. The metal rings and vibrant colors of Poromish jewlery and chains decorate the otherwise plain garments. It's an homage to culture, and Violet devours it.

She stares appreciating the young women, their beauty, their poise, their seeming wit as they chat and laugh, all nervous, but all lovely. Something tight begins to curl in Violet’s chest as her eyes wander. Many of the other onlookers do not seem to detect what Violet does, their beauty, the depth of these women. Instead, their eyes trail along the few stretches of bare skin revealed by the garments and the curves hidden beneath. She hears whispers of titles and dowries, but nothing of minds or accomplishments. She decides she needs air before she snaps. Her temper had never derailed her studies with her father, but she was sure in this sea of snakes it would.

“Violet?” She is surprised to hear her name so casually that she meets the caller’s gaze with an unguarded wonder.

“You,” it's a breath more than a word.

There’s a smile on her lips before she can stop it as she takes in the tall man from a few months ago.  “And you thought we might not meet again.”

He holds her gaze, his expression a bit softer than she remembers, but still as gorgeous. “Have you had enough already?” his eyes dart between her and the debutantes descending the stairs.

“Of the auction?” she scoffs, “it’s dehumanizing.” She raises a brow, waits for the arrogant brushing off she expects. But an expression of consideration graces his face instead, and she remembers the hardness of his gaze when they overheard the Colonel refer to her and her friends as specimen.

“I suppose it is in many ways, isn’t it?” His eyes catalogue her face, her lips parted, she, assessing him just as thoroughly. “Though I am surprised to hear a Navarrian, from Basgiath no less, make such an observation.”

He’s prodding, and she knows it, but she doesn’t want to give him anything more yet. In some ways, he knows more about her than any other man in this room, which makes her want to keep the identifiable information close. She thinks of Imogen’s response the other night to hearing her name, and finds she doesn’t want to risk seeing an expression of unfiltered hate from this man. Though she doesn’t know who he is, beyond likely a Tyrrish noble.

“I feel at a bit of a disadvantage, see here you are, knowing my name, calling it across ballrooms. And I haven’t a clue what to call you.”

“You hope to have cause to call my name?” His eyebrow quirks up. Violet knows the phrase could imply more than what was gentlemanly, and she wonders if he is testing her. She can’t quite repress the flush she feels on her chest, but she returns his steady gaze, tilting her head and challenging him to continue.

She’s not sure what he finds in her face, but it seems to appease him.

“Xaden” A peace offering.

“Just Xaden?” She smiles, hoping to charm the surname from him. He quirks a brow in turn.

“Just Violet?” He returns the query, and she hums at the impasse.

“Fair enough.” She tilts her head in thought. “Though Xaden is an unusual name, is it short for anything?”

He seems to consider her for a moment.  “Is Violet?”

“You really do insist on being contrary, don’t you?”

“Yes,” this time the smile seems altogether too pleased, and Violet has the intense urge to smack it off his face. Not very ladylike at all. In order to avoid bodily harm, she changes topics.

“How was your business when you returned here? I read shortly after that there were some terrible attacks.”

His expression shifts, closing to her and becoming severe. She’s not sure why she feels so empty at the thought of causing that expression on his face. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, and there is tension in his jaw as his eyes dart over the room. “Loss is not unusual, but it is impossible to get used to.”

She waits a beat, leaving him a moment to settle, watching the muscles in his face clench and reset, when his eyes return to her, she finally speaks again.

“Shall we?” She tilts her head away from the performance happening behind them.

“Absolutely.” A smile ghosts back onto his harsh features, and Violet swells at being the reason.

Xaden leads her to the mezzanine above the dancers, where they find a perch with an exceptional view of the show below. She likes to be up high like this, an observer, it reminds her of analyzing battles with her father. Tucked into an armchair in his library, books sprawled around them, her father gesturing at the maps on the wall.

“You have to step back, Violet. You’re looking too closely at the details, fly above it all, and take a bird's-eye view. Now, what do you see?”

Being up high made her feel safe, she imagined flying would too if it were possible.

They lean over the railing of the mezzanine, watching the couples below sway and twirl. Violet has taken off her awful blue heels to hold them, her fingers looped through the straps.

“Is that entire thing cake? I feel as if it's large enough for me to hide within.” Her eyes sparkle as she takes in the tiered confection.

“The night is young, I’m sure we could find out. To sate your curiosity.” She can feel his eyes on her for a moment. He’s so physical, his gaze holding the warmth of a touch.

“I don’t know if I will ever be fully satiated.” Violet watches as Mira chats with a tall, stocky blonde man. She eyes him appraisingly, sure that Mira had likely known the best target in the room before they even entered the building.

“No, it doesn’t strike me that you would be.” His voice has lowered, leaning in just a little closer to her, as if sharing a secret.

She feels warm and content above the fray. Not wanting to be a part of all the posturing, she’s often expected to be involved in it. The sensation is also, in no small part thanks to the man beside her, something about him calms her. He intrigues her as well, and her heart certainly beats a little faster whenever she looks at his mouth or catches him eyeing hers.

“How could I be? There is an enormous world, with a rich history, a vibrant population… and I have a single lifetime to know it all.” Violet runs another calculating gaze across the room below, missing the way her companion’s breath catches, eyes trained on her profile.

Rhiannon dances with the man she’s almost certain is related to Xaden. They look handsome together, and Rhiannon’s eyes are sharp as she smiles softly. Gorgeous and lethal. She moves on to check on Mira and appreciates Raegan dancing with her husband, breathless and smiling, arm in arm. Her focus is drawn to a young blonde woman behind them, who looks a year or so younger than Violet, just barely old enough to participate in the season. Her expression is pained, it takes a moment for Violet to land on the cause. A man at least twice her age is leaning into her space, and when Violet catches sight of the placement of his hands, rage floods her mind.

Without thinking, she flips the shoe in her right hand, heel pointed out, and aims it at the man’s balding head. It rotates in a perfect arch through the air, the point of the heel hitting him square on the crown of his skull, breaking skin. Before she’s processed what she’s done, Xaden drags her back, hiding them among the shadows. The shoe bounces off, landing on the top tier of the cake beside the man, just out of everyone’s line of sight. She can just barely see him over the railing, watching as he pulls his hands from the young woman and reaches up to cradle his head. The blonde man who had been with Mira pushes through the crowd and wraps the young woman in his arms, surveying her for damage and pulling her away from the scene. A few people try to assist the horrible man, fruitlessly searching for what had hit him and offering him a handkerchief for the wound.

Violet's body hums with satisfaction and restless energy, and she feels the warmth of Xaden’s body as he leans closer to speak in her ear.

“You look so petite and fragile, but you’re a violent little thing.” She can hear the smile in his voice, but it sends a chill down her spine nonetheless. “Talk about curiosities.” She berates herself for once again revealing too much of herself in front of this man.

“Might I ask what provoked you?” His breath is warm, closer to her neck than it should be. Something about him is so reassuring and safe. It's infuriating.

“He was taking…liberties. With the young woman beside him. And she looked nauseous at the… attention.” She’s mincing her words. From what she’s learned of him, this man at least has some respect for women, but it’s hard to know how far that extends with men of his station; they protect their own. But his body stills, she senses the shift. His frame behind her suddenly radiating quiet rage, she feels a brush against the fabric of her gown as he clenches his fists.

“The young woman, the blonde one?” His voice is deadly, cold, and deep. She nods, not trusting her’s in that moment. His breathing speeds, and Violet feels the urge to calm him.

“A different man swooped in when the shoe hit, they looked related, and she seemed relieved when he arrived, he pulled her away before anyone noticed, I think.”

This seems to calm Xaden, his breathing levels, and he nods. She watches as his face flickers with a myriad of things she doesn’t know him well enough to name, landing on the sharp, observing expression he’d worn on their first meeting.

His gaze cuts back down to the ballroom below, and Violet is reminded that the world has continued on around them. The movement that caught his attention was the servants wheeling the cake away for cutting.

“We can’t have you prancing around in only a single shoe now, can we?” He tilts his head toward the stairs, moving with purpose, not seeing if she follows.

The cart passes them on the next level, and as Xaden stands aside, allowing them to pass, Violet tries in vain to reach her shoe. Seeing the dilemma, Xaden turns quickly as the cart passes, reaching out a long arm at his already ridiculous height, he’s able to snatch the shoe without any notice. Spinning on her stockinged foot, Violet snatches it from his hand with a smile. Both turn to walk down the next flight of stairs away from the dancing and the scene of the crime.

Violet scoops the icing off the ribbon of her shoe as they step down, cream on navy satin. She inspects the whipped sugar on her fingertip, wondering if it would be terribly rude to lick it.

He leans toward her as they descend, flirting with invading her space but not quite crossing into it. A smile tugs at his lips, and Violet is entranced by the transformation. He’s captivating.

“You should absolutely never be allowed up high,” he holds his hands up, listing the next words on a finger each. “Earrings, shoes? What’s next?”

“The earring was not my fault.” She turns into him even more as they take the last few steps. Raising her icing-clad finger in defense.

Reaching the landing, he pauses, and she uses the momentum and the smooth marble floor to spin back to look at him. He’s shaking his head at her, the smile now full and bright.

“In future, if you ever so much stand on a chair, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She lifts her finger further, accusing and playful, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Stand beside you.” He gazes at her and his mouth hesitates on his next words, seeming to think about how to form them, his lips part before pulling into a smirk, “and wait for the show, I suppose.”

Her face is tilted towards his, and she doesn’t know when they moved to be standing this close together. She can make out flecks of gold in the deep stone of his irises, seeming to dance as he looks at her. There’s a faint scar on his brow. She’d barely noticed it before, but up close she could see every birthmark and slight imperfection on his perfect face. His eyes rove over her’s in turn, always darting back to her mouth and resting there a moment longer than anywhere else. The racing of her heart has begun again, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why she shouldn’t press her finger the last inch to rest against his lips.

“Violet Sorrengail” Mira’s voice rings out, loud and vicious, from the top of the stairs.

The moment before Violet pulls her eyes away from Xaden’s, she sees a flash of confusion and then anger. She steps back and turns to look up at her sister when she hears footsteps on the stairs below.

“Riorson, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere.” The man she’s sure is his cousin steps into her vision as he smiles at Xaden, who continues to stare at Violet, unwavering.

It’s her turn now to look at him, shock etched in her face. Oh god. She’s not sure if she says it out loud.

“Sorrengail?” His voice is hard as he steps back into her space, and she’s overwhelmed by the height of him in an entirely new way. She doesn’t even reach his collarbone, and just a moment before, his stature had felt like a comfort. But now, she feels exactly as Mira had accused - too fragile for this mission.

The shining obsidian of his eyes that had been so playful a moment before transforms to cold, unadulterated hatred. Leaving a bitter taste in Violet’s mouth, exactly as she’d feared. Though she could’ve never predicted this turn of events. Rage fills her bones. What right did he have to make her feel small?

“Violet?” Rhiannon’s voice calls from above, stepping down the stairs to join Mira just behind the Duke.

“You’re the Sorrengail’s youngest.” It’s accusatory, not a question, a tone so foreign from the one she has begun to associate with him.

“You’re Fen Riorson’s son.” Violet counters, the revelation still not quite sinking into her consciousness, reeling from the dichotomy of it all. She lifts her chin, doing her best to meet his gaze as it burns down into her.

“Are you going to pretend you didn’t already know that?” His eyes are hard, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he studies her, seeming to wait for an answer to reveal itself on her face. She furrows her brow, almost sneering at the accusation, he thought she had knowingly flirted with him, despite her mother’s praise, even she was not that good an actress.

“I didn’t, if I had, all of our interactions would have gone much differently, I can assure you. They likely wouldn’t have transpired.”

“Would I have been your target with the shoe instead, then?”

“There’s still time for that.” She lifts her hand, shoes still dangling, and she’s unsure if the icing adds or subtracts from the threat.

His brow arches at her response, his expression flickering, if the circumstances were different, she might think it was amusement. His hands relax.

“And you?” His eyes assess her, not quite sure what she’s asking. “What will you do to me, now that you know?”

He sneers, and it distorts the face she had thought was beautiful. “As you observed earlier, this auction can be cruel. Why bother when I could just—” he dips his head, his voice lowering to a threat “leave you to their mercy?” His eyes are deadly as he turns sharply on his heel.

Violet feels the rage that kept her body upright rush from her, the sound deafening in her ears and mind. When she comes back to herself, Xaden is halfway down the stairs with whom she now knows must be Marquess Durran.

She only catches the end of their discourse, hears him mutter “…and he’s never allowed in any of our homes ever again, do you understand…”

Bodhi nods beside him, tension in his frame as they make their way down the stairs away from the sisters and Rhiannon.

“What exactly has transpired between you two?” Mira looms over Violet as she asks, still standing a few steps above.

“Nothing!” Violet feels hot with the implication. The words were her own, but she had meant them so differently than Mira, or maybe not that differently. “We met a Raegen’s wedding, not formally introduced, just — he was the man who saw me climb down for the earring.”

“I thought he looked familiar.” Rhiannon is watching her friend, arms crossed, but not as aggressively as the woman beside her.

“You truly didn’t know who he was?” Mira’s expression is shrewd, trying to read the truth on her face as the Duke had been. But Violet is sure Mira has a better shot than he’d had.

“No, I didn’t even know his name until today, and even then just his first.”

“He told you his name was Fennigan, and that didn’t alert you?” Mira stomps down the last step to bring herself nearly eye to eye with Violet, her eyes blazing as she stares down the couple of inches of their height difference.

Violet’s nose crinkles as she tilts her head, unsure. “Fennigan? No, he told me his name was Xaden. I know the Duke of Tyrrendor is Fen Riorson III. I’m not simple Mira.”

Mira groans, letting her head fall back to look towards the sky. “Fennigan X. Riorson”

Violet's lips part softly, letting out a sound of realization.

“I still feel like this isn’t my fault.” Mira just sucks her teeth, still starring at Violet.

“He is incredibly handsome.”

Both Sorrengail sisters whip around to glare at Rhiannon, who simply shrugs at the attention.

“God, I need to get out of here for a minute.” Mira walks past Violet towards the front doors. “Don't talk to another rebel leader while I’m gone.” Her eyes narrow at Violet.

“Well, what else are we here for if not that?” Violet raises her arms for emphasis, still a bit at a loss as to why she is being given so much blame for all this.

Mira holds her hands up in a rude gesture, continuing away from them down the stairs. Rhiannon throws an arm around the smaller girl, steering her up the stairs back to the party, hoping to salvage the evening.

She makes a point not to ask about the Duke, but they chatter about the party and gossip about the other women. They've been observing from the corner for an hour when Rhiannon freezes, eyes trained across the room. Violet follows her gaze, intent to discover the cause of her lively friend’s abrupt stillness.

The girl across the room is familiar to Violet, she had been at the University with them as well. Tara, she thinks her name is.

“What is she doing here?” Rhiannon’s voice was far away, not really asking Violet the question.

“You could ask her. That might provide a better answer.” Violet says it to tease, not really thinking Rhiannon would take it as a cue to drift away and across the room. Not sure what to make of her abandonment, Violet wears a wry grin as she glances around for another friendly face.

Jesinia catches her eyes, standing in a group a few feet away.

You think this place has a library? Violet signs, quirking a brow at her friend.

If it does, there’s no team better suited to find it than you and I. Violet grins at her friend, appreciating the normalcy amid all the strangeness of this first event of the season.

Jesinia holds her hands low and signs I’m bored, save me. She is careful to do it when none of her companions are looking. Violet grins and pushes off the wall to do just that. 

Chapter Text

I am writing in regard to the Academy at Aretia. As my studies at Basgiath University have been cut short due to this honor bestowed by the King, I would like to continue to pursue my research here in Aretia. It has come to my attention that the academy is open to all who have an interest in the learning available there, and I would like to set myself forward as an applicant. Most of my work is in the Archives at Basgiath, but I have some excerpts and recommendations attached.
I look forward to your decision.

Miss Violet Sorrengail

It’s familiar and tender for Violet to sit between Mira’s legs as she braids her hair. It’s a ritual from their lives that has always felt grounding, through all that has changed around them, this remains the same.

“I shouldn’t have reacted so intensely the other night.” Violet has always found that Mira has an easier time saying things when they can’t look at each other, when her hands are busy. Violet hums, waiting to see if Mira is holding onto any more words.

“I just — losing Brennan was incredibly hard on our family. And I know that was his father’s crime, not his. But seeing you with him made me snap.” Mira tugs a little tighter on her hair, Violet doesn’t react, knowing it’s involuntary. “I don’t want to be an only child Vi.”

The younger woman reaches up, placing a hand just above her sister’s knee in comfort. She understood, Mira has always been her fiercest protector, only rivaled by Brennan when he was alive. There's a knock at the door just before Jesinia pushes it open to the room, looking around until her eyes catch on the set of sisters. They all wave in greeting, smiling as the dark-haired girl crosses to the room.

A letter, from Riorson house for you Vi. Jesinia’s eyebrows raise as she signs it, clearly fishing for information. Not that Violet has any. Mira tenses behind her, her knees digging into Violet’s shoulders.

"What? Why?"

"How should I know? It's for you." Jesinia rolls her eyes as she hands the envelope over.

Miss Sorrengail —
Your request to access the Academy has been granted. Please report to the office of Felix Gerault first thing tomorrow to begin your enrollment. It is located on the first floor at the North Entry of the Academy wing in Riorson House.
X.R.

“The academy is in Riorson House?” Violet can’t control the shock that tinges her tone, hands flying. Basgiath University was, of course, in the capital city, near the palace. But they were not one and the same. One did not run into the King in the University halls. Though she supposed Xaden was no king. Regardless, she didn’t want to see him in the halls.

Jesinia nods "I thought you knew that when you sent your request. It’s not a secret." Violet groans, throwing her head back, eliciting a pointed tug from Mira, who pushes her back upright to continue her braiding.

“Are you purposefully ignoring my instructions? Or has the thin Aretian mountain air affected your brain?” Violet knows she deserves the snide comment, but she grumbles in response anyway. Signing Mira’s words for Jesinia as Mira’s hands are occupied.

Jesinia laughs, shaking her head at the sisters. "Well?" Violet only stares back at her, not ready to answer. "Are you going to go?"

“Yes, Vi, are you?” Mira’s tone is derisive, not helping the situation.

Violet takes a deep breath. “Objectively, it would be stupid not to.” Another tug on her skull. “If we’re subtracting the Duke from the equation, being able to make peers amongst the Tyrrish nobility is a huge motivator. Not to mention having access to a place that I wouldn’t otherwise, even if they try to shelter me from how they typically run things, they’ll slip. And it will provide insight into why we’re here, not to mention the expansive library in the Academy that I couldn’t explore otherwise.” She finishes her defense, dropping her hands to her lap, not sure what to do with the nervous energy once she no longer needs to sign along.

Violet can feel her sister's frustration as she finishes the braid and loops it around her head. She’s pulling and tugging and much less gentle than usual, but Violet lets it happen, knowing Mira needs a minute.

"Violet does have a point. And she can check out books from the library as a student, which means she can bring some for me to read, and we’ll be able to gather information more efficiently without raising any flags that both of us want to study." Jesinia eyes the elder Sorrengail, hesitant, but plowing on. "Mira, the question is, is your reservation related to what it is we’re here to do? Or is it about protecting Violet and keeping her away from the Duke?"

Mira exhales deeply and flops her body back against the bed where she’s seated. “Don’t make me answer that.” Violet tilts her head back to catch her sister holding her hands to the sky to sign the words for Jes.

“Mira, if anything starts to cause alarm, I will drop out immediately. And I’ll give you daily reports, I’ll stay away from Duke Riorson. Now that I know what he looks like.” Violet assures her sister, knowing she's close to breaking.

Jesinia’s hand moves and draws Violet’s attention. What he looks like is part of the problem. Mira’s head is still pressed to the bed, looking up at the canopy, oblivious to Jes’ teasing. He’s tempting. Violet rolls her eyes and scrunches her face at her friend, not wanting to admit that she’s right.

“Fine. We’ll try it.” Mira assents, before she sits up, Jes sneaks in one last comment.

"Oh, Vi, you're in trouble."

Violet hates that her friend is right. Despite disliking the Duke and knowing she must avoid him, she can’t help but want to appreciate him. She thinks she could manage doing it from afar. But in all honesty, Violet has never been very disciplined. 

Violet walks up the front steps of Riorson House, feeling dwarfed by the building ahead. She has been attending lectures for a week now, and still, the building feels like an intimidating mystery. The first day she came, she left extra time to get lost but ended up having to use it resting, as the walk up the front steps left her winded. She'd found an alcove in the Entry hall and hid, regaining her breath as she watched the inhabitants of Riorson House scurry through. She's wrapped her knees and ankles every morning after that. The Entry Hall is grand, with staircases and archways leading to the rest of the fortress. As she crosses to the far hallway that will lead her to the wing with the library and academy classes, she hears his voice. It had been over a year since they’d spoken, and she had hoped for at least another one of peace.

“...Lord Cleirigh was asked to leave Aretia, the Duke outlined his impropriety but would not reveal against whom, claiming that it was interrupted before anything unsavory occurred. But he requested that he depart to protect the virtue of the season's women. As if the Tyrrish care for virtue.” He’s descending the stairs above, but Violet can’t see him yet, her body frozen in the archway.

“Whores, the lot of ‘em” there’s some appreciative guffawing and Violet feels queasy, wishing she could use a move Mira showed her on the man.

The group enters her vision, four surrounding one with a circlet of gold resting on his forehead. Sandy-brown hair falls recklessly over the crown, and it’s illogical, but Violet swears she can see just how green those eyes are from down in the shadows where she stands.

The men continue to chatter as they reach the main hall, moving to exit the house. But those green orbs catch sight of her before their owner departs. He seems to make some excuses, sending all but one of the men along ahead, he and his guard cross to approach Violet, whose expression has hardened to an apathetic placating smile.

“What are you doing here?” She asks once he stands a couple of feet away. “Your royal highness.” It's an afterthought, and he knows it.

He doesn’t seem as tall as she remembered, but he’s just as strikingly beautiful. High cheekbones, mouth tilted in a permanent smirk, and eyes as green as summer leaves.

"Learning, this is a school, is it not Vi?” He flashes a smile, and she can tell he has no intention of being straightforward with her, not that he ever really had.

“As if you’d ever cared for educational institutions, Hall.” She uses the nickname, refusing to use his title again in this conversation. “Other than maybe their instructors.” She doesn't wait for his response to the dig before plowing on. “Truly, what are you doing here Halden?”

The guard behind him seems shocked at their familiarity; she supposes she doesn't recognize the man, because Halden’s old guards were quite used to her and her mouth.

His face softens for a moment. “Vi —”

“I don't care. I care why you’re here.” Her voice is steady, her gaze fierce. He sighs, knowing the expression and understanding that he will get nowhere with her until he answers.

“Father sent me, continuing negotiations, I’m not staying, but I’ll be back when—”

“Did you get lost?” Violet thought his voice was cold the last time they had spoken, but this was freezing. The Duke steps down the same stairs Halden had moments before. “It’s not a complex floor plan, Your Highness.”

Violet resists the desire to smile at the rudeness. Very few people speak to Halden in this way, and it is utterly unsurprising that Xaden is one of them. She wonders if her lips quirk and betray her, because Halden’s face turns from playful to aggressive in a way she has rarely ever seen.

“Not lost, just ran into an old friend from Basgiath.” His voice is tight, clearly not wanting to speak with the Duke.

“Is it typical for a Navarrian Prince to be friends with Archivists?” Xaden’s brow arches as he reaches the foot of the stairs and strides over to them.

“She’s not an archivist; women in Navarre can't hold that position, especially not unmarried.” Halden snaps, and she can’t help but feel that he has walked right into a setup from the Duke. He stands with his head tilted as if in thought, his stature forcing him to look down slightly at the Prince.

“Do you hope to change that?” Violet is sure he knows his words have a double meaning. Change the law, or change the fact that Violet is unmarried. She wants to break his nose, though she could probably barely reach it with the amount of necessary force. His height is endlessly annoying.

“I think we’ve discussed politics enough today, Riorson.” Halden is agitated, and Violet revels in witnessing it. She likes to include herself in the small number of people with a talent for making him this way, so it’s odd to now group herself with the Duke in something. Regardless of how satisfying.

“Quite right.” Xaden bows his head slightly. “Hope you enjoy your short visit here in Aretia.” He gestures to the door, all mock deference, undermining the rudeness of attempting to dismiss a Prince.

Not that Halden notices, clearly ready to exit the situation. He turns back to her, recapturing his smirk for a moment. “Violet,” he bows his head, lifting her hand to brush a kiss against it. “Always a pleasure. See you soon.” He winks and strides out, not sparing a goodbye for the Duke.

There’s silence as he exits the front door, and Violet is tempted to turn and run, but just as she's about to gather herself, he speaks.

“Childhood friends? First loves? Did you dream of being Queen, Sorrengail?” It’s presumptive and mocking and gets under her skin precisely as she’s sure he intended. He can't help himself, it seems, she wonders if he will always follow an appealing action with one that makes her feel violent.

Ignoring his question, she asks her own. “Did you truly dismiss the man I hit?” This jars him, and she feels victorious as he works to school his expression.

“My mother never liked bullies.” It’s honest, and it hits her in her stomach. His face is blank, as if completely uncaring, but she knows his fists wouldn't be clenched if he weren't working to maintain the apathy. She gives it to him.

She wants to ask if he misses her, but she has no right. So she nods instead, then dips to a curtsey and departs without another word. She makes an effort not to hurry down the hall, to seem as if she isn’t fleeing. She’s so focused on this, she doesn't realize his eyes stay trained on her the entire time, and then, on the corner she disappears behind, long after she is out of sight.

She has tried not to seem over-eager about the library, only visiting a couple times in the couple weeks she's been at the Academy, and staying only a short time. But she can’t help herself any longer, and so one afternoon she strolls the stacks, still a bit in awe of the library. The one at Basgiath is very academic, nearly sterile. This library is lived in, all warm wood, comfy chairs, and haphazard stacks of books on tables. There are two mezzanines above her, each to access another floor of shelves. She could never admit it to anyone, but she might just love it more than the Archives in Basgiath.
She runs her fingers along the spines in the section for Tyrrish culture. She’s curious about all of the decorative differences in the province and hopes there will be answers on these shelves.

Dances of Tyrrendor
Tyrrish Dialects, Old Language and Origins
The Art of Traditional Tyrrish Knots

Violet's movements still Maria Mullen. Maria?

She quickly begins to pull books to see the first names of the authors. Most spines just have a first initial, and she has assumed, like in the Archives, that all of those initials stood for names like Sean, Niel, and Pierce. But they didn’t, about a third of the books she flips through were written by women. Her breathing catches, and she isn't sure how to process this.

She rationalizes. Culture is often based on handicraft and household practices. Maybe this is a disproportionate representation. She reshelves the books exactly as she’d found them and rushes to the Navarrian history section. She discovers a similar ratio. Now energized and desperate, she runs to the sciences, mathematics, and military strategy. All have significant amounts of books written by women, spanning back hundreds of years. Her breathing is heavy, and her face flushed by the time she accepts this realization.

She’s collected a stack of materials by this point, carrying them back down to her table, her mind wanders, wrapped up in the implications.

“I’ve never witnessed someone winded in a library, what exactly have you been reading Vi?” There’s a teasing smile on Ridoc’s face as he watches her, seated at the table where she’d left her belongings.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She quirks a brow at him, returning the playful look.

She deposits her haul next to her pack and drops into a seat across from him. Studying him, weighing whether she wants to share her discovery. Ridoc has always been fiercely loyal. When she’s told him about how she’s been treated in the past, he’s been quick to defend, and he admires her knowledge. Never devaluing her input because she’s a woman.

“I was just excited, there are some books here I’ve never read. Some by women, which the archives don’t allow.” She tries to downplay how many she’d found and how thrilled she was.

They chat for a while, discussing the lectures and the season. Violet hadn’t been quite surprised to learn that Ridoc also requested to enroll, but she hadn’t expected to see faces from Basgiath at the Academy. She’s glad it’s Ridoc’s.

After a while, he departs, having found the book he had come for. She watches as he goes to the front entrance, signing out the tome with the keeper of the library. Violet surveys her haul of books, skimming the titles before choosing which to grab. There’s one book on recent Tyrrish history, by Shibon Byrne, that Violet desperately cracks open after Ridoc leaves.

“The revolution was staged in two-fold for a myriad of reasons. The primary being our borders and our rights”

Violet’s brows furrow. It’s a very different summary than Basgiath would approve of. She devours the book, jumping from section to section, impatient to understand the scope.

“Tyrrish customs differ widely from those of the rest of Navarre, as it is well known that each province was once an independent nation.”

Yes, this is common knowledge, now they all speak one language, but there had once been many, quite a few of which Violet knows. Including Tyrrish.

"Tyrrish law dictates that women are entitled to certain protections not outlined in Navarre governance. Navarre has used this discrepancy to do many things against our law for decades. One of which is seizing land from Tyrrish women. Duke Xian Riorson was able to negotiate that the land would remain Tyrrish. And without the King’s knowledge, would redistribute the land to as close a male relative he could find to the women originally stolen from.”

Violet questions if she should check this book out as she had initially planned, worrying it might raise questions. She’s sure that when they allowed her to join the Academy, no one expected her to be this enthusiastic about researching. And it might show her hand.

“...this brings us to the question of our borders. It is widely known in the province that the Poromish are not the enemy, simply a less privileged victim. It is the Barrens and their bloodthirsty leadership who pose the true threat, but Navarre would rather point fingers than sacrifice comfort. Unlike the Tyrrish who have — ”

Someone coughs above her, and she slams the book shut. She definitely shouldn’t be seen with this book, she scans the room as she takes a stack of books, including Byrne’s, to return to the shelves.

She notices movement in the corner of her eye as she reshelves the book, but when she turns, she sees no one. The back of her neck prickles as she returns to her bag, checks out Tyrrish Knots, Runes and their Significance and exits the library. 

When she arrives home, nearly everyone is in the salon, including some guests. Raegen’s shouts filter from above.

“Is she..?” Violet's eyes are wide, breathing is irregular.

“Her labor started a few hours ago. We were going to send for you, but knew it would be a while before any news and didn't want you to worry.” Eya leans against the far wall. Her sleeves are rolled up, and she wears a loose set of trousers that hang in such a way that they give the illusion of a skirt. Violet notes this and is sure Mira has already requested a pair.

Soleil looks up from her book. “We’ve all been in and out, running errands as the midwife requests. Masen and Rhiannon are with her, so far so good last we heard.”

The updates calm Violet, but she’s still on edge. Women die all the time during childbirth. She’s read the books and studied the stats, she also knows that, along with everything else she's discovering, birth is handled differently in Tyrrendor. Which is something she hasn't studied, yet. She stows her pack in the corner of the room, takes the drink Garrick offers, and begins to pace.

After an hour, there's a call from above. “Your turn, Vi.” Mira nods her chin at her as she says it. Violet sends her a thankful look and rushes up the stairs.

“Fresh water and ice.” It's the only greeting she gets when she reaches the doors to the Sanborn’s chambers. She’s quick to follow the instruction, taking the basins she's handed and filling each. The door is ajar when she returns, so she shoulders it open, careful not to spill any of her precious cargo.

“Wet a fresh stack of rags, they’re on that counter,” Rhiannon gives the instruction this time. “Masen will show you where to put them. Give him the ice.” She lifts a basket of dirty linens and brushes a kiss on Violet’s cheek as she walks past and out the door.

Violet freezes a moment, taking in the scene. The room is warm, lit by the light streaming through the drawn linen curtains and the glow of the fireplace, and the sharp smell of copper and sweat hits her nose. Reagan is in her nightgown, clutching the mantel as she squats, breathing at the coaching of the woman beside her. Masen leans over her, lifting her braids to swap the damp cloth on her neck with a fresh one.

Violet quickly flies into motion when Raegan’s eyes meet hers.

“Hi Vi, glad you could make it.” Her voice is strained, but she spares a soft smile for her friend before groaning and sinking deeper into a squat. Masen steps back, discarding the cloth and then walking up to Violet, who has brought to basins to the specified counter.

He's been running his hand through his hair because the curls are pulled apart, fluffed around his face in all directions. His warm brown skin is flushed pink across his cheeks, and his eyes are distant, constantly being drawn back to Raegan, the only time they seem to focus.

“Thank you.” He meets Violet’s gaze as she hands him a bowl of crushed ice, and he explains how to stack the freshly dampened clothes on a platter of the ice to keep them refreshing. Raegan shouts again, and Violet wishes it were within her control to ease her friend’s pain completely.

He returns to his wife and offers her some of the ice, pinching a piece between his fingers and holding it to her lips.

“I don't want any blasted ice, Masen. What in God's name would that do?” Her voice is shrill and ragged.

“Rae.” his voice is calm but firm.

“Oh fuck you.” Violet gasps at the language. She’s heard curses before; she grew up around the military, but never from a Lady or Raegan. Mira curses sometimes.

Oddly enough, Masen smiles, “There she is.” Raegan glares at him as she parts her lips and licks the ice out of his hand. Violet feels a sharp sense that she’s intruding, that this is the most intimate two people could ever be. As the ice dissolves on her tongue, Raegen rolls her eyes back in her head and drops her neck in a gesture that feels as private.

“You’re incredible.” Violet catches the devoted smile on his face, illuminated in the firelight. "Rae, I plan to love you my whole life, I've been in awe of you since the day we met. I'll never fuck off."

“More,” she exhales the word.

“Of course, my lady.” He presses another chunk to her flushed lips with an amused look on his face.

The midwife nods at Violet, signifying that her usefulness had expired, and she quickly excuses herself, nearly fleeing from the room.

When Jesinia’s sister had given birth in Navarre, there had been mostly men in the room, none of whom were her husband. He was sitting in the salon, drinking until he didn't notice her screams echoing through the house as she was held down in a bed. Violet and Jesinia had been young, Jes 10 years younger than her sister, they’d hidden under the dining table and swore that they would do everything in their power to never fall pregnant. The girls snuck up to the hall where Aoife was giving birth, to hold vigil, as no one else in the house seemed to care. Violet has no idea how long they hid there, praying for Aoife and her baby. When her screaming stopped, new cries began. They caught sight of her on the bed, bloody and exhausted, reaching for her baby as an old man with glasses carried the screaming bundle from the room, to bring to his drunk father. The anguish in her face has haunted Violet for a long time.

She's flooded with the memory as she makes her way back down the hall. She’d break her oath to Jesinia if there were a man beside her like Masen. One who was devoted and kind, and maybe Tyrrish.

Rhiannon walks into the room, her expression far away but ecstatic. She looks a bit disheveled, her dress crumpled and torn at the sleeve, blood and water discoloring the fabric across her chest and in her lap.

“Baby Lukas Sanborn and Raegan are both healthy.” A grin on her face. “And they, all three, are resting in their chambers.” Her eyes shine as the room dissolves into celebration.

Chapter Text

The spring season continues with luncheons, balls, and a fair share of sneaking around. Violet and Rhiannon end up exploring Aretia against their host's wishes, giving one destination, but sneaking over to the other neighborhoods or the Grand Market. Which is like nothing Violet had ever seen before, rows and rows of stalls twisting through a big building with archways open to the street. Everything is vibrant, from the textiles to the boxes to the fruits. Saturated and warm, Violet wants to touch and taste everything. On these excursions, they try to dress to blend, wearing the linen pants Eya had brought them to buy. That market had been quieter but just as vibrant—clothes made of a lightweight linen hanging from awnings in shades of ochre, magenta, and cerulean. Eya had walked them around, popping in different shops, always greeting the owners like she knew them. She’d explained that the style of pants was relatively new, that while Tyrrish women had never been prohibited from wearing pants, they had never been considered proper or formal. But these had become all the rage, allowing freedom of movement while maintaining the “feminine illusion”. Mira proclaimed she was never wearing skirts again.

Violet loves wandering the city. Aretia is flat, unlike Basgiath, which is kinder to her joints. Though she still tires after an afternoon of strolling. Some days are harder than others, Violet is sure to always have a few books on loan from the library for days her body is uncooperative. On those days, she’d curl up with Jesinia on a sofa in the study, wrapped in blankets with a bed warmer full of coals. They would read their way through whatever they could get their hands on, pillaging Masen's library as well, comparing and compiling research. It was familiar to Violet and felt like a slice of home. It reminds her of days spent in her father’s library and attending university with Jesinia, uncovering the vast world around them through the written word.

Sometimes, Violet worries that she’ll only see some of these places in her mind, that her body and her gender would keep her from seeing all the corners of the world she’s dreamed up. On one such afternoon, when the sun had almost sunk behind the mountains, she signed her fears to Jesinia, not even able to whisper them, to say them out loud. Her friend had wrapped her in her arms.

“Last year, would you have thought there’d be a day you’d see Aretia? The coasts and countryside of Tyrrendor?” Jesina’s hands flew, close to Violet’s face, her arms wrapped around the smaller woman’s shoulders. Violet shook her head against her friend's chest.

“And yet you have. You’ve seen more of the city than I, and we’ve only been here a couple of months. Soon it’ll be summer and we’ll travel around to all the summer estates and see even more of it. Violet, life for you has only just begun. This is the first trip of many.”

Violet sank her body farther into her friends, her voice soft but steady, her hands hesitant. “Our first trip?” Jesinia laughed, and Violet felt the sound reverberating in her skull, tugging on her soul and grounding her.

“Once the season is over, let’s plan our next one.” They’d lain wrapped around each other late into the evening.

Violet loved Jesinia impossibly more in that moment. Jenisia had been Violet's friend for a long time, but this season had drawn them closer in a way that Violet was infinitely grateful for. Rhiannon had burst her way into Violet's life, pulling her into her orbit on their first day, while the companionship she felt with Jes had built slowly, over time. Rhiannon had been wearing the wrong sash for presentation at primary school as they’d waited on their first day. So Violet, using the boot knife Mira insisted she carry, had sliced hers down the middle without prompting, wrapped it around her new friend's waist, and threw her to the wolves. Hoping it would be enough. And it was—they had been tied together ever since.

Reagan’s friendship had followed, much in the way that Mira and Rhiannon’s had fallen together shortly after. They’d all grown up in Basgiath and the twins father was often stationed at outposts with their mother. So, living together for these months had been familiar and comforting, nostalgic and novel all at once. Masen had adapted quickly to their antics, and Violet is certain he’s secretly pleased even when he’s chiding them.

Lukas is a joyous addition to the household. He’s the best-tempered baby Violet had ever met, eyes always wide and curious, rarely crying or fussing, always desperate to cling to your finger. In the morning, he was up with the sun, his father carrying him around the house as he prepared for the day. Most afternoons, Violet would find Raegan lying on a sofa in the salon, Lukas on her chest, both breathing softly in their sleep. And in the evenings, when the women returned home from dancing all night, they took turns swaying with the sweet, gurgling bundle. Rhiannon is enchanted with her nephew, always chatting with him as if he understands her and singing him every song she’s ever bothered to learn. It felt like what being a part of a big family should be like.

It was a blessing that they were all sent to Aretia together. Violet is certain she wouldn't have survived this alone. Though she could do without Mira’s teasing, all of their teasing, for that matter. Now that Mira has moved past her anger about the Duke, it’s devolved into merciless ribbing. Violet is the least observant, most swayed by beautiful things, and she has the worst taste in men. (Something her whole family has apparently discussed.)

In part due to the teasing, Violet studiously tries to avoid the Duke in the halls of the Academy and at every ball. He doesn't attend most of them, something she tries desperately to glean a reason for. The Marquis, Bohdi, is always holding court, seeming to charm everyone in the room. Garrick hangs back, to the edges, pointedly observing everyone. Imogen plays a unique role, seeming to both intimidate and captivate the men around her, providing endless distraction.

At the last ball before the summer season, Violet finally sees him again. She studies him with a renewed perspective, knowing now who he is. It seems like he has so many faces, the one she observes from her corner of the ballroom is closed off, regal. Quite different from the man she met on the street. Sure, he had been calculating and posh, but he had also been teasing and playful. This man was neither, nor would she have been able to imagine it had she not seen the proof herself. His smiles are measured, well-mannered, but false, and his eyes are rarely still. Always sweeping around the room, on alert, checking in with his counterparts. Who seem to be Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen. The blonde man from that first night also seems a part of it, he’s younger, closer to her age. And moves more freely throughout the room, participating in the season alongside his sister. They have a way of communicating without speaking or signing, simply tilting their heads or giving pointed looks. They’re a unit, Violet almost envies it, but in truth, she and Mira are the same.

Observing him, Violet wants to peel him apart, remove each protective layer, and see what he is beneath, true and bare. It agitates her, the ease with which he seems to be so many versions of himself. She feels like she’s always failing at convincing people her body is fine, that she is strong, capable. Whereas he exudes confidence and power, it's arrogant, and though she loathes to admit it, attractive. But sometimes she supposed there was power in being the smartest person in the room, and thoroughly overlooked.

She succeeds in avoiding his gaze all night. Though if she had been more observant she would’ve noticed that between her studies of him, he studies her in return. An unreadable, bored expression on his face, only undercut by the way his eyes light as they follow her around the room.

Later, after a night of dancing and flirting, Violet sits in the salon. She unwraps her joints as Mira rubs her calves, watching on as Jesinia spins Lukas, humming a tune deep in her chest. Before every ball, Violet wraps her knees and ankles, reinforcing the joints, in an effort to ease the inevitable pain of the following morning. Though, she’s found that she prefers the Tyrrish dances. There are often many more spots for lounging and resting, unlike in Basgiath, where one is expected to stand or dance all night. It’s quite civilized, and she could get used to it.

“I’m so glad it’s almost the summer season, I couldn't have attended another ball if I’d wanted to. I don't know how you do it.” Rhiannon sinks into one of the armchairs and eyes Masen as she says it.

He barks out a laugh and quickly realizes his implication, “Well, this season isn’t exactly typical.” Violet can see his hesitance, and a sliver of her is hurt that even after two months, he’s still cautious around them. More so, she feels the sharp hurt she’s sure Raegan must be feeling.

“A little extra pomp and circumstance for the King's men?” Violet arches her brow, and Mira digs a finger more deeply into her skin, a warning. “When we used to live on all the bases, it was the same. Life was fine on the day-to-day, but when the King came, suddenly, fresh paint and clean streets.” Violet shrugs, letting her neck relax, her head falling back against the arm of the sofa. “Everywhere does it. Dresses up for guests, no need to be ashamed or convince us otherwise.”

“God Vi, remember when they came to Summerton and they dyed all the hunting hounds pink because someone started that rumor that the Queen preferred it.” Rihannon shrieks with laughter as she shares the memory. “I’ll never forget Cam’s face.”

Mira chimes in, “Or Dain’s hands.” The women all giggle at the memory, Violet picturing Dain's hand stained pink after being roped into helping the Cadets with the dyeing. Poor Dain, too good at following orders.

Violet smiles softly as the laughter calms. “Masen,” the man turns to her, pulling his gaze from his smiling wife. “I think I’m well on my way to thoroughly falling in love with this place, dressed up or down.”

Raegan smiles brightly at her across the room. “I think we all are Mase.”

The Summer Season is just an excuse to party outside of the city, and away from all the stuffy politicians. The debutantes would travel around the countryside, visiting various estates, dining and dancing at all of them. The Academy’s academic calendar, however, did not align with said excursion. So Jesinia and Violet stayed at the Sanborn manor two weeks after their friends had ventured off to explore more of Tyrrendor. They had missed the first event, a dinner at the Marquis’. Violet was envious because she had heard rumors that his library rivaled the Duke’s.

The whole troop was off to the Duke’s country estate next, on the seaside, west of the city. She wished that were the event she’d missed, but fate was not on her side. For the week in between, Raegan had convinced Masen to stop over in a village for a weekend, to space out their time on the road. Which is where Violet and Jesinia were headed, Eya in tow. They weren't sure why she had delayed her departure, but were pleased for the company.

The village is off the road, west of Aretia, along the cliffs. They turned away from the water and towards the rolling, lush hills around the village as Violet read one of the books from the Academy library. Jesinia and Eya were chatting silently. They had discovered Tyrrish sign was slightly different from that used in the rest of Navarre, but after a few silly translation mistakes, where Violet had to step in, they were able to communicate effectively.

“Navarre’s unification was a result of necessity. It was meant to be for the greater good, and initially it was. But where there is sacrifice, there is an expectation for reward. There are many differing accounts of the factors that caused this necessity, with Asher Sorrengail's research being some of the most important of the past decade in regards to the war 600 years ago.” Violet’s heart stutters. Quickly flipping to the front to see when the book had been published. Trying not to show the rest of the carriage her shock. 5 years ago, after the rebellion, but before her father died. She knew Tyrrendor had more cities than just Aretia, but she was surprised anything was published right after the rebellion; she’d always been taught that Aretia had burned, and most of Tyrrendor, destroyed. But she had to admit the city had truly bounced back, at least from what she’s seen the past month.

She wants to read more, but worries about schooling her features depending on where this leads. She plans to show Jesinia the passage when they arrive, but Soleil is in the carriage with them now, and Violet is regretting having the book out at all. She had thought the title was innocuous enough. “Navarre: kingdoms to provinces” but much like everything in this province, not everything is as it seems.

She tries to play off putting the book away, tucking it into a pack at her feet and glancing out the window as they ride along a winding road.

There’s laughter in the garden as the carriage pulls up to the manor. Violet leans out the window, Jes holding the back of her jacket as she wobbles. Raegan is splayed on the ground, her skirts bunched around her, bare legs flashing. She’s holding court, gesticulating with a champagne flute in hand. It’s a silly sight, one that reminds Violet of summers spent at outposts, free from the confines of Basgiath. Mira catches sight of her and shouts.

The women all begin to skip and dance across the front lawn to the gravel drive where the carriage pulls up to a stop. “Oh, Violet!” Mira drags her sister from the box as soon as the door opens. Spinning and hugging, she laughs. The women grab each other, greeting, teasing, and inquiring about the past couple of weeks.

“A whole human came out of me, I’m forever changed!” Raegan's voice rings out, and she threads her fingers through Violet’s, dragging her toward the umbrella and table of refreshments. “No one looks at you once you're a mother, let's get refreshments before we melt.” Violet inhales the smell of fresh grass, sweet blooms, and heat, which warms her belly.

“To a weekend away from society.” Mira holds up her glass, flashing a wink at her sister. She’s wearing a pair of the linen pants, tied up to her knees, and an utterly indecent top, it hangs off her shoulders, and Violet is sure she stole it from a man. Her cheeks are flushed like when they spar, and Violet smiles to see her sister so free and alive.

The women all toast to their sliver of wilderness.

“First things first, down your drinks, then to the lawn, and spin as fast as ever you can.” Raegan's voice nearly breaks as she shouts out the order, already beginning to dash with her skirts raised high. They run, and skip, and spin, shouting and laughing, feeling utterly wrecked and breathless. Violet's hands are clutched in Jesinia’s, twirling their bodies around each other, nearly dizzy with it.

“They are a whirlwind, are they not?” Eya approaches Soleil, who had stayed seated below the umbrella, fanning herself in the shade. She hums her agreement, eyes dancing as she follows the women in motion across the field.

The sounds of horses galloping meld with the vibrations of their pounding feet as they run through the grass. Ridoc and Masen break through the tree line, followed by some men Violet recognizes and some she doesn’t. She’s surprised to see the Marquis amongst the men she recognizes, not having realized he was so close to Lord Sanborn.

They all quickly dismount, Ridoc with a laugh and a wink at Violet. “Good to see you, Flower.” Sawyer, the tall man from the Cardullo’s is with him, looking much less confident with their presence.

Garrick stands with the two men Violet doesn't know, leading their horses towards one of the stable boys who had clearly been summoned.

“You are always plotting, Raegen. You said it was fine if my friends joined us this weekend.” Masen’s eyes are narrowed as he says it.

“I do not remember saying that.” She smiles wide, bending to lift the glass she’d tucked on the ground. “I thought we agreed my friends would be joining us this weekend.” He groans, his knees bending slightly with the sound, and runs his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. “Rae—”

She continues, speaking over him. “And seeing as you're all here—”

“There would be a fuss,” Eya interjects, having walked up with Soleil when the men approached. As she says it, she averts her eyes to the Marquis.

“More than a fuss,” Masen agrees, a look passes between them that Violet is not sure how to interpret.

Raegan makes a frustrated noise. “I can chaperone! I’m an old maid, I have a child and a husband,” She laughs, tugging on her husband's coat. “I want to feel free again, even just for the weekend.” The second part is softer, and Violet is sure only she and Rhiannon are close enough to hear. She can tell Masen is going to relent, possibly even before he does. He dips his head and brushes a kiss against her lips.

“Now that that's settled.” She gives a final nod. “Refreshments, and then onto something more refreshing?” Reagan pushes her glass into her husband's hands after taking a swig. She watches as he meets her eyes, tilting the glass up and swallowing the last of the sparkling wine.

“It's a scorching day, what other refreshment could we possibly find?” Her lips curl into a teasing smile, leaving Masen with one last searing look, spinning and running through the garden. Violet and her friends race off in pursuit, so her back is turned when Masen finally gives in, biting his lip as his face breaks into a smile. She’s halfway down the field when Bodhi steps up behind the Lord, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“You may just have damned us all.” Despite the words, the Marquis' expression is reverent, the men trade a smile before following at a sprint.

Barefeet pound against the grass, the smell of crushed clover washing over Violet in the most delicious way, as Raegan leads them towards the edge of the trees. Violet's chest hurts, and she regrets not wrapping her ankles, slowing her pace as they reach uneven ground. Jesinia matches the deceleration and lends her a hand, tentatively making their way down following their friends' laughter and the sound of running water through the dappled shade.

The clearing before them is lush, a waterfall cascading over a rocky outcropping and into a dark pool that reflects like glass in the summer sun. When they reach the water’s edge, half of the group is already in the crystal clear water. The other in varying stages of undress. Nothing beyond what Violet had seen in her time at army outposts, but it was certainly improper. She wondered what her mother would think, what the other women from Basgiath, like Luca, would think. Wondered what the Tyrrish folks around them thought, if this was taboo for them as well, what game they were all playing with each other.

But it was hot, the carriage had been stifling, and her hips ached from sitting. Jes helped her unlatch her jacket, she stripped to her corset and petticoats, and holding her friend's hand, waded into the cool water.

The water soothes her aches. While the others laugh, splashing and shouting, Violet floats toward the crashing water, letting the sounds and the sensation of weightlessness soothe her into a meditative state.

“We didn’t know you’d be here. All of you, that is.” His eyes cut to the side, quickly reading Violet’s expression. She and the Marquis stand against the wall in the salon, each with a glass in hand, watching their peers dance, drink, and play cards.

“Would you not have accompanied them if you had?” Violet is sure that if the Marquis knows Masen, he knows she is not an insipid airhead. So playing the part would only be to her detriment.

“You’re an observant little thing.” His lips curve into a wry smile. She can’t help but notice they’re full and firm, tinted pink along the seam.

She nearly shakes her head when she realizes the train of her own thoughts, her expression turning dark. “Why do you all insist on calling me little?” She knows her stature is smaller than most, but it had never been so frequently commented on before.

The Marquis shrugs, leaning back into the wall and lifting a knee so that his foot rests on the wall as well, utterly improper. “Because you are. It’s not a bad thing, just a truth. And who’s all in this statement?” His mouth seems to be trying not to turn into another smile.

Violet crosses her arms and lets out a deep breath, not deigning to answer what he clearly already knows.

“Did you also attend Basgiath?” She pivots, not wanting to address the existence of his cousin. He nods, eyes dancing around the room, affected smile in place. “Did you know my brother then?” Bodhi's brow furrows slightly, but doesn’t seem to reach much beyond that. It’s not an odd response considering he must know Brennan is dead.

“I did. Not well, but better than any other Navarrian, most of them kept their distance.” His eyes stay trained ahead. She’s used to sympathy, placating sayings of empathy or apology. But she supposes Bodhi’s position in this is unique. His uncle killed her brother, so any of the standard responses would only seem in-genuine. Honestly, she prefers this stoic silence.

“But not Brennan?” Her voice lilts up at the end and Bodhi shakes his head softly in answer.

“Just a little less than the rest. He was always praised as the most strategic in his year, so I always placed it on that more than anything.” He shrugs, eyes still watching the revelers around them.

Violet nods, solemn, still taking in the angles of his profile. “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” His face cracks into a smile.

“Precisely”

Violet chats with the Marquis a bit longer, she likes his eyes, they’re brown and gold and entirely warm. He’s charming and pragmatic, it is refreshing against all the shallow small talk of the events she’s had to attend thus far.

There’s a cry from upstairs, and Raegan goes to check on Lukas. There’s a nurse and a nanny, of course, but when she comes back down, he’s tied to her chest. It’s something Violet had never seen before visiting the province. She’d asked Eya about it when she’d seen a woman in the market, a bright swath of blue fabric seeming to bandage across her body, holding the baby in place, their head tucked to her chest. She’d later noticed women with the same style of wrapping, but the babies bundled higher across their backs and shoulders. Once, even seeing a couple with a set of twins, each parent wearing a baby, she couldn't picture any Navarrian man she knew carrying a baby in public.

“He wanted to join the party.” Reagan strokes her hand across the crown of her son’s head, tender and soothing.

“Just like his mother then,” Rhiannon shouts from her place on the sofa, cuddled against Jessina. Masen sends the twin a wink as his wife feigns indigence.

Earlier, when the women had cleaned up, getting dressed in gowns for the evening, Violet snuck off to read the rest of the passage from “Navarre: kingdoms to provinces.” sections of it had been playing in her mind on repeat ever since.

”The unification was a matter of allyship, it was the lesser of two evils for many, and not the expected result of the conflict.” “Of the kingdoms that became provinces, Tyrrendor sacrificed the most, and saw the least return.” “Our common history has chosen to ignore some of the most important aspects of the war, much to our detriment.”

All of it had been labelled, Recovered correspondence between Asher Sorrengail and Sir Lewellen.

She finally couldn't take the rowdy gaiety anymore and ducked out for some fresh air. The garden was cool, the sun dipping below the line of trees. Mira must have noticed her absence because she could hear her sister emerging from the building shortly after, her gait familiar to Violet.

“You’re quiet tonight.” Violet nods, patting the stone step beside her, inviting her sister to join. Mira does, and tucks her head against her sister's shoulder for a moment in a comforting greeting.

“Just thinking.” Violet wasn't sure she wanted to talk to Jesisna about this anymore. Not that she didn't trust her, but Mira was the only other person whose loyalties aligned so exactly. “I found mention of Dad in my research.”

Mira’s eyes snap to her sister’s, cataloging her face in the warm glow of light streaming from the house.

“It’s in a book about unification. It's a bit theoretical, and it’s in the context of the initial unification, but Mira, it almost could read as separatist propaganda. I’m curious—”

“Vi, stop. Lilith didn't ask us to go looking for trouble” Her sister's hands shake, "and she certainly didn't ask you to look into Dad’s research. I know you’ve always gone above and beyond in school, and I love that about you, but not here. Not with this.” Her body is tense, fingers clenched, and jaw flexing.

Violet's brow furrows, she’s puzzled by her sister’s reaction, it's like she knows what Violet is going to say and doesn't want to hear it. “Mira,” Violet's voice is calm, hoping to steady her sister. “What aren't you telling me?”

This, unfortunately, was not the right answer. Mira’s nostrils flare as she inhales sharply.

“Drop it, Vi.” She gives her sister a firm look before pushing off the stairs and walking back into the house.

Violet sits a while longer, staring out at the back garden, or rather its shadows in the dark of night. She calms slightly and feels a stillness settle over her, not able to bring herself to re-join in the revelry, her mind racing at the possibilities.

Wandering along the hall, she comes across one of the game rooms, not a soul inside. Feeling the need to give in to a sliver of her rage, Violet strides over to the dartboard. Scooping up as many as she can, she goes to stand as far across the room as possible. Knowing that if she throws now, while her hands still shake over her conversation with Mira, she’ll miss. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Before opening them, she lets the first dart fly, then the next, and on the third, she opens her eyes again. Met by a cluster of three darts on the bullseye, Violet allows herself a smile.

“Nice trick,”  She jerks her body around at the sound, letting the next dart fly. It embeds itself a breath above the top of his head where he leans against the doorframe.

“It's nice to see you, too, Violence.” She hates that she likes the sound of his voice, and quirks a brow at the pet name. “Or do you prefer Lady Violence?”

She rolls her eyes, secretly thankful he chose the word violent from his previous observation as opposed to little thing. “I’m surprised you’re calling me anything. To what do I owe the pleasure of a Duke’s attentions?”

He ignores her question entirely. “or Mistress Violence?”

She tries and fails to suppress the strangled sound his obstinance draws from her. “Why are you here?”

“I was invited. Masen insisted honestly.” He tilts his head, pushing off the doorframe and away from the dart. “Though if I had known Violet Sorrengail was going to be here, I might’ve re-evaluated my acceptance.” She gives him a derisive scoff; he’s baffling, he’s teasing, but she can’t tell if it’s malicious or not.

“I hear you’ve been spending time in my library.” She neither confirms nor denies it, watching as he moves, lithe and powerful. “And have been drawing some interesting conclusions.” He steps up to her, and she’s acutely aware of the amount of space between them. “And, I wanted to inquire what you plan to do with said conclusions.”

He leans in, and a thrill runs through her. She should feel threatened, but she can only think about the smell of mint and leather invading her senses with his proximity.

“I don't know how you could possibly know my conclusions. As I’ve shared them with no one.” She looks up at him as she lets another dart fly.

“There is something deeply compelling about that talent, Violence.” She simply holds his gaze until he relents. “I don't know your conclusions, but I can…infer.”

She nearly sucks her teeth at him, as childish as that would be, sure that if she hazards a guess he’s inferring all wrong. “No. I don’t plan on saying anything to anyone.” Violet knows some of those books could get him and everyone in his care arrested or executed, simply for preserving history, for curiosity. Something she, too, could be guilty of. Something she believes no one should die for.

And there’s not exactly any law forbidding women’s education, or inclusion in academic collections of books. It’s strongly discouraged, and she's sure the king would love to know, to use it as an excuse, but Violet wants those books to be available. She wants a world where her access and recognition could equal that of a man’s.

His gaze is cutting, as if he looks closely enough, he might be able to read what it is she feels or intends to do.

“Considering how thrilled I was to discover many of those books exist, it would be hypocritical to have you punished for preserving them.” His brow furrows.

“You don’t want to have to marry that Prince of yours to become an archivist.” He almost shocks her into laughing; she swallows it, allowing a dark chuckle of sorts.

“He's not my anything.” She turns her body to face the target again, losing her final two darts. “And no, I have no desire for my ability to succeed to depend on having a man in my bed and on my nerves.” Bullseye.

This does startle a laugh from the Duke. “Sorrengail.” His head shakes. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you.”

“Did you know my father?” She trains her eyes on him as she asks, hoping to startle a reaction as she had in the past. But his face remains closed, she wonders if the slips have been intentional. Calculated.

“Why would you ask that?” Not an answer. He seemed to prefer those, not lying but revealing nothing.

Violet shrugs, trailing a finger along the table. “As you said, I’ve been enjoying your library.” He clearly waits for more, but two can play a game of non-answers.

“Why are you really here?” He strides away from her, up to the dartboard, and methodically begins to remove them. “Because you just revealed you don’t actually want a husband.”

Her skin heats, she hates that she’s off her game around him, a slip she wouldn’t have made around anyone else. She lets the rage reach her eyes and glares back at him. “And as you’ve pointed out, what I want has nothing to do with any of this because I’m a Navarrian woman”. She’s furious for more reasons than one. Almost marches towards him as he turns on his heel, walking away from the target. “I have no say in where I go or what I’m allowed to do. And yet I have it better than most; my father and brother made sure of that.” His gaze holds hers, seeming to not want to look away despite the flames in her eyes, or maybe because of them. “Mira and I could likely get away with never marrying, though things would get complicated when Lilith dies. I make the best of the situations I’m put in, but don’t, for a second, think that I’m afforded any of the autonomy you are. I’m just faking it.”

He steps back into her space, pulls the fingers of her left hand out of the fist they’re clutched in, and places half the handful of darts on her palm. He doesn't say a word, only tilting his head toward the target, clearly a challenge.

“I don’t need to convince you of anything. I won’t tell. As you can probably figure, it’s in my best interest as well. Especially considering my father's name is in one of those books I’m drawing conclusions from.”

He lets a dart fly, and she watches as it buries into the ring just outside the center. She follows, and if it were an arrow, she would've split his, hitting the exact same point. Turning to meet his gaze, she throws another, not waiting for his turn.

“As I said, deeply compelling.” His voice has dropped, impossibly deeper, and Violet can't help but wonder if there are other words he’d rather say. She throws the last dart, turning at the last moment to watch it hit the bullseye next to the one she had just thrown. The Duke hums beside her, she feels his gaze trace over her face for another breath, and he turns to face the target. In quick succession, he throws his final two darts, hitting the bullseye along with hers, with such force that one dislodges, dangling until falling to the ground.

“We’ll see. If you don’t tell, it looks like I might just owe you a favor.” He shrugs and backs away, not looking away from her as he heads toward the door again. She can’t bring herself to speak.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be unchaperoned with a dangerous man.”

She doesn't know what to do with this contradicting Duke. “Who would tell?”

“Be wary, I hear Duke Riorson is treacherous.” There's a smile in his voice, and she wishes she still had a dart in hand.

“He’s certainly infuriating!” she calls after his retreating form. She’s not calm enough to throw any more darts, instead, she storms off in search of Rhi. Not that she could reveal to her who it was that had aggravated her. 

Chapter Text

The countryside of Tyrrendor is magnificent. Violet had travelled often as a child due to her parents’ work, and had been privileged enough to see much of Navarre. But Tyrrendor is unlike anywhere she’s ever been. Lush and vibrant with foggy, cool mornings burned off by the hot afternoon sun. Flowers and vistas she’s never seen, nor even read about. The past couple of months in Aretia, she’s become so fascinated with the local decorative arts, but exploring the countryside, she found that what she's seen barely scratches the surface. She’d never thought that Navarre lacked color, but now, seeing Tyrrendor, she realized her home was practically greyscale.

One village along the coast, at the halfway point of their journey, is even more vibrant than she could’ve imagined. The doors and windowsills are painted brightly like Aretia, but it doesn’t end there. Most buildings seem to be made of whitewashed earth, and many people painted those brightly as well, or painted intricate patterns and images on the walls of their homes and businesses. The roofs are mostly a terracotta clay that radiates warmth in the summer sun, but keeps interiors cool. It's like magic. In that town, Violet wandered well past the hour they were meant to stop.

During the journey, Violet bounces around carriages, sometimes riding with Masen and Raegan and baby Lukas, reading and chatting while he slept. Other days were spent curled up next to Jesinia, working through their supply of books and napping.

The carriage riding is tough on her body, and sitting all day makes her joints lock. Her constant need to shift positions, stretch, and rearrange her legs is difficult in a cramped space with others. They make a point to stop in villages for lunch, and Violet strolls around, attempting to pump blood back to her extremities. When she rides with Mira, after a couple of hours of sitting, her sister always scoops up Violet's legs without asking permission and begins to massage blood flow back into them. Violet preferred riding with Mira. When they sat side by side, her sister wasn't phased by Violet’s shifting, the older girl was accustomed to it, and would move to accommodate each of Violet’s positions without thinking. It’s been odd, nothing changed between the sisters after Mira snapped the other night, but there was a thrum of unspoken words between them whenever silences stretched too long.

On the fourth day of travel, they finally round a slope that reveals a cliff jutting out over the sea. Seemingly built from the same rock is a castle, perched above the crashing waves below. A scene like a fairytale. The building flickers in and out of view as they weave through trees up the road to the entrance. By the time they make their way to the front drive of the Duke's seaside estate, the sun is sinking below the edge of the sea.

Everything is a flurry of activity when they arrive; Lukas is cranky, and so are all the adults. Though they do a better job of hiding it. Violet is in awe as they're led through the halls to their respective rooms. There is an entire guest wing where they’ll all be staying, the side Violet is placed in, faces the sea below. She steals herself when the butler shows her the room, never having stayed in a room so luxurious, certainly not with such a breathtaking view. Once the servants leave, Jesinia and Rhiannon scurry into her room to skip and giggle, inspecting every gorgeous inch. Finally flopping on the bed in a pile of limbs, breathless and joyous.

“Can you believe all of this?” Jesina’s fingers float in the air above them, signing in front of the blue silk canopy of the bed. “I think this might be a dream,” Rhiannon responds, tilting her face towards Violet as she says it. Her head rests on the smaller girl's abdomen. Jesinia nods her agreement, and Violet can't help the soft giggle she can't seem to banish.

Dinner is held in a small salon, not the grand dining room. It is explained to the group that guests are all still arriving, many on different schedules, and it makes the most sense to have smaller dining spaces rather than an entire banquet every night. The Marquis joins them that first night, and Violet is grateful for his company and conversation. After days in carriages with the same few people, it was refreshing to have a new face, even if she had seen him just the week before.

The second night, the blonde man and his sister join them. Violet finally gets names for the subjects of her observations, Liam and Sloane Mairi. She recognizes the surname from her studies of the rebellion; their mother was a well-respected leader in Tyrrendor, though she couldn't recall much beyond that. Liam is a ray of sunshine who seems quite taken with Jesinia; they trade smiles all night, wrapped in their own little world, signing back and forth. Liam is quick to adapt to the Basgiath sign that Jes uses, though it seems that she also wants to learn as much Tyrrish sign as he’s willing to share. Violet tries not to eavesdrop, but she can’t help trading smiles with her friend when she catches him signing something sweet. Sloane, on the other hand, glares at all the Navarrian women with equal malice, though she reserves the harshest for Mira and Violet. She's only slightly more amiable to Bohdi, who sits on her other side. They seem to be well acquainted, and Violet observes as he needles her, finally drawing enough of her attention that she relaxes into conversation with him, and relents her violent stares. It's the type of interaction of people who know each other well, and Violet is once again struck by the strong ties of the young Tyrrish nobility. She supposes they experienced something very traumatic, very young, and the only people in the world who could possibly understand were them. It is the sort of thing that forges strong bonds. Sloane only shoots her another two glares the rest of dinner.

Violet sets out the next morning, in hopes of seeing more of the grounds. She is grateful not to have run into the Duke yet. Admittedly, she does feel a bit uneasy to be in his home without setting eyes on him, though home was a generous term. It was a castle, carved into the cliff overlooking to sea, and she was greeted with the most breathtaking view when she woke up every morning.

The lushness of Tyrrendor still baffles her, she can't get enough of it. The sun is warm but kind as she makes her way across the manicured lawns to the treeline. One of the maids had told her there was a bridge at the edge of the south lawn that led to a lovely trail through the woods, a creek, and a berry thicket along it.

The heat and the sea breeze had her opting for one of the Tyrrish summer dress styles. She wants to bring the style back to Navarre, in part because it makes it easier to wrap and access her joints. Which, today, are firmly supported. A black tunic hangs from her shoulders, a sash tied at the waist, with two high slits on either side of the ankle length skirt. Beneath, she wears dark green leggings, her daggers strapped to her thigh instead of in her boot. She prefers the access, as does Mira. Violet, not for the first time, wonders if her mother’s plan may have backfired. Mira seems to fit in much better with Tyrrish women than Navarrian, though maybe that is the perfect circumstance for a spy.

The air quickly transitions from heavy and hot to cool and fresh as she crosses the bridge and enters the shadows of the trees. Loam and moss overwhelm her senses, and she feels alive with it, like she can taste the color green. The sounds shift as well, birds chirping just above her head, a brook chattering in the distance, and leaves rustling in the breeze. She falls into a meditative state as she strolls. Focusing on the ground in front of her, one step at a time, careful not to strain her body, but still appreciating every inch of the magical forest.

When she reaches the berry thicket, she eats her fill of raspberries and blackberries. The beads of juice bursting in her mouth, warm and sweet. After nearly an hour, Violet concedes that she should head back before she tires. She wanders towards the sound of water, wanting a glimpse before returning to the cold stone castle.

As she moves towards the stream, another sound joins that of rushing water, a whimpering. Crouching, Violet moves towards it. At the base of a sharp slope, right next to the creek, lies a golden brown rough collie. Her fur is matted with mud and twigs, clearly having fallen. Violet eases her stance, gauging that the threat is minimal, and walks toward the prone dog. Her golden brown eyes lift to meet Violet’s, and her heart aches at the pain in them. She lifts her hands, open-palmed, and keeps her head down, trying to signify to the creature she isn't a threat.

As she nears, she realizes it's a puppy; the poor thing must be terrified. She kneels beside her and slowly begins to catalog what's happened. Gently running her hands over the dog, looking for blood or breaks. The pup leans back, baring her chest to Violet, and the young woman finally sees the source of the pain; her front right leg is scraped and bloody, the paw twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Oh, you poor angel.” She murmurs it almost like a prayer, hoping to soothe her patient.

Violet slowly pulls one of the daggers from her thigh and begins to slice strips from the hem of her tunic. Her mind races. While the puppy is smaller than a full-grown Collie, she's still far too heavy for Violet to carry, not for a full hour.

She should wrap the paw and then hurry back to the castle to see if someone could ride out to get to her, but then she would be alone here for at least another hour. First things first, clean and bind. She sets to work. While Violet is not versed in animal anatomy, she is well versed in breaks, sprains, and dislocations. After running her digits tenderly over the puppy’s paw, she realizes the wrist is just dislocated. She worries that popping it back in will startle the dog, and she certainly doesn't want to get bitten; having them both alone in the forest injured is the worst case scenario here.

She binds all the cuts along the leg above the paw, staunching the bleeding. Worrying her lip as she reaches the decisions she’d put off from before. She weighs each, spinning her dagger thoughtfully as a twig snaps behind her. Pivoting on her back foot, remaining in a crouch, she turns to face the stream behind her.

On the other side, fierce yellow eyes meet hers. A wolf.

The blood must have drawn the beast, its front paws slightly submerged in the flowing water, still, and surveying her. She keeps her muscles tense, frozen, thanking God her dagger is already unsheathed and in hand. If the wolf so much as steps closer, she’ll throw it, knowing she has a better chance with distance than close range. Claws and teeth far more vicious than her dagger, brute animal strength will certainly win out.

The creature only watches, head tilting. Violet is not sure how long the staring contest lasts; her focus narrowed to the lupine gaze, the streaming water, and the soft whimpers behind her.

In one of the seconds she blinks, the wolf moves, leaping into the stream towards her. There's a roaring in her ears, and the dagger flies. She curses as it misses it’s eye, she hadn’t recalculated based on the leap. Thankfully, the metal at least buries itself into the creature’s shoulder, it snarls at the pain, and blood seeps across its fur. Her fingers shake as she reaches for her other dagger, praying this time she hits the eye before the wolf is able to close the final few feet between them.

The roaring in her ears must’ve blocked some of the other sounds of the forest. Because the wolf suddenly hesitates as the sound of hoofbeats reaches Violet’s consciousness. A shadow falls across her form, and she hazards a glance to the side, not fully letting the wolf out of her peripheral vision. An enormous black stallion stands beside her, moving to place his legs defensively in front of her and the puppy.

The dog gives a soft bark. Violet wonders if she knows the horse or is just surprised by his size. The black beauty raises in his hind legs, an impressive sight, crashing down on the ground, the wolf slinking to the side in response. Violet turns to keep the wolf to her front, willing to let her new friend protect her back. Her thighs are on fire, the muscles almost spasming from being held so long. In this new standoff, Violet prefers her odds, the dagger is cool and sure in her hands, the weight familiar.

She thinks she might hear more hoofbeats when the wolf decides to lunge again. This time, she calculates correctly and the blade flies true, burying into the lupine eye. The beast's momentum carries it to a breath away from Violet’s body before it collapses at her feet. She watches the light leave the unmarred eye as the creature shudders on the ground. The sound in her ears is a buzzing now, and she can’t parse out the sounds around her from the droning noise.

The pup beside her nuzzles her snout against Violet’s leg, and she remembers she needs to move. She braces one hand against the body of the wolf in front of her and uses the other to pull each of her daggers free. The one in its head sprays blood across her hands as she wrenches it out. She runs the flat of each blade against the creature's fur and then her skirt before resheathing them.

She finally turns back to the horse, whose front legs were on either side of her hips, standing protectively over her. “I might need your help for this next part.” She murmurs, and as if he understands, the horse bends his head and nips the fabric at the back of her tunic. She presses her hands into the ground and prays her legs haven't locked into place just yet. With the horse tugging slightly upward, keeping her from swaying or losing her balance, Violet is able to stand up and regain her footing.

She drops a kiss on the side of the horse's face. “Thank you.” She keeps one hand on his neck to steady herself, and when she lifts her head finally, she’s met with a midnight gaze of stone. The owner standing beside a blue-grey roan, arms crossed and studying her.

God, this woman, Xaden is sure she’ll be the death of him, because his heart had nearly stopped when he saw that wolf lunge. But she had taken it down, he had been too far away, Segayl galloping along the stream behind Tarin, not able to reach the young women as quickly as he.

“For someone who doesn't like my name for her, you do insist on proving it more fitting than your given one. You are certainly no shrinking violet.” Her gaze is distant, and she barely reacts to the teasing. His skin chills, and the fear cuts through him again.

He strides up to Tarin, his eyes never leaving Violet, rushing over her frame, attempting to assure himself she is unharmed.

“I don't do it on purpose, you just have the worst timing.” Her voice is a croak, raspy and cracking, but the content eases his beating heart.

“You have the worst timing, your Grace.” He corrects, wry smile in place, and her hand flails out, much without thinking, to smack against his chest. He tisks deep in his throat. “Now, now, Violence. Let's get you back to the house.”

She mutters something under her breath, and he could swear it was something like “you mean castle.”

He crouches to check on Ana, a seeming stray who had stumbled into their stables a few months before. She was clearly a well-bred dog and had likely just gotten lost. But Segayl and Tarin had taken a shine to her, and Xaden wasn't inclined to ask his neighbors if anyone was looking for her. She’d been worse for wear when she’d arrived, and he had no intention of returning her to a home in which she might be mistreated.

He now understood why Tarin had taken off, usually content to trot alongside the Duke and Segayl as they had their morning ride.

“Her paw is dislocated, we can set it, but I didn't want to do it alone in case she bit me. It will hurt. It might be better to have someone more used to doing such things on dogs do it, if we can carry her back. I wouldn’t have been strong enough.” Its clearly just her stream of consciousness, and Xaden is surprised he finds it endearing.

Segayl wanders over, biting the scruff of Andarna’s neck, much like Tarin had done to Violet, and helps the puppy stand on three feet. She sways but stays upright.

Tairn nuzzles into Violet’s shoulder.

Xaden walks up to Seygal, trying to soothe her and see if she would let Violet on her back. She would not. She seemed amenable to Andarna, though, so the Duke focuses on scooping up the long-haired dog and attaching her comfortably to the saddle. He has canvas in his saddle bag and uses it to rig a sling of sorts across Seygal's back, keeping Violet's figure always in the corner of his eye.

In the moment Xaden is distracted, tucking Andarna into the sling, careful not to jostle her paw, Violet begins to wander back up the slope towards the manor. Tarin nips her dress, avoiding skin but restraining her.

“Violence, you can’t walk all the way back in this state. Can you ride bareback? Tarin is big, so it might not be pleasant.” Xaden says it as he walks toward her, filtering through their options for returning to the house. Tarin seems to have a soft spot for the little menace of a woman, and the Duke hopes he’ll allow her to ride him, though he never lets anyone else. She halts, hearing his words but not meeting his gaze.

Tarin releases Violet's dress once she stops pulling away, and she turns to the stallion. He bows his head slightly as she lifts a hand to pet his nose. And then Tarin does something Xaden thought he’d die before he saw. He bows fully.

Kneeling his front legs on the ground so Violet can mount more easily. Xaden hovers as she settles, not offering to help unless she asks. The large stallion rises, and Violet clutches his mane. Violet is so focused on staying upright, she misses the captivated stare Xaden trains on her, tracking her every movement, eyes full of awe.

He mounts his blue roan and lets the two horses lead them back to the manor. They know the way, so the man keeps his attention on the puppy in the sling across his saddle and the woman swaying beside him. Segayl thankfully trots as close to Tarin as possible, allowing Xaden to remain within arm's length of Violet in case she sways too far.

Segayl brays at him every time his thighs tense as if ready to dive to catch her. Xaden knows she's teasing him, he’s never this out of sorts for a woman, let alone one whose mother’s murder he’s contemplated. Maybe that’s precisely why he’s so stunned by her.

Violet, for her part, is used to broken bones, so some blood is perfectly manageable, and she’s able to keep her seat. Though halfway there, she finds her voice to warn Xaden she’s going to lie against Tarin’s back, and he shouldn’t worry. When they reach the entry of the manor, Violet is bent at the waist, her chest pressed against Tarin’s back as he gently guides them to the doors.

Xaden flies off Segayl as Tarin once again kneels to allow Violet off. This time, she’s less steady on her feet as she slides off his back, Xaden’s big hands encircle her waist as she wavers. Still gripping Tarin’s mane.

“Tarin’s got you, you're ok.” He murmurs the words, not sure if they're for him or her. When he looks up to take in their surroundings, there’s a figure storming out of the house, and Xaden hopes it's not who he thinks it is.

“Violet!” It is, unfortunately, Dain Aetos.

The Duke doesn’t move his hands. He knows he should, this could be misconstrued, but Violet is swaying like grass in the wind, and he worries the gust of Dain's words might just do her in. His fingers flex against her waist.

“Hold tight to Tarin, both hands.” She shoots him a glare but does as he asks. Dain’s on the other side of Tarin, but in a minute, will be upon them. When he’s sure she’s braced against the stallion, he lets go of her.

“Vi! Mira was worried about you, no one knew where you were.” Dain turns a glare on Xaden, who chose to stand, hand clasped behind his back, eyes trained above Dain's head, still an arm's length away from Violet.

“I told Rhi I was going out to explore the grounds.” She replies, her tone exasperated. And Xaden wonders if she would usually reply to him in this manner, or it's just the exhaustion post-adrenaline that is causing her attitude with her supposed friend.

“With him? Unchaperoned?”

Violet rolls her eyes, and Xaden’s lips twitch, fighting a smirk. “I was with myself.” She releases a hand from the mane to gesture. Xaden tenses, unconsciously eyeing her knees. “His horse found me and I was too tired —“

Dain's eyes follow her hand as she speaks, and they grow wide as he takes in the red splashed across them. “Is that blood?”

Now it’s Xaden’s turn to roll his eyes.

“If you’d let me finish speaking.” She fixes her eyes on the brunette, gaze lethal. Xaden realizes he needn’t have worried about her swaying, she was perfectly fine. “I found an injured puppy. And while I was trying to help her, a wolf attacked.” Xaden takes this opportunity to begin unbundling Andarna from her sling on the back of Segayl. “The blood isn’t mine, I’m fine, Dain.”

Xaden turns, holding Andarna like a baby in his arms, to find Dain's mouth agape, face flushed. “You what? Violet, you can’t put yourself in danger like that.”

“I didn’t put myself in danger; it found me, and I handled it.” She shrugs, she had in fact handled it, exceeding well. She doesn’t want to linger on the details.

“You got lucky, Violet, a wolf? You shouldn't have even been out there alone. It’s too risky for someone like you. And then to put yourself between a dog and a wolf. What were you thinking, Vi?” Now Dain’s hands are flailing, gesturing wildly as his voice rises and falls.

“I was thinking that she needed help and I was available. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself Dain.” At this point, it seems that Violet is being propped up by her rage, because the swaying has stopped and her feet are firmly square on the ground. In what looks to Xaden like a fighting stance.

Dain's mouth opens again. Maybe in shock at Violet's tone, maybe at her words. Xaden, for his part, is not the least bit surprised at her motivations. He’s been well aware she is a force of nature since their first meeting.

“What do you mean, someone like her?” Xaden knows he should stay out of it, but he can't help himself. Andarna squirms, and he bends to place her on the ground. When he looks up, Violet has shifted her glare to him, and he regrets his lack of restraint.

“Don't play coy, your grace.”

He realizes she sees through him in that moment, just as she had known when he was attempting to rile the prince. He wonders if she sees why just yet, if she’s beginning to understand what he can't allow himself to lay out for her. His eyes are dark and intense as he stares her down. She lifts her chin in defiance, she's always attempting to use her own rage and intensity to split their height difference.

“I just think it’s important for people to be clear, to declare themselves honestly. I’d like to understand what it is, dear Aetos, is implying.” Xaden quirks a brow, a smirk playing at his lips.

“You know quite well what he meant, and I won’t be made to feel bad about my choices because of some perceived reality you believe I should abide by.” The second half of her statement was clearly meant for the other man, but Violet continued to face Xaden, her brow furrowed.

“Vi, you have to—” The other man tried to continue, but Violet cut him off, her voice too loud.

“She was vulnerable!” She shouts it at Dain, then turns back to the Duke. Violet’s eyes glitter, not ashamed of her outburst. “I would do it again.” Her expression blazes, challenging his own.

“Of that, I am Very. Much. Aware. Violence.” Xaden’s control ripples, his voice much harsher than he intended, a moment of surprise flashing in his eyes at his lapse of control.

“You are vulnerable too, Violet.” Xaden had nearly forgotten Aetos was there. “You should never put yourself at risk like that.” Violet’s eyes don’t leave the Duke’s; he’s not sure what he hopes to see in them, but he can't bring himself to look away. Dain continues. “You’re too fragile to be taking risks like that, Violet. It’s not responsible.”

Violet’s eyes finally cut away, leveling their rage at Dain, and Xaden mourns their absence for the briefest of moments. He lets out a dark chuckle as he continues to survey Violet.

“I think you’ll find she is anything but vulnerable. You just insist on seeing her that way. But that is your failing, not hers.” His gaze shifts to Dain as he says it, but before it does, he catches an open expression on Violet’s face, which almost looks like pride.

There is movement around them; Rhiannon is flying down the stairs, stable hands jog across the lawn, and a maid is striding from the side entrance. They had drawn a crowd. Dain is trying desperately to regain Violet’s attention, but she has withdrawn back to Tarin’s mane, tucking herself against his big frame. The shouting around them was distracting from anything else he might have to say.

Rhiannon reached Violet, wrapping her in her arms and quickly ushering her back to the house. The smaller woman drops a kiss between Tarin’s eyes before allowing herself to be pulled away. Xaden explains Andarna’s condition to the maid and instructs one of the stable boys to assist her in carrying the pup.

There is a part of Xaden that felt incredibly frustrated that the younger Sorrengail has somehow wormed her way into his good graces. Not that he’d let it show, he treats her with the same disdain as others outside his circle, though he couldn't bring himself to be indifferent to her. Part of him had known who she was that first day, if he’d let himself linger on it, but he’d relied on the off chance she was someone else. Convinced himself that the similarities were mere coincidence. Because Lilith Sorrengail's daughter wouldn't dance on a staircase with a Tyr.

He shakes his head and vows to avoid her the rest of her stay as he leads the horses off to the stables. Train’s gaze is trained on the door where she had just disappeared.

Chapter Text

Andarna trails Violet like a shadow after the incident, rarely letting her more than a breath away. The puppy hobbles, so Violet keeps her pace slow, which she prefers anyway. They explore the castle together, and Ana sleeps on a bench at the foot of Violet’s bed every night. She had been briefly worried about what the Duke would say, as previously the puppy had only been allowed in the stables. But he hasn't said a word.

Violt is sure he has as big a soft spot for the collie as his horses do; she’s caught him sneakily giving her a treat on more than one occasion.

The second morning after the attack is one such instance. Ana runs ahead (as much as a temporarily three-legged puppy can) on their way to the gardens. Violet catches sight of Xaden crouching in the archway to the grounds, petting Andarna’s chin with a smile on his face that she tries to lick away from him. He must realize that Andarna’s presence signifies her own at the same moment she turns the corner, because he's already looking at the spot when she emerges. Andarna licks his hands and nuzzles his leg before he unfolds, standing at his full height.

“You held your own in that fight. Were you trained to take over from your mother?” She can't tell if she appreciates or despises his disinterest in niceties, always diving into conversation with her. She approaches as she considers her words.

“No, that was never my path,” Andarna trots over to her. “But no matter what I chose, I would still be targeted in my connection to my mother. Whether I joined the temple, university, or became a wife.” Violet waves a hand dismissively. “So I was trained out of protective necessity, not to join her line of work.” Andarna leans heavily against her legs. But it's a comfort. Grounding.

He gives a curt nod, she can't tell if he believes her or not. Despite knowing it's the truth, she worries; somehow, she’s reached a point where she cares what he thinks. Violet doesn't remember hitting her head the other day, but with thoughts like that, she worries she must have.

“Enjoy the grounds, Mistress Sorrengail,” he nods again and moves to depart. She studies his retreat, and he keeps his eyes on her as he walks past, unnecessarily close considering the width of the hall. Violet can feel his eyes linger for a breath after she cuts her own to the side, refusing to turn her head to catch a final glimpse.

Over the next couple of days, the rest of the attendees of the Summer Ball arrive. Many stay in the castle with their delegation, though most settle in surrounding properties. Violet is curious about the implications of it all. It seems her group is the only non-Tyrish delegation to stay in the castle. Dain, Ridoc, and the rest of the Navarrians were at the manor adjoining the Duke’s, though she had been informed it was also part of his sprawling estate. She supposes her connection to Reagan and, by extension, Masen explains their presence in the Duke's home.

Violet spends the rest of the days leading up to the ball lounging around and exploring the castle and the surrounding grounds. She doesn't venture down to the sea. Mira had been shaken by the incident with the wolf. Not in the way that Dain had been, Mira knew Violet was a fighter, but she did make her sister swear not to wander off far alone. Which Violet was willing to abide by, for now.

She did, however, indulge in every opportunity to bask on the balconies overlooking the crashing waves with Rhiannon, invigorated by the salty mist in the air.

The morning of the Summer Ball finally arrives, and Violet ducks away from the activity in the castle to sprawl on the lawn with Andarna napping on her thigh. She lounges, reading a book on Tyrrish dialects, enjoying the breeze and the sun. This is where she is when Rhiannon and Jesinia find her later, not frantic, but certainly rushing.

“There you are!” Rhiannon's arms are in the air as she says it, gesticulating for Violet to get up.

“We have to get ready for tonight, this whole place is bustling.” Jesinia signs along as Rhiannon reaches down to offer Violet a hand, nearly dragging her to her feet.

The women get ready in Violet’s room, piling dresses on her bed, all crowding around one mirror and chatting. It brings Violet back to the morning of Raegan’s wedding. Who, for her part, is thrilled about attending her first ball since Lukas was born. Violet is also certain that her friend will sneak away no less than four times to check on the little bundle of joy.

Mira braids her hair in a crown around her head, tucking jewels throughout, and pulling out a few strands to frame the younger woman’s face. Rhiannon is tying up the back of her dress when Masen comes for Raegan, notifying them that the entrances are soon to begin.

Eya and Soleil arrive next. Jesinia brushes golden shimmer across their cheeks as the women gossip about who they had seen in the halls. Most of the foreign delegations are arriving by carriage, parading through the entry hall to the ballroom.

“Mira, you seem to have made a friend at the Cardulo’s.” Violet snorts, presuming Soleil is referring to Drake. “Syrena asked after you when I saw her earlier.” This causes Violet's brow to raise, and her sister shrugs.

“She also likes daggers.” Eya nods at this answer as if it is solemn wisdom. “The foundation of many a strong friendship.”

The women giggle at the teasing as they place the final touches on their ensembles and begin to filter out of the room. Mira is still helping Violet lace her shoes around her ankle wrap, so the sisters wave the other women ahead.

They step into the hall a few moments later, arm in arm, only to come face to face with Syrena.

“Sorrengails.” She nods at each sister in turn, and Violet can’t help but smile at the absurdity.

“Lady Cordella.” Violet’s lips quirk up as she greets the other woman, Mira only smiles blithely. “You know, we were just discussing the night you two met.”

Syrena chuckles at this, and the women turn to walk down the hall together. Her glossy black hair is slicked back, and her full lips curve in a sly smile. “You did leave a lasting impression, Miss Mira.”

Her sister hums beside her, and Violet tries and fails to school her features. “Speaking of, where is the more aggravating Cordella?” Mira asks the question with an air of aloofness, though Violet knows there is a true grain of interest. Though she is not sure if it is due to her interest in him or the movements of his country's military. Mira herself may not know.

“He got called back to the front.” Mira stiffens, and Syrena notices, her eyes narrowing. Her voice is low when she replies. “We have more than one border.”

Before either sister can figure out how to safely engage with the comment, the dark-haired woman continues. “You know,” She begins to lead them down the hall, “my cousin has a type. Women who could kill him.”

“Is that also your type?” Mira arches a brow, and Violet tries to choke down her laugh, only letting a smile dance across her face. Mira is bold, always has been, and Violet has always envied a bit of her ability to take what she wants.

Syrena hums, letting her eyes drag up Mira’s body, appraising her in a whole new way. “I didn’t think Navarrians thought of such things, as your monarchy forbids it.” Her eyes dance over Mira’s face, and the shorter woman grins back, sly and captivating.

“There are many things the king doesn’t know.” Mira shrugs and turns forward again as they near a staircase. Violet tries to hold her pace, appearing disinterested and out of earshot. She had known the moment she saw Mira meet this woman from across the room that she would interest Mira.

“Rena!” A voice calls from down the hall, and Violet turns to catch a stunning woman wrapped in red silk descending the staircase behind them. It's the other woman Violet had watched across the entry hall of the Cardulo manor. She is even more gorgeous up close. Dark arched brows, olive skin, onyx hair falling down her bare back in waves. Her dainty nose and full lips attract even more attention to her kohl-rimmed eyes, sultry and warm, a deep coffee color.

Surely this is Syrena’s sister, Cat, she believes her name is. “Abandoning me for the enemy, are we?” The shorter woman strides up to her sister, looping their arms together, and she continues to lead her down the hall. “I can't believe these are the Navarrian women people thought would upend the court.” She barely spares Violet or Mira a glance as she says it. “They're nothing to write home about.”

Her sister hums and tilts her head, darting her eyes back to Mira’s. “Speak for your own tastes, dear sister, you well know how many fans they have amongst our peers.” She turns and continues down the hall with Cat, the Sorrengail sisters falling in step behind them. “Don't make enemies of these women just because there are rumors of the Duke taking a shine to one. The fact that none of the rumors include which woman makes them all the more unbelievable, do not make silly mistakes over men, they are never worth it.” Violet likes Syrena.

“Cat has been betrothed to the Duke since we were children.”  Syrena throws the comment over her shoulder, providing context to the other set of sisters. Violet hates that she has any reaction to the statement. She keeps her face schooled to indifference, but internally reels. Why does her skin itch at the idea?

“You're right, Xaden always bemoaned how ugly and colorless Navarre is.” Her eyes dart back, raking over the Sorrengails’ outfits. Mira is in the deepest shade of green before black, and Violet in a similar hue of blue. Violet had felt beautiful when she’d donned the dress. The way it hugs her torso and flares at the hip. The neckline is less modest than most Navarrian dresses, but not scandalous. The satin swishes around her legs, Mira had insisted their dresses be in the Tyrrish style moving forward, slits on either side with leggings beneath. Violet is grateful because she could easily adjust her wraps without needing to hide somewhere and lift her full skirt, trying to balance it bunched around her hips as she re-ties them.

They enter the ballroom, each announced by the guard at the door. Violet is so overwhelmed by the commotion and splendor, she doesn't see the Duke’s eyes trained on her from the moment she walks through the door. She feels them, though, presuming the rush of heat is due to nerves, not the onyx stare from the dias. Cat notices, so does Liam.

Violet finds her way to a table with refreshments, before she can select a glass, the Marquis is beside her, offering her one scooped from atop a pyramid of them. She smiles softly at him.

“Thank you. My Lord.” He waves his hand at the honorific as she takes the glass.

“Please, I know you need to be more formal around your delegation, but if it's just Tyrs, you can call me Mr. Durran. I’d prefer Bodhi, but I don't want to impose on your already compromised manners. I do not deserve any high level of deference; such titles are new to me, and I can't seem to adjust.”

She darts her eyes to him, inspecting. “Such impropriety,” Violet smiles slyly. “Bodhi.”

He grins, tilting his glass to clink against hers. She returns the toast and takes a sip, glancing around the gathering as she does.

Violet’s eyes are drawn across the room to Cat in her red dress striding to the dias. Violet allows herself to watch the man Cat approaches, he’s tense, deep in conversation with Captain Tavis. She has no way to prove it, but she's sure he’s aware of the approach, but he acts as if he doesn't see her. How odd.

Cat reaches the dias, and Liam intercepts her before she can greet the Duke. Violet's brows furrow, and she must make a soft sound of observation because Bohdi scoffs, and when she turns, his eyes are focused where hers had been.

“Let's hope for once she doesn't make a scene.” Violet wonders if he meant to say it around her.

She tilts her head, trying not to seem too interested. “Do the Duke and his betrothed not get along?”

Another scoff, louder this time. “Yes, I’m sure Cat wishes they were still betrothed, but no. After his father’s death, Xaden tried, but he called it off last year. Viscount Tecarus still hopes there's a chance that the Duke is just playing hard to get, vying for a better contract or what have you.” He waves his hand dismissively to show how little he thinks of such things. “But the truth is, none of us could stand her, and he finally realized no trade agreement was worth that fate.”

Violet looks back to watch Liam guide the woman away, looping another finely dressed woman on his arm who seemed to be friends with Cat. He twines the women’s arms together and then seems to impart a warning before striding back to the dias, shoulders back and smiling.

“I think Liam may have wept out of joy when Xaden told us, and Liam dislikes no one.” Violet tucks his words into her memory. But doesn’t want to seem too interested, so she changes topics, chatting with the Marquis about Aretia, the season, and his favorite books. Jesinia finds them, kissing Violets cheek and scooping up a champagne flute. They learn that she shares Bodhi’s taste in novels and the two are signing merrily when Violet notices Liam approaching. She offers him a tentative smile, which he returns in kind. He steps up so that he enters Jesinia’s line of sight, offering her a shallow bow.

“May I have this dance?”  Jesinia blushes, placing her glass on the table and taking the blonde's hand. She's wearing a deep burgundy gown that gathers and swirls around her legs, the color rich against her warm olive skin. Violet isn't surprised Liam can't seem to look away.

Bodhi turns and offers his hand, Violet takes it, and lets him spin her into the mass of swaying couples.

She dances all night, with any number of nobles, but never with the Duke. She barely even catches sight of him on the dance floor. Violet wonders if the distance is purposeful or happenstance; she's not sure which she prefers or why she wonders.

There are benches along the edge of the room, as she had become accustomed to in Aretia. After a while, Violet strolls the perimeter, searching for an empty corner and maybe a cushion, when she comes across a plush loveseat of sorts in the corner. She resists the urge to run toward it. From above, the chair would have looked like the curve of an ‘S’, facing her was a cushioned seat, almost like an extra-wide armchair, and connected to one arm was the back of another. It's the most perfect thing Violet has ever seen. She hurries over and curls herself into the seat, lifting her legs to tuck under her body, disguising the position beneath her skirts. The slits on the side allowing for extra movements, she thanks God, Tyrrish design, and Mira as she gets comfortable. She's baffled she hadn't noticed it the other nights she'd been in the room, though those were just for dinner, not dancing. Violet is busy inspecting the chair and doesn't notice the Duke’s eyes on her, and the soft, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

Violet holds court the rest of the night, from what she learns, is a chair of many names. Apparently, it has different names and different legends. Conversation chair, confidant chair, you and me seat, the lover’s chair. Liam and Eya tell her some, Bodhi tells her others, and even Captain Tavis stands with their group for a moment. Telling the tale of a protective father, and his chair design to only allow his daughter and her lover to converse, but nothing more. At this, Bodhi wonders aloud about kissing, “Surely this seat can't prevent that.” He is tucked in beside Violet in a way that a Navarrian would find improper, but he is warm and kind and lets Violet take up most of the seat. “Come now, Liam, let's test it.” Liam sits on the other side of the chair, his body turned to face his friend.

The blonde throws his head back in a laugh as Bodhi grabs his jaw between his hands and pulls him in. The men’s lips meet, it's not chaste, and Violet’s chest heats. She can't look away, though, for it’s not obscene either, their lips move together for a moment, and then Bodhi pulls away with a sly grin that reminds her startlingly of his cousin. “See, what a silly man that father was.”

Violet laughs along with the others and darts her eyes around the room quickly. Her heart seized in her chest. They are in a shadowy corner, away from the bright lights, and only a candelabra a few feet away illuminates them in soft, warm light. No one seems to see them, and Violet's heart eases a beat, but she can't fully release the fear. It was one thing for Mira and Syrena to flirt in an empty hallway, quite another for these men to kiss in view of Navarrian delegates.

She finally notices the Captain's eyes on her. His eyes are harsh, studying her and her reaction. The man at her side is busy chatting with Liam and Eya.

“Are they not afraid?” She dips her voice low, hoping to avoid a larger conversation, while attempting to show Tavis that her fear is not from a hate of what just occurred but a desire to protect it. Violet couldn't help but think of her brother. Of all the pieces of him he had to hide away, of how he could never have dreamed of being able to do what Bodhi and Liam just had.

His eyes remain trained on her. “Our laws are different here in Tyrrendor.” Her eyebrows rise. “Of course, we must also abide by Navarrian law. The line gets—” he tilts his head from side to side, trying to decide his next words. “—confusing. But they shouldn't have done that here.”

“They should be able to.” Violet lets the words out before considering them, though she supposes Captain Tavis couldn’t damn her for them without damning himself.

His expression shifts; it's not quite a smile, but there is an air of approval. “So we agree." His head tilts, eyes darting over her. "Interesting.” He turns away from her again to greet Rhiannon and Jesinia as they approach the group.

Violet wonders when she sees Jesinia’s eyes light up at meeting sparkling blue ones, if the blonde is sincere in his attentions, or a shameless flirt.

The reprieve, however, worked wonders for Violet’s stamina. After lounging for an hour, she feels like dancing again. She allows Rhiannon to drag her to the dance floor and pair her up with Mr. Mairi, claiming Bodhi for herself and leaving Jesinia to her conversation with Eya.

Violet twists and skips, enjoying easy Liam’s company, until the song lulls, and they are meant to switch partners. The song calls for the dancers to cover their faces before they spin to meet their next match, and drop them when the melody shifts. So she stands with her back to her next partner, biting back a smile, full of nervous, excited energy.

She turns, her hands drop, and she forgets how to breathe. There the Duke stands, hands falling to his sides, expression utterly unreadable. She hadn't seen him dancing all night, but of course, he is dancing this dance, and they stand staring at each other a beat longer than the dance calls for.

Her hands float up, hesitant before resting one on his shoulder, the other hovering, waiting for his hand to rise and clasp hers. He’s so tall that she has to drop her left hand from his shoulder to grip his bicep, otherwise, the strain of holding it so high above her head would cause an ache by the time they reached the song’s halfway point. They begin to dance.

Violet's cheek is a breath away from his neck, and she doesn't know how she will ever survive the proximity. She wants to say something to him, but at the same time, she can't bring her mouth to open, can't fathom what she could possibly say. She’s so wrapped in her own thoughts that she misses the similar turbulence on his brow; it's subtle, but it’s there. They sway and spin, his arms reaching to twirl her away and pull her back against him. Her heart beats faster each time his hand flexes against her waist, she’s not sure she ever truly experienced breathlessness before this moment. For she’s certain that if his fingers press into her back one more time, she's likely to cease breathing altogether.

She’s not strong enough to avoid his gaze when their bodies part, to twist and skip. Gold flecked onyx whirlpools of utter oblivion, she wants to drown in them, nearly stumbling as she berates herself for the thought. Xaden, for his part, is struggling to keep his eyes away from hers, from any part of her really. Flexing his fingers unconsciously every time he successfully resists the desire, unknowingly giving in to another.

"Tyrrish fashions suit you, Sorrengail." It's a whisper against the top of her head, and she thinks, a compliment. She's powerless to reply.

The final note of the song plays, and they push apart. Each dropping to a respectable bow and curtsey in kind.

She needs fresh air, her skin feels hot, and she wants the cool bite of the sea breeze. Violet steps back, allowing herself to be lost in the crowd. She misses his lips part to speak, and the thoughtful frustration on his face as she slips away. She approaches the large patio that runs alongside the ballroom, and laughter spills out, and she sees groups of people smoking and chatting. Violet needs more peace and quiet than that will bring, so she ducks out of the room, down the hall that leads her to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the sea.

She has to calm her beating heart. The sea helps; she doesn't know how she’s lived so far from it all these years. She hears a quiet shuffling before a voice cuts into her reverie.

“So you're the younger sorrengail.” Her blood freezes, shoulders tensing. Turning slowly, she surveys her predicament. There are now five men between her and the hallway, her back to a well over hundred-foot drop.

“Why are you here?” The man who spoke does so again, his eyes are cold. She doesn't recognize the men, the accent isn’t Navarrian, nor does she think it is Tyrrish. Violet realizes she needs to stall, to gather more information, and pray that someone comes to look for her before her odds worsen.

“The debutante season. Who are you? Why are you here?” The man closest to her lunges, landing a sharp punch to her torso, pain flares along her ribcage, but she doesn't feel a snap and thanks God for small mercies.

“Oren, it’s too public here.” One of the men, farther away, warns her attacker, eyes darting to the balcony’s entrance. They have crowded closer around her and blocked any chance of escape.

“We are here to request that you send a message to your mother.” He inspects his hand, as if uninterested in her, as if heeding the other man’s warning. Violet hears the telltale sound of blades being drawn, and wonders morbidly where she would land if they tossed her body to the rocky beach below. She focuses all her energy on staying upright and not swaying too close to the balcony’s edge.

“If she doesn't cease sending spies, we won't cease stringing them up and turning them inside out.” He invades her space again, and she curses herself for not wearing her daggers. His hand wraps around her neck, and Violet fights to keep her feet on the ground as he puts pressure on her esophagus. “Meet our demands, or we may just do the same to one, or both, of her precious daughters.” His breath is hot and rancid against her face, she tries to spit in his, only partially successful. Her vision blackens, and she fights to keep her eyes open. A shadow falls across the golden-washed entry to the balcony, and Violet hopes it’s friends, not foes.

“Violet, who are your new friends?” Rhiannon’s voice is harsh, not at all reflecting the casual inquiry of her words. A sliver of tension releases in Violet's back. The man quickly drops his hand from her neck, and she barely maintains her balance, gripping the railing behind her.

“You know, I’m not sure, we haven’t been formally introduced.” Her voice is gravelly and not quite as firm as she had hoped. The pressure had left more damage than she’d thought. Mira’s eyes darken, and she lifts her hands to show the daggers held within them.

“Step away from my little sister.” Her voice is violent, commanding, and fills Violet with a sense of safety.

“Maybe you're the better messenger. We could cut you up.” Violet wants to inch away from her attacker, attempt to reach her sister, but she worries that releasing the railing might cause her collapse.

Violet isn't sure if her vision is failing her, as shadows dance, or if more people are arriving behind her saviors. She widens her eyes, trying to warn Rhiannon, but onyx eyes lock on hers first, and she exhales in relief. She supposes she has no way of knowing that the Duke and these men are on opposing sides. But something she can’t place tells her that he will protect them. The Marquis and Captain are close behind him, both armed and putting on an air of casual surprise.

“Not in my house you won’t.” His voice is low and eerily calm, which would be terrifying if it weren't interceding on her behalf. She notices a few of the eyes around her widen, and she’s filled with a dark pleasure at their fear. Violet had known how tall and formidable he was, but to see him in front of these pathetic men, the image of an avenging angel conjures in her mind, a messenger of the gods, a harbinger of death. A dark pleasure indeed.

The Duke steps in front of her sister and Rhiannon, standing only a few feet from the man who choked her, and the others spread around him. “You are all very bold this evening.” His eyes are fury, and his soft tone lethal. “I should kill you for it.”

“You’d be well within your rights.” Mira contributes, her smile feral. Bodhi sighs from behind her, drawing his sword and tossing it between his hands. “Yes, but cousin, think of the mess.” The men around Violet seem to hesitate, not sure if they should attack or run, all looking to the man who had just choked her, the one they called Oren, for guidance. The Marquis continues, “Because inevitably, Garrick and I will be tasked with the clean up, and I do love this doublet.”

The Duke tilts his head as if pondering his options, eyes finally locking on Violet. “Come here.” His tone demanding, and a challenge for anyone to stop her. She pushes away from the railing and tries to stride towards the Duke, hoping she can make it. His eyes dart around to each attacker, cataloging their stances and weapons, but like a magnet always returning to her as she walks toward him. She’s grateful she doesn't collapse against him, instead turning to face the men when she reaches his side. If she leans lightly against his left side, he doesn't seem to notice.

Oren steps up. “We were just passing along a message, we’ll be on our way now.” Xaden hums, and Violet sees him slip a dagger from his sleeve in a fluid motion as he steps up to the man.

“How’s this for a message?” The Duke slashes forward so quickly that Violet only sees a blur, and then, Oren’s throat opening in a horizontal line as blood steams down his neck and chest. He grabs for his throat, but it’s useless. He bleeds out in seconds, crumpling to the floor. A crimson puddle growing around him.

“Can you be trusted to convey it?” The Duke’s eyes dance around to the other four figures. There are frantic nods, and Violet dizzies with the motion in her periphery. Xaden nods at his friends. “Escort them out, and give the order that if they ever re-enter Tyrrendor, they shall be killed on sight.”

Violet sways as people move around her, and the Duke returns to her space. “Are you hurt, Violence?” His tone is entirely different from the one he had just used; it’s firm but gentle and floods her with relief. Violet can only focus on how warm his fingers are as he tilts her chin to look up at him, gazes colliding, she misses the panic swirling in his.

Her sister and Rhiannon also crowd in. The Duke drops his hand, realizing the improper level of familiarity. Violet is so used to it from him, she’d forgotten she shouldn't allow it. Mira wraps an arm around her sister's bicep to support her, and Violet turns to give her a reassuring smile. The motion reveals her neck to the light, previously hidden in shadow, revealing the mottled purple imprint of a hand emerging there. The Duke’s gaze shifts to Violet’s throat and narrows. “I should have killed him slower.” It's gruff, nothing like how he’d spoken to her a moment before, and Violet feels like a pendulum swinging between two versions of the Duke.

“I’m fine.” Violet doesn’t know why she's so quick to assure him. Mira scoffs, immediately reaching out to poke Violet in the ribs. The younger girl winces and shudders. “No,” her sister shakes her head, “you're not.”

Xaden’s focus snaps back to Violet’s hazel eyes. “Don’t lie to me.” He says it with such ferocity, bit out through gritted teeth, Violet can’t help but nod in promise. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply as Mira’s hands deftly press along her ribcage, searching for a break. The Duke’s eyes stay trained on her face, searching for any sign of pain, that same panic flickering through them. Violet doesn’t see his observation as her eyes are still closed, Rhiannon’s aren't. Violet exhales as Mira finishes her gentle prodding, no breaks.

“Just bruised.” Violet lifts her eyes to the man before her, whose tension is nearly palpable. “I will be fine.”

His eyes flutter with what she thinks is a repressed eye roll, and she feels a stab of pride at getting under his skin. Which she quickly reels in when she remembers there is a body to her right and blood on her shoes.

The rest of the evening is a blur. She remembers the Duke walking them to their quarters and speaking in hushed tones with her sister. Rhiannon helped her into a warm bath and sat beside her as she and Violet scrubbed the blood from her chest. Eventually, she was dry and warm, tucked into bed between the two women, unsure as to how much time had passed since she’d slipped from the ballroom for some air. She sleeps fitfully. She remembers hearing Andarna whimpering at the door, and then weight shifting on the mattress as someone rose to let her in. The puppy settled at Violet’s feet, on the bed for once, and she slept better after that. Later, she wakes, and Mira’s eyes are already on hers.

“You know who they were.” It's a statement, not a question. And Mira does not deny it. “You won't tell me, though.” Another statement.

Her sister sighs softly. “Sleep. Please, Vi.”

She wants to be mad, she wants to flail and pound her fists against Mira’s chest. Instead, she turns away, body facing Rhiannon, and presses her face to her friend's shoulder. Breathing in her sharp smell of cinnamon and honey, letting the familiarity lull her back to sleep.

When the sun shines bright through the windows and the warmth on her face wakes her, Violet is alone. Her body hums, she aches, but she also wants to scream. Moving quickly, before someone comes to check on her, she dresses and scribbles a note.

Needed air, I’m fine.

She doubts it'll assuage anyone who finds it, but it’s better than nothing. She hurries out of the room, through the castle, and towards the path down to the sea.

Violet had been to the sea before, but only on the northern part of the continent. And she hadn’t swum in it since she was a child. She tears off her boots as soon as she reaches the sand, letting her toes sink in, reveling in the sensation. Trekking to the surf, she takes in the shoreline.

There are the cliffs of Aretia in the distance, dramatic and otherworldly. Then the coast declines, still cliffs but not a sheer drop, undulating and arching around to the soft green hills in the distance to her right. The beach itself is rocky, and out in the sea, there are stone arches emerging from the water; she’s never seen anything like it. The winds whip around her face, tugging strands of hair to whip against her skin, cool air filling her chest. She drops her boots on a rock, pulls off her jacket and the long tunic she wears, and exhales deeply. The sand is cool on the soles of her feet as she nears the water, the sea foam flirting with her ankles. The brisk water, a welcome guest on the soreness of her ankles after the descent to the shore.

Violet is still livid, her skin still warm from the night before. Mira had refused to speak with her, and she still wouldn't address what she’d asked the other night about their father. Which only proved to Violet that she knew something. They're asking her to play a role in what is starting to seem like a war without giving her any information.

God, she’s sure their mother knew something and sent them anyway. Violet had been proud of her mother’s confidence in her, and now. Now she wonders if she was just bait, if this was all a scheme, and she is just an insignificant piece on the board. She is trying to figure out the play, trying to work out the end game, but she feels like she is doing it with half the board obscured. Every step she takes reveals one square but covers another. It’s maddening. And there is no one to talk to about it. Not really. God, she feels so alone and useless and utterly unmoored.

She needs to clear her mind, to shake off the fog that seems to have settled over everything. Violet dives, and the rush of cold and salt feels like waking up. She remembered swimming with her siblings when their father was stationed along the northern and western shores, but the water there was never this clear. She can see her toes digging into the sand when she rises to stand, baby fish tickling her calves. Laughter bubbles in her chest, from the chill of the water to the sensation of floating, there’s a sharp euphoria she’s bursting with, and she can’t help the sound. She spreads her arms, breathing deep and letting her toes float to break the surface. Splayed wide with the ocean below her, body poised to hug the sun, she calms.

This might be what bliss feels like. The water alleviates the pressure on her joints, her body feels weightless and free, and the sun warms her to her core.

Violets is not sure how much time passes before she finally makes her way from the sea, lying on one of the rocks, warmed by the sun. She’s only been there a moment before she hears hoof beats, lifting her head, she sees the majestic black horse that had carried her home galloping through the surf. He slows, pulling away to trot towards her. She sits up, and he nuzzles against her outstretched palm.

“Well, hello, fierce one.”

He seems to huff in approval at the name, and she brushes her fingers along the indent between his eyes and down his muzzle.

“I never thanked you properly for the other day. A fierce protector and a kind soul. Thank you.” She drops a kiss to his forehead and is sure his sounds are appreciative. He nudges her again, turning so his body draws beside her on the rock.

“You want to take me somewhere?” He seems to nod and stomps a hoof, crouching slightly so she could easily step from her rock to sit astride his back.

Today, she wore a pair of flowing linen pants beneath her tunic, something she was grateful for in the moment. They were nearly dry from the few minutes she’d basked in the warm sun. She stood and threw a leg over his broad back, gripping his mane and settling into a comfortable position. She feels surprisingly at ease on his back, though she typically had a hard time riding, let alone bareback, he seemed to know how to balance to help her stay up.

She hears more hoof beats, slower than his had been; she doesn't turn.

“You seem to have utterly bewitched my horse,” it’s a voice she knows well at this point, the black stallion brays beneath her, if he were human, she might think it were a scoff.

“I can’t help that I’m charming,” she calls to the Duke, who walks beside his blue roan, clearly having also been in the water, his hair damp across his forehead and his chest bare. He approaches until they are a few steps away, and Violet has to look down at him. She tries hard not to look too far down, not to let her eyes follow the rivulets of water that drip down the ridges of his chest and abdomen to the pants below.

“Tarin is not so easily charmed. He doesn’t let anyone ride him.” His eyes are sharp, articulating every inch of her atop his horse. Violet wonders what he sees.

“No one?” She had wanted to say it loftily, but it’s a little surprised and a little proud.

The Duke shakes his head, leaning back against his horse. “He refuses to be separated from Sygael here, who loves me dearly.” The horse in question nuzzles his curly black hair. “But he’s very picky about who he lets near him. It took a year for him to warm up to me, but he’ll certainly never let me ride him.”

Violet lets her hands trail along the back of the horse's neck absentmindedly, silently thanking him for his trust. She hums, smiling down at the Duke, thoroughly disarmed by the strangeness of the encounter. “Well, he asked that I ride him this time, not sure where he’s taking me, do you think he’s let you tag along?”

The wicked grin returns to the Duke's face, and Violet realizes she had been worried she’d never see it again. “One way to find out.”

He drops the bundle in his arms on the rock where she’d lain before, and gracefully mounts Sygeal. Violet would be envious if it hadn’t been so clear what an honor it was to ride the black stallion below her. He taps his front hoofs, seeming to warn her, and then takes off.

Violet revels in it, whooping, laughing, and shrieking as Tarin tears through the surf. Sea water splashing her toes and up her calves. The horses gallop towards one of the rocky cliffs that seem to kiss the sea. As they near, Violet can see that there is an arch in the stone, leading to another stretch of beach if one is willing to wade through.

The bottom of Violet’s pants are soaked again as Tarin trots through the shallow water. Their destination is well worth it. Rock rises all around her, touching the sky, moss and greenery clinging to every crevice. And in front of her is only the sea, no sign of humanity in sight. It's calming. Even Xaden’s appearance through the cliffs' arch can't invade her peace. She smiles at him, and it might be the first since she learned his full name. He returns it, hesitantly, and she wishes he would do it more. His eyes drift across her neck, then lower, his jaw clenches, and she becomes acutely aware of the fact that her top half is only covered by a silk camisole and corset. She doesn't shy away from his gaze, but averts her eyes and indulges in a sly smirk.

The rest for a moment in companionable silence, staring out at the sea. After a while, she hears him inhale sharply as if about to speak. He hesitates, and she can sense the tension.

“I know you’ll think I’m overstepping.” He refuses to turn to meet her gaze, while her eyes burn into his side. “But don't go places alone anymore. It’s not that I don't think you're capable; you've proven you are. But five on one is not a fair fight, and I would hate if someone tried it again.”

“You are—” she shoots him a glare “overstepping that is.” Violet softens. “Though, God, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd been talking to Mira.” The Duke let out a sharp laugh. Equally as aware that Hell would freeze before he and the older Sorrengail had such a relationship. And it was true, Mira had laid into her after the day with the wolf, and she was sure that when she returned to the castle, she would hear it again.

“I know you won't want to see me any more than absolutely necessary, but Liam, whom you've met. He’s also courting this year, so he's around more often than I. If you ever need anyone to escort you anywhere, please trust him.” The Duke finally turns to her, his gaze unreadable, then it drops to her neck for a moment and flickers with rage.

Her eyes linger on his face; she's annoyed, but she can also appreciate this part of his nature. She remembers him banishing the man who touched Sloane, the one who, Violet assaulted with a shoe. “Unchaperoned?” The hypocrisy of the question is not lost on her, as she is currently alone on a secluded beach with the Duke.

He scoffs, a sneer on his face. “I think you should care more about your life than your perceived virtue.”

She returns the sneer, her voice derisive. “That thought alone makes you a very unique man, I do believe most of the Navarrian men in my life might rather I be murdered than deflowered.”

“Then don't go back to Navarre.” Her lips part, and she doesn't know how to reply. He doesn't look at her, only continues as if he hadn't just suggested she stay in Tyrrendor. “Obviously, stay close to your friends and sister, but if you ever need a tall man, trust Liam, that's all I ask.” She thinks of the man nearly as tall as Xaden and as broad as Dain, and the way Jesinia blushed when he smiled, dimples on display. “We’ll all look out for you, can't risk relations with the crown, of course. But Liam has more freedom to be where you are. He also attends the academy. I’ve told him, and he will be happy to oblige.”

She wants to be mad, indignant, and part of her is, but it's an offer, not a demand. Though he certainly seems to want to demand it. He knows it isn't his place, but he’s willing to provide what he can, and their safety is in his best interest.

She's sure that he feels somewhat responsible for it happening in his home. She knows he does, with the way his eyes harden every time he catches sight of her bruising.

So she nods her head. “I’ll allow it.”

“How generous of you,” his smirk returns, “Lady Violence.” And she resents the traitorous flip of her stomach.

The sun is now high in the sky, and Violet feels keenly her fitful night and lack of food. She taps her knee against Tarin’s side, hoping he gets the message. He does, and begins to trot back to the beach where she met them earlier. His pace is slower this time, seeming to consider her fatigue.

“I don’t know that I can hike up after all that.” Her legs feel like jelly from holding onto Tarin’s back. The horse draws up the rock she had mounted from, and she slides to sit on it.

“Why would we hike?” The Duke leaps of Sygeal, gathers his clothes and hers, then bundles them in his saddle bag. He strides over to her, pulling a loose white shirt over his warm brown skin. “There’s a trail beyond that ridge wide enough for the horses, Tarin will carry you back.”

When he reaches Violet, he drops to his knees in the sand before her. Violet inhales sharply, eyes widening, it's not a bow, but it's certainly a form of deference she didn't think him capable of. His black curls dried in the sun and wind as they had ridden, now at the perfect level for Violet to run her fingers through the thick locks. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand for even having the thought, let alone considering it. He grabs a boot and then taps her ankle. “You’ll still need shoes, though, for when we arrive. Lift.”

Violet lifts her foot, at a loss for how to react to being confronted with yet another version of this man. He proceeds to put on and lace up her boots, one at a time, robbing Violet of any and all thought beyond the image of him kneeling before her. His hands are warm against her sea-cooled skin, his fingers dexterous as they manipulate her limbs into the boots. Pressing into the back of her calf more than she was sure was strictly necessary. Her nails dug deeper as she resisted the desire to chase his touch whenever his fingers lifted. Finally, he ties the last bow, and Violet hates what his body does to her.

“Shall we?” He rises and quirks a brow, his gaze drifting over her hair. Now dry and pulling away from her face in a mess of fading dark-to-light waves, he blinks once, slow and distracted. Then lifts a hand to help her stand on the rock to remount the stallion.

The Duke was right, the horses are surefooted as they guide them up a winding path, likely meant for goats or cattle. Halfway up, Violet lies forward as she had the last time, arms stretched down, trying to reach around and hug Tarin’s neck. It’s safe and comforting, and Violet's not sure she’s ever felt so strongly that she belonged.

They arrive at the stables, and Xaden reaches to help her dismount. She swats him away, holding onto Tarin’s mane as she regains her footing, steadying herself. He smirks anyway.

“I think he’s adopted you, you might have to endure seeing more of me.” There’s something honest in his midnight eyes.

Violet looks away to stroke her new friend’s neck. “A high price to pay, but a worthy reward.” Train seems to like this answer, nuzzling into her shoulder.

Chapter Text

Pinkie fingers linked, Violet and Rhiannon stroll through the village, each lost in their thoughts but tethered by the other. It’s early, but the sun has already warmed the dirt, and Rhiannon can't help but tilt her face to bask in warm rays. The village is alive with early morning activity, folks off to work, children playing in the street, businesses opening, and the smell of sweet bread filling the air. They had travelled to the Mairi manor the week before. As most of the family homes are smaller than the Duke’s, they are staying in the nearby village, which has been a boon to Violet’s curiosity about exploring the province.

They had dined the evening before at the manor, a small group of all newly re-appointed Tyrrish nobility. Liam had opted to escort them to and from their lodging, something Violet wished she could be indignant about. But found his company too cheerful and compelling to allow the feeling past a superficial eye roll at the duke when she caught him watching them approach the manor. It was the only interaction they'd had all evening.

Sloane still reserved her most lethal glares for Violet, but seemed to have at least warmed to Jesinia. Who was in fact, doing a better job than any of the rest, being integrated with the Tyrrish contingent. Which wasn't all that surprising to Violet, considering Jesinia was the kindest and most gentle of the four, possibly the most charming, though Rhiannon would surely resent that observation.

The guard at the door of the townhome they were renting is Violet’s first clue that something is amiss. For a moment, she entertains the train of thought that the Duke ignored her and assigned her a guard anyway, but as they near the steps, she recognizes the Basgiath uniform. Lilith.

“She's early,” Rhiannon mutters while maintaining her easygoing expression as they slow their approach. Violet lets go of her friend’s pinkie and instead notches her hand around her elbow. Linking arms, the girls draw closer together in order to whisper.

“More likely, she had always planned this.” Violet has a harder time maintaining a casual expression. The women stepped up to the entrance, bracing themselves, only to have the door flung open before either could reach out to do it themselves. Across the entrance hall stood Lilith Sorrengail. Dressed in a travel tunic, hands braced on her hips.

“Researcher Sorrengail,” her mother nods. “Trainee Matthias.”

“Professor Sorrengail,” Violet steps up to her mother. Rhiannon stays behind, beside the door. “You look well.” Violet curtsies, trying not to wobble.

“And you.” Her mother cuts in again. “Though you’ve clearly been spending too much time in the sun. And what are you wearing?” She resists rolling her eyes. Andarna takes this opportunity to trot into the entrance hall and thoroughly greet Violet. Nuzzling against the petite woman’s legs, pressing her shout into Violet’s hip. She squats down to properly greet the puppy, petting her forehead and chest, whispering praise as she holds the collie’s eyes.

Adarnna had resolutely insisted on not leaving Violet’s side at the Duke’s manor. A few days after the attack, she had finally convinced Mira to go to the Duke with her to discuss possibly purchasing her, as she couldn’t bear to break the collie’s heart by leaving her behind eventually. Xaden had simply shaken his head.
“She’s already yours. Ana was a stray who wandered into my stable a month ago, I have no more claim to her than anyone else. If your side is where she chooses to be, then that is where she shall live.” His eyes had held hers as he said it, and it made Violet want to squirm, but she’d held his eyes through the rest of the discussions and pleasantries.

His gaze haunted her that night, filling her chest with warmth. The man was an enigma, and part of her was terrified at the prospect of puzzling him apart, the other part awoken by it.

“How has your visit been? I’ve only received a few missives, none with very much information.” Her mother’s voice disrupts her thoughts about the pup in front of her and the man her mother requested she spy on. Rhiannon steps up to lend Violet a hand as she rises back to standing, and gives Andarna a few pets in greeting while she does.

Violet remains silent, gaze trained on her mother. “Nothing felt pressing or interesting enough to write about.” Rhiannon chose her words carefully. “We’ve been enjoying and learning about the court life here in Tyrrendor, but none of us has entered into any engagements, not even courtships, nothing notable. Besides, anything Violet might have written would've been illegible.”

It's a clever misdirect. Implying that Violet’s code would be uncrackable by the current code breakers in Basgiath. A true statement. Though Violet would likely have used a pre-determined code, one she had already taught the team at Basgiath.

“Her handwriting is despicable.” Violet rolls her eyes at her mother's response, but takes her elbow when the older woman lifts it to her in invitation.

Lilith leads her down the hall, nodding a dismissal to Rhiannon, who holds Ana back from following.

“You're needed in Basgiath immediately.” Lilith never being one for small talk, always preferring non-sequiturs. “There have been a great deal of intercepted communications that the current team can't seem to crack.”

Violet hates the feeling that fills her; she’s both proud and resentful. It’s a sickness that she only feels at court, usually in the presence of the king or his circle. She barely acknowledges her mother’s words, lost in her own reactions to them.

“I need to depart tomorrow, I plan to take a bit of a detour, and arrive in Basgiath when you do.” Violet quirks a brow at this, knowing her mother will elaborate, but still not used to the way the woman systematically reveals information. “I’ll coordinate your return. You will go to Aretia first, then the carriage and guards who brought you ladies here will return with you to Basgiath, you will stay a week or two, and then return.”

Violet finally nods, knowing her mother still does not yet need her to speak. “We will claim there has been a family illness.” Violet finally interjects, “Then why wouldn't Mira join me?” Lilith waves off her daughter's concern as they enter the rooms she has clearly appropriated. “We will say it's a cousin she never knew, you girls do have a bit of an age difference, so it’s fine.”

She closes the door behind them, gesturing at a chair by the fire where her mother seems to have already set up a field office. A card table sits in front of one of the chairs, missives and maps strewn across it. Violet takes the seat opposite her mother’s ‘desk’ and waits for her to continue.

“Now.” Her mother settles into the other chair as if it were a throne, a general in front of her army, ready to give commands. “Why, pray tell, have you not sent any substantial information since the inception of this assignment?”

Violet crosses her legs, tilting her body to sprawl across the chair at an angle, not a signal of deference in sight. She leans her cheek against her hand, elbow propped on one of the armrests, and sighs. “In all honesty, we have no reason to believe they are actively planning anything. Nothing we’ve discovered has been substantial enough to raise an alarm.” Violet shrugs, her mother’s eyes sharp as they drill into her daughter’s, as if she could see directly into her mind. “They certainly still hold onto Tyrrish culture and beliefs, but they seem to exist side by side with the Navarrian ones.”

Lilth squints at this. “Elaborate.”

Violet waves a hand, knowing she has to convey this, as she's sure Mira will, but she hopes she can undermine or discount any real concern. Part of her wonders if her mother knows about Asher’s books in the Aretian library, and if she would care. Violet had toyed with the idea of confronting her mother about it ever since Mira had reacted so strongly. But something told her she didn't know enough yet to properly leverage and force honesty. Something her mother was not very good at.

“Just their clothing, decoration, stuff like that. They use Tyrrish phrases, names, things like that. But nothing explicitly against the accords, I’m sure the king wouldn't be pleased about such things, but it felt silly to report on, when, if there is more beneath the surface, we needed to appear unbothered by such lapses in Navarrian etiquette and expectation.” The truth was, Violet was unbothered by such things; she, in fact, preferred them, and she knew her mother would agree that a greater subversion of Navarre’s power was more important than a few snubs that would irk the King.

Her mother inspected her a moment longer before giving a short nod. “Very well.”

There's a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, it opens, and Mira slips into the room.

“Mother.” Mira tilts her head in the barest of acknowledgements and strides over to Violet. Her older sister taps her knee with her own, and Violet repositions her body to allow her sister to slide into the wide armchair next to her.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Mira’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but Violet knows that she is pleased to see their mother. Mira and she had always been closer; Violet always attributed this to their shared work and similar personalities, though Mira would likely disagree with the observation.

Lilith tilts her head. “I missed my girls.” Mira hums in acknowledgement, not returning the sentiment. Violet thinks it best to interject before they continue down this path.

Violet turns to Mira, “Basgiath code breakers are, as per usual, useless without a Sorrengail.” Mira smirks, turning to meet her sister's gaze. “So I’m going home to visit our sick cousin, whom you don’t like, which is why you’ll remain here.”

“Oh, how I despise Donovan.” Mira puts on an air and tone of an aristocratic woman as she plays along, earning a snort from Violet.

Lilth tsks from her seat, “Why do you girls insist on being silly and childish at every opportunity?”

Things had been tense between the sisters; Violet felt suffocated by all the unspoken words that floated between them, but where Lilith was concerned, they were always a united front.

“Father always found it charming.” This time, it was Violet who chose to name the man her mother seemed to prefer not to dwell on. His death had shattered her. Violet wasn't sure her mother would ever be the same woman who raised her, the woman who was married to her father. It felt like a gamble every time they brought him up, that maybe one day, she would finally break and return to herself. That day was not today.

“Go,” She waved them out. “Violet, I’ll find you in the morning before I leave to finalize the arrangements.”

The sisters bid their mother goodbye and took their dismissal in stride, exiting arm in arm. They walk in silence until they reach Violet’s room.

Mira breaks it. “Did you tell her?” Violet shakes her head. “Did you ask her about the books?” Violet shakes her head again. Flashing her sister a rueful smile, Violet replies, “It would be futile for me to ask you again, correct?”

Mira’s sigh deflated her whole body, and Violet can feel it where their arms are still linked. “Not yet Vi.” The younger woman nods her head in a jerky movement.

“I’ll tell Mom about the attack when we’re in Basgiath.” Violet pushes open the door to her room and steps in as she continues. “I didn’t want to engage with it today.”

Mira gives a nod, then seems to hesitate before speaking again. “I wrote to her, said there was an incident, but it wasn’t about Tyrendor. Feel free to press her on it. I barely know what it's about, maybe she’ll give you more.”

Violet raises her brows at her sister, knowing their mother would never disclose something to Violet without explicitly planning to. Mira presses a kiss to her sister’s cheek and squeezes her arm before leaving the room, and Violet, with her spinning thoughts.

Violet rides Tarin most mornings since that day on the beach. If the Duke and his entourage are staying nearby, he always makes sure she is informed where Tarin is being stabled. It's an odd dynamic, one she has refused to think about. Knowing that if she does, her reaction to the attention is likely to reveal too much.

The morning after Lilith’s arrival, Violet is desperate to ride. After an exhilarating trot across the Mairi Manor grounds, Violet is grooming Tarin in his stall when she hears voices.

“The council needs to mind their own damn business.” Bohdi’s voice is harsher than she’s ever heard it. There's a scoff in response. Then a voice that warms her bones responds, “When that happens, let me know, we’ll likely be in our graves though.”

She presses herself to Tarin’s side, praying they don’t spot her. Liam's voice joins the discussion, but they’ve moved farther into the stable, and she can't make out the exact words. Their conversation continues for a moment longer until she hears hooves, and the two cousins pass by mounted on their horses. They take off as soon as they leave the building, and she breathes more freely. She returns to her task, humming softly as she brushes the black stallion.

Footsteps approach, and she hopes it’s Liam. “Did you cast some sort of spell on this beast? He barely even lets the groom brush him, it's a miracle he lets you touch, let alone ride him.” Train stomps a hoof at Liam's words, dragging it back along the dirt floor of the stall as if preparing to pounce. Violet had never interacted with a horse with so much personality, and she was as completely charmed by him as everyone was convinced he was by her.

“If I did, I’d never tell.” She waggles her eyebrows at the blonde as she wraps up her task. He laughs and proceeds to tease her as she goes through the final few motions. It’s kinda and comfortable, and Violet enjoys the company. When she’s done, he doesn’t offer to walk her back to their lodging, just continues to chat as he walks beside her down the path.

“I wish I’d seen you take down that wolf. Xaden was so impressed, and he is rarely impressed by anyone.” Liam doesn't turn to look at Violet as he says it, but his attention is clearly trained on her.

“Is it not treason to tell me that then? He certainly strikes me as the type to keep that sort of thing a secret.” Violet cuts a glance at him and smiles as they stroll down the road. It earns her a chuckle, and she feels warm from the sound. Liam’s friendship was not something she expected, but nonetheless was becoming something she valued greatly.

With a smile still on his face, Liam continues. “Maybe not quite treason, but certainly flirting with it.”

“You are quite the flirt Liam Mairi.” She’s careful to keep her eyes trained ahead as she says it, smiling at the gasp she elicits from the man beside her.

The laugh that burst from his lips is riotous and unguarded; it draws her in, and she’s too busy to notice her mother approaching them as they reach the edge of the village.

“Researcher Sorrengail.” Her voice is sharp as it echoes against the buildings around them. Liam tenses beside her, and Violet feels sick with sympathy, not sure how much Liam knows about her mother's involvement in the capture of his parents.

Violet inhales sharply, all the laughter fleeing her body. “Professor.” A nod of her head and a shallow curtsey.

The older woman lets her eyes train over the two, clearly displaying both indifference and disapproval, an art Violet is sure only her mother has mastered. “So this is where you ran off to at the crack of dawn.”

Violet controls her face, leaving her expression blank as she nods and falls into step with her mother, the three continuing down the road.

“I left a note, I ride a horse being stabled at Mairi Manor in the mornings. An activity I was sure youd approve of.” Lilith hums a half-hearted agreement as they continue, not bothering to make small talk and plunging the three into a painful silence.

One that is both thankfully and painfully interrupted by hoofbeats, a Duke, and a Marquis. The men slow, having caught sight of Liam, Violet is certain she observes the moment they recognize her mother, both handsome faces hardening at the realization. Eyes sharpening to glares, open smiles closing to blank, harsh expressions. The men nod a Liam, Bodhi risking a wave to Violet.

“Duke Riorson,” Lilith greets the man who looks like he’d rather speak to a tree than her mother. “I hear you’re headed back to Aretia soon.” Violet freezes, knowing immediately where her mother is going with this, and desperately willing a way out to appear.

He gives a quick nod, eyes avoiding Violet’s.

“Violet is needed back in Basgiath, family emergency, you see. But I can’t fit her in my caravan, and she must return to Lord Masen’s first. She’s so specific about her books, you know.” The Duke's eyes flash to Violet, finally catching on to her mother's angle. Violet cuts her eyes in a glare, trying to softly shake her head to convey that she was not privy to this scheme. “Could she accompany you on your return?”

She expects him to be rude. To not even provide an excuse, just flat out refuse.

His head tilts, and he gives a quick nod. “Of course. Mistress Sorrengail is more than welcome to accompany my group to Aretia, but who will accompany her from there?” Violet can’t control the way her body jolts, her head flying up to meet his gaze. She scolds herself, knowing Lilith observed her reaction and will certainly add it to whatever calculation she has been doing.

“Their initial escort is still in Aretia; they’ll escort her to Basgiath and back in a couple of weeks.” The Duke nods at the information, digs his heels into Sgaeyl’s flank, and rides away. Bodhi spares a moment longer to bid them all farewell before riding off and joining the Duke.

It's only a two-day ride back to the capital. Violet had hoped she might spend more time with the Duke, attempt to puzzle him out once and for all. As if he had read her mind and anticipated her goal, he made himself scarce on their journey, only interacting with Violet occasionally and briefly. Liam, on the other hand, was her near-constant companion. She spent the days chatting with him in their carriage, she learned all about Sloane, and she regailed him with tales of her own family and childhood. She was certain she nearly put him to sleep at one point when discussing her research on a runic-based code system. But he was a good sport. Andarna rested all day, curled around her feet or on her lap, running wildly across the hills whenever they stopped to water the horses.

After a shorter second day of travel, Liam insisted that she dine at the Duke’s house with the rest of them. As everyone was still in the country, there would likely be no one to wait on her, let alone make dinner at Masen’s estate. She acquiesced, and he dropped her off at the manor to change.

The housekeeper lets her in, and Violet has to admit that Liam had been right. The staff was running a bare-bones crew, it seemed, and she was surely better off dining at the manor.

Violet had yet to dine at the Duke’s; part of her expected it to be a grand affair, the other expected the practicality she had grown to associate with him. When she entered the dining room, she wasn’t disappointed, but nothing was as she expected.

A large oval table sits in the middle of the room, set with small bud vases and candles, platters already scattered around. Violet is guided to sit next to Liam, across from the Duke. Imogen Cardulo, Garrick Tavis, and some other members of the Duke’s circle were in attendance. Many had remained in the country, but the formal events of the season were suspended for the next week while the Duke and his court were in the capital for meetings. Violet had certainly spent a fair share of time trying to learn more about how the Tyrrish court operated, but at every turn, she was thwarted. They were a secretive group, and somehow able to seem innocuous as they diverted her attention elsewhere. If she weren't so annoyed by it, she would admire it.

Violet could also admit to herself, while she was trying to unravel the truth of the Tyrrish court, she was unusually distracted by her own questions about her family and Navarre’s history. Questions that were very much distracting her from the original mission.

Eya is seated on Violet’s other side, next to Imogen, whom Violet had not expected to be so close to, considering their last interaction. The room buzzes with chatter, laughter, and the scraping of chairs as people move around and swap seats, catching up with friends and thoroughly enjoying each other's company. It warms Violet and immediately puts her at ease, reminiscent of private dinners with her friends at Basgiath. Ridoc jumping up to act out a story at every opportunity, Rhiannon tossing bread rolls at his head.

She’s drawn into conversation with Eya, and Imogen eventually joins, mostly talking to Violet through Eya, never directly. They discuss the rest of the season to come, Violet’s upcoming journey, and Imogen’s project restoring a wing of her manor damaged in the Apostasy. A term she had learned the Tyrs used to talk about the rebellion. Violet plans to read up on the word, as her understanding had always been that it referred to the abandonment of religious or political beliefs. Something she had never been taught had anything to do with the Tyrrish rebellion.

Eventually, the conversation turns to the attack at the Duke’s ball. Eya expressed how glad she was to hear Violet was unharmed. Imogen rolls her eyes and agrees in a less-than-convincing manner.

“Did you know who they were or what they wanted from you?” Eya asks it off-handedly, but Violet has spent enough time with her over the past few months to know that she was paying close attention to Violet’s answer.

Violet shrugs, “No idea, I think they were just looking to cause trouble.” She isn't about to reveal that it was about her mother, that Mira knew more than she was letting on. Or that Violet was almost certain their dear friend the Duke had a better idea than she did about what was going on.

Eya nods, worrying her lip. “I wish you’d had your daggers, as Xaden tells it, you would've left quite the blood bath if they hadn't been such cowards and caught you unawares.”

Violet allows a begrudging smile, resisting the urge to cut a glare in the Duke’s direction. From the expression on Eya’s face, she must have failed. “Well, I didn’t, and honestly,” She shrugs, “it would be a very different story if everyone hadn't shown up when they did. I was lucky.”

Eya waves a hand, dismissing Violet’s self-deprecation. “Yes, well, six on one is hardly fair. And if you can take down a wolf twice your size, I’m sure you would have taken down at least one or two of those goons if you’d been armed. Take the compliment, Sorrengail.” She smiles at the last demand, and Violet can't help but return it.

“I suppose I would've at least maimed one or two.” Eya nods with approval at the reluctant admission, and the two women chuckle.

Imogen appraises Violet with an expression the younger woman is not sure how to name. “She’s at the top of the staircase in the residence if you’re interested.” Violet furrows her brow in response until Imogen elaborates. “The Gentileschi you told me you would like to see. Sounds like you might have more in common with Judith than I would've initially thought.” The strawberry blonde then proceeds to explain where exactly Violet needs to go to find the painting.

The women continue to chat as dinner continues, Liam sometimes grabbing Violet’s attention instead. Every once in a while, she glances across the table to observe the Duke. Somehow, despite him indulging in the same, they don't catch each other’s eyes all night.

After dinner, Violet excuses herself to follow Imogen's directions. She wanders up, breathless as she approaches a painting nearly twice her size. A man lay prone, fighting against two lavishly dressed women, as one holds him down and the other drags a sword across his neck. Judith’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing thick arms, one hand tugging her victim's hair, pressing him into the bed below, the other gripping the sword hilt, pressing down as blood sprays across the scene.

“The diamond of my collection.” She recognizes his voice, she has since the second time they met. Violet can almost feel his warmth as he draws near, stepping to stand just behind her and off to the side.

“Her work is incomparable, the use of light and the depiction of women. It's–” Violet is truly at a loss for words in the presence of the painting. She’d read about it and the artist in every book she could find in the archives, she’d studied the few female painters and writers that existed in those halls. Now being confronted with one of the greatest of those works, she isn't sure how to react.

“I’ve only ever read about this painting,” She finally says instead. Violet tilts her head, eyes darting over the colored canvas. “Though no amount of words could’ve ever done this justice. The color and texture alone show an acute understanding of light and technique.” Violet hums, lost in her thoughts and analysis. “But what truly is indescribable is the violence of it, it’s almost seductive, empowering.”

“It doesn't surprise me you are enraptured by your namesake.” Despite the teasing nature of his words, his tone is soft, almost affectionate.

Violet rolls her eyes, but a smile drifts across her face. “Well, it's clear you appreciate it as well. What does that say about you?” She finally turns to the man, he stands beside her, having lost his coat from dinner, his hands in his pockets, his white shirt rakishly unbuttoned at the top. Utterly uncivilized.

He chuckles, the soft smile making her stomach swoop in a way she was becoming accustomed to around this man. But with the warmth of the wine in her system from dinner, she couldn't be bothered to internally scold herself for the reaction.

“Far too much, I’m sure, Violence.” His eyes are like the midnight sky, swirling with golden stars and drawing her into their depths. She steps closer to him without realizing, the Duke tilting his body towards hers in response.

She tries valiantly to avoid looking at the warm tawny brown skin stretched over collarbones revealed by his unbuttoned shirt. It goes without saying, her determination is lacking. He’s smirking down at her when he speaks again. “We have more of her pieces, some in the private wing, some not on display. Drafts and writings.”

Violet can't help the way her eyes shine at the information, gazing at the man beside her. “What a treasure to possess, I would very much like to see them someday.”

“One day,” he nods, “we might be able to construct a Tyrrish museum, for now I must content myself with sourcing and storing what would one day fill it.” It might as well be an admission of treason, but no more so than their discussion about the books in his library. She wonders if they have reached a point of mutually assured destruction. She is well aware that if she chose to report what she knew now, they would all be arrested. Then she would never learn more about her father’s involvement, or her mother’s, for that matter. Besides, nothing she observed revealed a plot, which is what she had been tasked with uncovering. It was a silly semantic argument, only to be had with herself.

“You know the king had her work removed from the national gallery?” He says nothing, turning to study the painting again. “No thoughts on that?” She quirks a brow.

“Nothing I would say about that should be said in present company.” Duke Riorson’s jaw clenches, and he doesn’t turn to look at her, instead continuing to appreciate the art. She watches as his expression softens slowly, his eyes devouring the canvas.

“Why do you like this work so much?” The question draws his attention, he studies her, she returns his look resolutely, pushing again at his hesitance. “I was curious, when Lady Cardulo told me this painting was here, at your home. Because of the response powerful men typically have to Gentileschi and women like her.” His eyes don't leave her face, consuming every inch. “But then, it occurred to me, Judith is a story of a woman defending her people, saving her city, protecting them at all costs.” The onyx orbs sharpen, his face flexing as he attempts to unravel her with his gaze. “I feel a deep kinship with Judith, with Gentileschi, do you?” It was a risky question, but one she wasn't asking because of her assignment, no, against her better judgement, Violet wanted the answer for herself. To sate her curiosity.

“You’re far too clever for your own good, Violence.” His voice is gruff, no longer holding the softness of their previous banter, but not quite aggressive. “Yes, I am Tyrrish, so I feel a kinship to one of our most celebrated artists and heroines, especially as a Tyrrish leader.” Violet holds his eyes, refusing to be cowed by their fire, and desperate to dissect the meaning behind his calculated response. His expression transforms, a wicked grin adorning his mouth. “And besides, I’ve never understood the appeal of defenseless women.”

Violet let a smirk pull at her own lips, trying to swallow it, so as not to look smug. Falling entirely for his diversion, but not minding in the least. “You prefer women who stab you?”

He lifts his chin, gesturing toward her. “Or who at least try to.”

Violet hums, eyes trained back on the painted blade above them. “Effort and intention are important factors.” She catches his head shaking out of the corner of her eye.

“Incredibly.” His voice is warm, the gruffness turning almost seductive. “You also cannot discount the appeal of a blade strapped to a woman's thigh, only to be glimpsed in the most fleeting of moments as she walks or dances…” Her eyes return to his, and she feels smothered in them, like coals of a raging fire. “...captivating.”

Somehow, his gaze is simultaneously too much and not enough, leaving Violet swaying in the aftermath, unsure if she should draw closer or flee whilst she still remembers how. She indulges, taking a step up to him, eyes narrowing. “Riorson, if I didn't know any better, I might think you’ve been captivated by me.”

“Good thing you know better.” He lifts a brow and dips his head, as if deferring to her wisdom.

Violet worries she might lose her balance, her muscles are all so entirely focused on remaining still, she isn't sure they’d remember how to stay upright. She lifts her chin, drawing their faces infinitesimally closer, yet the change in his breathing makes it seem like she had bridged a great distance between their bodies.

He draws his lower lip into his mouth, biting the flesh and leaving an indent. She wants to lick it away. “Be careful, Miss Sorrengail,” his voice drops impossibly deeper, “don’t fall for the treacherous Duke.”

Violet scoffs, her body pushes away from his with the motion. “Don't flatter yourself.”

Though her heart stutters, frightened that she has been too transparent with how much he intrigues her. Frightened, her traitorous thoughts had been visible in her expression. Part of her feels off kilter at his words, his warning, as if he had not been flirting with her, pulling her into his orbit. Though maybe this was his way of warning her that’s all it is, a flirtation, a lustful infatuation, she herself is sure it's nothing more. Only an attraction, that's all it could be.

But then he spoke of art, of liking powerful women, and she had felt like maybe it was more. If nothing else, an unexpected kinship, a friendship of sorts.

She blamed the sensation and the train of thought on the wine. He still stands closer to her than he should, his body bent toward hers, like grass bowing to the wind.

“Xaden!” Garrick’s voice echoes through the gallery as he strides in. “Oh, and Miss Violet.” He steps up to them, bowing slightly to Violet and then turning to the Duke. “The party has moved to the garden, and we need to discuss your plans for the week. Imogen and I were wondering about the meeting regarding Lieutenant Aisereigh.”

Violet looks behind him as Bohdi steps into the gallery, arms spread wide. “Cousin!” He's grinning as he catches sight of her. “And the Flower, Miss Violet,” stepping up to her to brush a kiss against the back of her hand. Violet smiles at the nickname, thinking of Ridoc, her only friend who calls her Flower.

Garrick has a tight, if not slightly amused, smile on his face as he observes the scene. The Duke looks pained, still pinching his nose in thought from when Garrick had spoken to him. Captain Tavis leans toward him and speaks again, this time in a more hushed tone, as the Marquis asks Violet how she enjoyed dinner. She's too distracted to pay much attention to the men conversing beside her.

“It's not even that late, we could grab a bottle or something. We can join the rest in the garden.” Bohdi smiles at her with the offer, gesturing to the garden through the window. She turns to the glass to find the Duke studying her, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

Violet sighs deeply, a sharpness twisting in her chest, a ringing in her ears.

“No, thank you, I depart early tomorrow, I must rest.” She bids them goodnight and hopes the way she strides down the hall is confident, but she’s sure it looks like she’s fleeing. His voice chases her, as it has for months.

“Let Liam walk you.” She spins, ready to argue the demand. “Please.” His face had softened. Bodhi’s brows raise as he studies his cousin, and she can tell he’s compromising, so she does as well.

“Fine. Goodnight, Your Grace, My Lord, Captain.” She nods her head to each and strides off to find Liam.

Chapter Text

The journey back to Basgiath is much less pleasant without her friends. She longs for their company on the quiet country roads and in the sleepy villages where they stop along the way. At least she has Andarna. The puppy rests at her feet in the carriage, or sprawls across the bench, leaving Violet no room, or simply uses Violet as a seat, leaving them in a tangle of skirts, limbs, and fur. Violet adores it.

She is so grateful for the pup wiggling her way into Violet’s life, despite the circumstances of their meeting. Violet is sure Andarna has done more for her than she could ever repay or quantify.

When she arrives at their home in Basgiath, late, a few days after departing Aretia, it is dark and quiet. Her mother is likely still not back from whatever side quest she had run away on. Violet aches from the travel, having sat for days, only stretching her legs intermittently, and sorely missing Mira’s attentive massages. She speaks to Jameson, the head of the household staff, about making Andarna comfortable. Then, barely stripping and preparing for bed, Violet passes out in a heap on her pillows.

The first couple days in Basgiath are slow; she settles back in, returns to some of her routines, and coordinates meetings with the council. Her mother arrives late on the second day home, and they have a very silent dinner together, her mother reading reports from the front. Violet misses mornings riding Tarin and tries not to think too hard about the fact that she would need to always live near the Duke in order to maintain that routine.

When she does go to meet with the council, she is stricken by how bizarre it all feels after spending so many months in Tyrrendor. The room is dark and cold, and yet somehow still thick with smoke. She’s wearing more layers of skirts than she has in weeks, for something other than a ball at least. Violet has to focus on not fidgeting and adjusting too much, as she knows it will raise commentary from the council. Halden had scolded her for it enough times, and she has no interest in eliciting any such reaction from these men.

They drone on and on about discretion and how they were close to discerning the missives; they just needed Asher Sorrengail’s code library to crack the final bit. Something that only exists in Violet's head. Something she’s never told them is that half of it was developed by her, and an encoded copy does exist in her father's library, but only she and maybe Mira would be able to read it.

Finally, Melgren slides a stack of papers to her as her mother enters. Violet shoots her a glare for abandoning her with the council for what felt like hours. She begins her work as the council continues to discuss current events. Keeping one ear tuned to their discussion, she breaks apart and rewrites the missives.

After that meeting, she is assigned more missives to crack, many of which seem to originate from Poromiel. They do not want her to remove them from the council chamber, so she glances over them, memorizing what she can. She’ll need to do some research and potentially bring some books to reference for when she returns.

So Violet’s afternoons are spent in her father's library, something she likely would have done, coded missives or not. The room is almost exactly as she remembers it. Sunlight streaming in through the window, the smell of ink and paper. Except now there is a tired golden brown collie puppy curled at the foot of her favorite armchair. Andarna makes the hours spent researching much more enjoyable; she is also good at reminding Violet to stretch and eat. One might think she was Violet’s caretaker, not the other way around.

A week of mornings with the council and afternoons in the library passed, and Violet was still no closer to figuring out what is truly going on around her. It felt like she was circling the truth, with each turn winding ever closer.

Over the past week, she had translated missives about crop bounty, foreign military structure, a religious movement in the Barrens, and the Poromish line of succession. She knew there must be a binding thread, but for the life of her, she could not find it. When she found Cat and Syrena's names in the one regarding Poromiel, she had told her mother she met them, that they were in attendance for some of the Tyrrish events. Lilith conveyed that she suspected as much, but that it wasn't something they needed to discuss with the council. Not for the first time, Violet wondered what angle her mother was working, certain that it was her own, not the council’s.

After a morning with the council, where Violet stayed late to finish a translation, she strolls down the hall in search of her mother. As she passes a slightly open door, she catches the Duke’s name and slows, her curiosity drawing her close to the doorway.

“...and why exactly he was so adamant I can't imagine.” The voice is gruff and low; it sounds like General Megren. Violet should certainly not be spying on this conversation; she presses closer, keeping her eyes trained on scanning the hallway.

“It’s not even like he has a wife yet, who is he trying to impress?” Another deep voice, one that once brought her comfort, continued, General Aetos, Dain’s father. “But maybe he has his eye on someone. I pity the woman who has to marry that horrible brute of a man.”

“More than likely, he truly believes women are equal; his father certainly did. Tyrs and their customs are so…” Her old mentor, Markham, the lead researcher at the archives, spoke, and she felt a wave of frustration that someone tasked with preservation would show such bias, a man who had told her she was his star pupil. Hypocrite.

“They’re disgusting. Remember those two female generals who fought in the rebellion, who claimed to be married." Melgren again, he scoffs, and Violet’s skin buzzes with rage as she suppresses the urge to barge in and slap him.

“They're almost as bad as Poromiel. Why didn't we just let them go, get their horrid customs away from us and our people?” A sigh, one she had heard for years while she studied at Basgiath, Markham scolded the other man. “They are our people, Aetos, lest you forget.”

“Barely.”

“We should have him marry one of ours, keep an eye on him.”

“That is the King’s plan; the question is who.” Violet’s hand flies to her mouth at Melgren’s words, swallowing the gasp she almost releases.

“One of the Sorrengail girls would certainly keep him in line.” Her old mentor offering her or her sister to a man he had just insulted made her stomach turn, despite knowing their opinion of the Duke was false.

“But politically, how could we possibly convince him of that. We need someone less obvious, more aristocratic.” Speaking as if her life were just another battle plan, Violet's body buzzes with energy. Aetos chuckles, and it chills her to the bone. “I don’t know…Dain told me Duke Riorson has shown a special interest in—”

There’s the sound of footsteps, and Violet quickly steps away from the door, taking steps backward until she hears the hinge of the door squeak, and she quickly switches to take a step forward as if she was coming from the hall behind her and hadn't yet passed the door where they were meeting.

“Mistress Sorrengail.” General Melgren greets her as he peers into the hall.

“Hello, General, I’m searching for my mother. Do you happen to know where she disappeared to?” She’s directed to the library. Violet smiles, curtsies, and takes her leave, praying they don't suspect she overheard.

The conversation plays in her mind over the next few days, each time drawing different emotions. She felt a bit betrayed by the men tasked with her care, frustrated at her situation, and outraged by their bigotry. Violet also felt quite a few things she wasn't sure how to name in regard to the prospect of her being married to the Duke; she especially didn't want to dissect the feeling she had about someone else marrying him, least of all Mira.

She instead focuses on the missives. They're confusing, and she wonders how much the council was attempting to control what she had access to, or any of the other code-breakers, for that matter.

What she does gather is that some of the information must be troop movements, they’re disguised within information about trading routes, but one does not typically need to know how many carriages are in a caravan when discussing the summer markets in Poromiel. She also figures that the missives out of the Barrens are the ones they're most desperate for, despite trying to conceal that fact by burying them amongst others with utterly useless information.

The sun is high in the sky, and her eyes swim with letters, practically flying off the pages. She’s read stories of Poromiel’s founding, legends of the ‘great prophet’ Venin of the barrens, children's myths of dragons and magic, and an analysis of Tyrrish architecture. Nothing that assisted her at all in her quest to understand the messages she’d been tasked with cracking.

Her mother had let Dain in when he came to call earlier, not knowing or caring that they weren't exactly on the best of terms. They sat in silence across the table from each other. Despite being annoyed with him, as their last interaction had not gone well, she still felt a sense of companionship having him at her side in a place they spent so much of their childhood.

It brought back memories of them younger in this room, of them poring over textbooks in Old Lucerish. Preparing quizzes for her father, a game they played, trying to stump him. She thought of the secret language they developed. Her first written code, which only became more complex as they got older, a code they used to communicate when their parents were stationed apart, one even her dad couldn't crack. It was based on Old Lucerish, very loosely, relying on other symbols and runic-based languages, along with a rotating cipher only she and Dain knew the key to.

“This is nice.” Violet looks up and quirks a brow at him. “Spending time with you, not fighting.” He almost looks bashful as he says it, and it conjures an image of ten-year-old Dain in her mind, softening her heart.

“Yes, it is nice.” She offers him a tentative smile. They fall back into companionable silence, only the sound of turning pages, rustling fabric, and Andarna’s scuffling filling the room.

Dain is the one to break it again. “I’m just looking out for you, I don't know what the Council is up to, but something else is going on here Vi.”

Violet takes a long moment to study him before she replies. “I know,” she nods, “but Dain, by telling me what to do, without listening to me, you're doing the same as they are. Yes, your intentions are different, but I don't like it all the same.” She thinks of his father's words she’d overheard the other day. That Dain was reporting on her, she supposes it was more about the Duke's interest in her, not a salacious implication of her own feelings. Not that she had any, feelings, that is. But still. It felt like a violation, even though she knew objectively it was much more complicated, as she was essentially doing the same to the Duke. It made her chest ache, and she felt dizzy with the contradiction.

His finger taps against the page of the book in front of him, and he chews his lip. Violet used to know all his tells, but now, looking back at him, she has no clue what he's thinking. He nods.

“I can see how my intentions didn't reflect my actions. I never want to hurt you, Violet. I’ll try to approach things differently next time.” Leaning back in his chair, he holds her gaze, and she takes it as a promise. The silence between them lightens after that, filling with chatter, occasionally comparing notes, and passing the afternoon deep in texts of long-dead languages.

Spending time in the library did enlighten some aspects of the missives she was working on. She found that some of the terms and phrases she hadn’t recognized in her translations were phrases from the religion in the Barrens, Veninism. It also became clear that some of the information she was decoding referred to Poromiel’s troop movements on their opposite border, something she couldn't wrap her head around, Navarre’s interest in. She understood that it was something they should keep an eye on, especially if some of their spying also concerned the Barrens. But why was it such a priority, so important that they sent for her from 2 provinces away? So important that they implied they are developing a system for her work to continue when she returns to Aretia. The books did not reveal what else her father knew, what else he had done for the King, or what her mother and Mira knew, which were perhaps the most desperate of her questions.

She thinks of Syrena’s words all those nights ago about Poromiel having more than one border, of Drake being called to the front. She almost can't bear the implications but considers them nonetheless.

The night before she is due to return to Aretia, her mother insists they dine at the palace; more than likely, the King insists they dine at the palace. So, Violet sits, wrapped in layers of fabric, a guilt cage that barely lets her breathe, let alone move.

“You look lovely tonight, Violet.” She almost laughs, of course she was to be seated next to him. He settles in the plush chair beside her, and she cuts her eyes to the Prince as she accepts the praise.

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, and it makes her mouth taste bitter. The king is seated across from them, and he draws her into small talk about the kingdom, giving her a perfect excuse to ignore his son.

During the first course, he finds another opening, the King drawn into a hushed conversation with her mother. “I’m sure it’s been desolate without me.” Halden leans close to her as he speaks, as if they are confidants. “But you should not despair, I will be joining you in Aretia for the fall season.”

She nearly does despair at the thought of his presence in Aretia, a place she had somehow come to categorize as safe. Something Halden hadn’t been for her in years. “I can barely contain my excitement.” She twirls her fork, still refusing to look directly at him as she says it.

Halden's face twists in frustration for a moment, but Violet doesn't see. “How has that wit of yours been working on the Tyrrish men?” He also scoffs with the question, clearly rhetorical. She clenches her fist. “I should think quite well, considering they are equally as outspoken.”

“Don’t act as if you do not like my wit, I know how convenient it is to pretend now, but I know at one time you were quite enraptured. Brief as it may have been.” Violet waves a hand as if dismissing him, bored with the direction of the conversation.

Halden's demeanor seems to shift, his voice softer when he speaks again. “Vi, how long until you forgive me?”

She releases a long breath before gathering the words to reply. “Just because I’ve forgiven you doesn’t mean I want you back, or for things to return to as they were.” She finally looks at him and can't help but appreciate how handsome he looks tonight. The observation oddly strengthens her resolve. “I know I don't exactly let you forget, especially when we argue. But it's fine, Halden, you're forgiven. Now, if you want my trust, that is something you have to earn all over again.”

His emerald green eyes hold her own. She hopes he can read the honesty in them; he must, because he finally gives a slow nod. “Understood, Vi.”

She’s not sure she's ever been so grateful to hear the King’s voice when he interrupts them then. “Tell us of the season, Violet, what is Aretia like? A shell of a city, I'm sure.” There's a smug smile on the King's lips, she can't help but think that it doesn't suit him.

She knows she needs to strike a balance with her response. Halden has been recently, so he knows the King’s assumption isn't true. “I was surprised it wasn't more destroyed, but it is certainly quaint.” She sips her wine. “Really, city is a generous term.”

“Researcher Neilwart did mention, in her missive that is, how oddly recovered Aretia is from the war, considering they only just regained their power.” Her old mentor speaks up from the other side of the table, and Violet has to restrain the grimace she wants to make, because that, too, had been her first thought upon seeing Aretia. It was surely why Masen had always been so protective of where they wandered. Violet gives a noncommittal nod. “Yes, the manors and certain other parts are quite rebuilt, others still in rubble. It is certainly a reconstructive feat, though maybe speaks more to their priorities rather than anything untoward.” She shrugs as if utterly unconcerned with the implications. “They do have some lovely shopping, it's all an open-air market though.” She scunches her nose in derision as if it weren't one of her favorite places in the city. “I wouldn't exactly call that metropolitan.”

The men guffaw, and Violet hates the feeling of success that washes over her. She effectively minimized herself and Tyrrendor with just a few comments, a diversion she hopes is for the best.

Violet survives the night, her body aches, and she thinks she might collapse under the weight of holding up her own limbs and keeping still all night. But she survives, thinking longingly of the casual way she had dined in Riorson house. Sitting with her legs crossed on her lap beneath the table, that last night before her departure. She blames the sentiment on exhaustion-induced psychosis.

Violet reads most of the journey back to Aretia, having stolen as many books from her father's library as she thought reasonable. So by typical standards, an utterly unreasonable amount. The caravan includes Dain and Halden this time, so the guard is doubled, and her company is less pleasant. Admittedly, she’s able to avoid the Prince mostly, and Dain is happy to ride in companionable silence with her since the other day. She feels grateful they have regained an equilibrium, as he’s one of her oldest friends.

In a few days of travel, they reach Aretia. Violet doesn’t want to ponder the weight that seems to lift from her chest when they reach the Sanborn manor. She absolutely does not want to reflect on the deep exhale she releases and the tension that leaves her shoulders.

After the manor, her second stop is the library in Riorson house. It had quickly become her favorite place in Aretia. Ridoc smiles at her across the table as they study. The term for the next year won’t start for another couple of weeks, and there’s one final summer ball to be held at the Marquis's estate before classes resume. Violet will join her friends there in a couple of days with the rest of the folks who were in Areteia for the recently adjourned summer court.

She wanted Ridoc’s advice about what she had overheard about arranged marriages, despite his ideas often leaning toward absurdity, he had a knack for reading people and situations. Violet is still trying to find a way to talk about it without revealing too much when Bodhi passes, Sloane on his arm. He smiles at the sight of Violet and gives a friendly wave. Sloane inclines her head, not quite in greeting, but more of an acknowledgement than she would've previously expected from the girl.

“Glad to see you’re back, Sorrengail. Gamlyn.” He nods at Ridoc, seems to hesitate for a moment before Slone squeezes his arm, and the two continue out of the library.

She taps her fingertip against the open page in front of her, and she observes them exit. “Flower, you've certainly gotten close with the Tyrs.” Violet shoots him a startled glance, and he immediately lifts his hands in a universal show of not meaning harm. She scolds herself for responding as if it were an attack. Her shoulders rise noncommittally, “I suppose, some of them at least.”

Ridoc nods, humming in thought. “So just the pretty ones then?” Violet chuckles, shooting him a playful glare. “They're all pretty, it’s rather obscene.”

The man nods sagely as if he, too, had come to this painful conclusion. He tilts his chin toward the door, signifying he is referring to the departed Marquis. “But he's absolutely gorgeous.” His eyes drift back to her face. “As is his cousin.”

Violet ignores the warmth on her cheeks, instead asking Ridoc a question about the text in front of her. They return to studying until Violet must return to the manor. As they go to leave, they see Liam in the doorway and Violet can’t help but smile at the blonde man, he returns it in his open, kind way.

They walk to join him. “Speaking of gorgeous.” Ridoc’s voice is low, but Violet elbows him all the same. So used to that form of scolding, Rodic barely flinches, smiling through the jab and bidding the two farewell before continuing to the classrooms in the academic corridor.

Violet smiles in greeting. “I almost forgot what it was like to have a shadow.” Liam’s laugh is quick and warm in reply, returning the rib, then inquiring about her trip. The two make their way through the building, Violet hoping to say hello to Tarin before returning to the Sanborns’.

The pair goes to turn from the Great Room into a hallway when Violet catches sight of a Basgiath royal guard turning the corner. She quickly tugs Liam’s arm and throws them behind the pillars lining the room, some potted plants placed around them further obfuscating them from view. Liam raises a brow at her, an amused smile pulling at his lips. “Violet, if you wanted to manhandle me, you just had to ask.” His hand cups her elbow as she tries to tuck her body into itself and bend behind the pillar. It’s calming, and she knows he’s not truly trying to take advantage; she raps his chest with the back of her hand. “I know, but this time I just would like to avoid an interaction with the Prince.”

The guard she had spotted was close enough that they could hear his footsteps, and his companions'. Violet hushes, Liam falls silent, wry smile still in place as he studies her.

She hears Halden's voice as he jokes with his guard about the state of the Duke’s home. Violet rolls her eyes, knowing for a fact it is a nicer place to be than much of the Palace.

When the voices recede, she slumps, not realizing how tense she had been. “And why, pray tell, are we hiding from the Navareian prince?” Liam’s voice is soft, but teasing.

“He’s an ass,” Violet speaks without thinking, having become so comfortable with the blonde. He nods, “Yes, I know, but why are you hiding from him?”

She’s about to answer when they hear voices again. Too close. If they emerge now, it might appear as if something improper was happening between them, which it was not. She meets his eyes with panic, his gaze sharpens, and he shakes his head slightly, tucking her close to him again.

Violet needs to stop finding herself eavesdropping; it's becoming far too much of a habit, and one day she's sure she'll pay for it. Considering Liam is at her side today, pressed behind the pillar, she worries that day is coming for her sooner than she would like.

“...my Cat, certainly, was hurt by your decision, but I can sway her pride if you are willing to reconsider.” She doesn't recognize the voice, but Liam seems to; his expression is livid, his hand flexing against her arm.

A scoff. “Why would I reconsider? What has changed to make me?” That voice sends a delicious shiver up her spine, and she hates that she is so happy to hear it after just a couple of weeks.

“Now, your Grace, I understand that you were young and struggling with whether or not to honor a contract your father made, but come now. You have surely matured and know that this is the best course of action.” The condescension in the other voice sets Violet on edge; she feels indignant at the tone on the Duke’s behalf.

“If you think that will convince me, Tecarus, you clearly have misused your time getting to know me.” She shouldn’t be surprised that the man is Cat’s uncle, still trying to weasel a deal out of Tyrrendor. For what, she’s still not quite sure.

“Well, I’ve heard the King of Navarre plans to make a decision for you if you don't make one yourself soon. To have a wife selected by a King, what an honor.” His tone makes it clear he thinks it’s anything but. Liam glares sharply at her, and she grimaces, realizing her lack of surprise gave her away. “One of those women from Basgiath was sent to seduce you, uncover all your secrets.” At this, Violet jerks her head back in shock. One? She had heard the council discussing the possibility, but Lilth hadn't given any of them that particular assignment for this mission. Liam’s hands are tight on her biceps.

“Well, they’ve had an odd way of doing it, if that is the case.” She almost snorts and reveals them, thinking of her first interactions with the Duke. Odd indeed. His voice recedes as she hears his next words. “Which one?” They are too far for her to hear anything else, a sense of dread clawing at her throat.

She isn’t able to talk to Liam about what they heard, as soon as they step back into the hall, so does Imogen. Despite having spent plenty of time alone with Liam, it suddenly seemed lacking in the days leading to the Marquis’s ball, and there wasn’t a moment to spare to convince him she wasn’t the enemy. Well. She was, but she didn’t want to be, and she was still having a hard time reconciling it all. So maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t able to have a moment alone with him, as she wasn't sure what she would say given the opportunity.

By the time they arrive at the Durran Estate, she has been away for nearly four weeks, so when Rhiannon wraps her in her arms, Violet is sure it's the first time she's breathed freely in as many days.

“God, I missed you, Rhi.” She breathes the words into the braids against the back of her friend’s neck. “And I, you. God Vi, why do you keep leaving us? It's always so miserable without you.”

There's a flurry of greetings and hurried updates, arms wrapped around shoulders, and kisses brushed against cheeks. Violet is showered in their attention as they guide her to her rooms. Mira tucks her arm through her sister’s, taking on some of her weight, and Violet is so grateful to be around people she needn’t explain herself to.

She rides Tarin the next morning, though not for long, as her body still aches. The afternoon finds Violet sitting on the floor in only her corset and a shift, her feet bare, and a bowl of berries in her lap. Rhiannon is sprawled on the bed above her, in a similar state of undress, catching berries in her mouth as Violet tosses them above their heads. They are laughing and writhing and nearly choking on their silliness. Reagan is trying on a series of increasingly scandalous brasiers, strutting around the room in just them and her tights, asking the other women’s opinions. Jesinia is using a ranking system that involves a thumbs up and down, as well as the sign for murder, and an odd finger wiggle that has no meaning Violet is aware of. Mira’s hair is pinned slick against her head, and she throws daggers at the wall opposite where the women lounge. She took down a painting and scribbled a bullseye on the wall with Reagan's lipstick. Mira has good enough aim that Bodhi hopefully won't find out until someone decides to swap the painting, and considering the discoloration of the wallpaper around it, that won't be anytime soon.

Sun filters in, warming Violet's toes as they wiggle in a sunbeam that covers her legs. She knew she had missed these women, but she forgot how incomplete it felt to be in Basgiath without them. How incomplete she felt, not able to be herself around anyone for weeks on end. This was her family, as they played, chatted, and danced around the room, she breathed it all in, attempting to bottle the warmth of the moment. To tuck it deep in her chest.

Raegan pops open a bottle of champagne with a shriek and a giggle while Violet and Rhiannon exchange knowing smiles. Loving this version of Rae, who is sure to draw attention all night. She sips straight from the bottle, head tilted back, neck long, and Violet thinks how breathtaking the twins are. Rae struts to Mira, and with a practiced motion, reaches a single finger to tilt the other woman’s head back and pour her mouth full of sparkling wine. The room devolves, Mira abandons her dagger-decorated target, Jesinia joins Rhiannon on the bed, and the bottle makes its rounds amongst the women.

Violet feels full and sated, like all the intrigue and politics of court are a lifetime away. Her world narrows to these four women, their breathing, their laughter, and the warmth of their skin so close to hers once more.

“Any interesting news from the capital, Vi?” Rhi breaks the illusion, but Violet can’t fault her. “If you classify Halden attempting to win me over as news.” This earns a series of derisive sounds from the women around her.

“It would only be news if he were truly apologetic. Or if he grovelled, I missed the one time he did.” Mira stares longingly out the windows. “I would have loved to see it.”

Rhiannon nods, “It was quite the performance. If he wants to quit the whole prince thing, I’m sure he could have a career as a stage actor.” Jesinia swats her friend's chest.

Quit? You mean abdicate to be an actor? The king would have a kiniption.She rolls her eyes as she signs it.

Raegan curls on the floor next to Violet, handing the bottle off to Mira and resting her head in the younger woman’s lap. Violet's hand mindlessly goes to play with her friend's curls, hovering a moment before Raegan nods her assent. A smirk stretches over her face, and she reaches her hands in the air above her to sign as she speaks. “It’s not like you want to be queen, but a proposal would be a nice apology.” Mira pinches her friend’s ankle, and Raegan squeals.

“You’re right, I certainly don’t want to be the queen to Halden's king.” She pokes her cheek in retaliation, and they giggle. “Why the interest in marriage?” She turns to the others. “Did I miss any proposals or grand love stories in my absence?”

“Well, Liam is always quick to find Jesinia’s side, but he also flirts equally as hard with the Marquis’ grandmother, so it’s hard to say.” This time it’s a flick against her forehead, and Rhiannon recoils, exclaiming her outrage. Jesinia blows her a kiss, and the other grumbles a hesitant forgiveness.

Violet weighs her next words. “Would any of you want to get married on this trip?”

Reagan jerks up to sit, lightly kicking Mira in the chest, and waving her arms excitedly. “Oh, please! It would make all my wildest dreams come true.” She grasps Violet's hands in her own. “And I see how much you enjoy it here, it’s so easy to fall in love with this province.” Her eyes dance to each of the women around her. “And the men are so nice to look at.” She waggles her eyebrows, and Violet groans.

“Not you, too.” Reagan gives her a searching look, but before she can ask Violet to elaborate, Rhiannon cuts in.

“Might as well try, because I honestly think our job here is pointless. The only thing it seems like they're working towards is to regain the power their parents lost. Which isn't exactly surprising. And the only other things we’ve discovered that could be reported are how much they preserve Tyrrish culture, but that's not exactly a plot to overthrow the king.” Rhi shrugs her shoulders, waving her hand as she finishes signing.

Jesinia studies her friends, hands fluttering clearly searching for the words she wants to sign. After a beat, she does. Do you think the preservation is truly harmless?

Violet chews her lip. She doesn’t, not really, she thinks it’s likely the Tyrrish people still hope for independence. The question is whether they believe there is an active insurgency.

She’s tired of feeling this way, resents being caught in the middle of a conflict she’s not even given the privilege to fully understand. She also can’t quite pinpoint it yet, but a part of her might just be angry at herself for falling so hard for the province and their culture. For the sick sliver of her wanting to defend it. Defend him.

Finally, she speaks, all the women around her also thinking over the question. “I think it is and it isn’t. I think right now there likely isn’t a strong rebellion, but I also think the preservation speaks to a Tyrrish pride that will likely never bend, never assimilate to Navarre. To them, they have already lost so much, and they do not wish to lose more.” Mira is studying her, categorizing every feature on Violet's face, and then inspecting it again. She second-guesses herself, her heart pounding against her breast. Mira finally gives her a slow nod.

“The question is, do we think it's worth instigating a war over?” Mira’s voice is quiet and wretched as she asks it. Violet wonders how long she’s had those words on the tip of her tongue.

They are, of course, late to the party. When they enter, there’s a hush that almost immediately descends into chatter, which sets Violet's teeth on edge.

“We can’t control the gossips. Breath, and hopefully we can exploit them by the end of the night.” Mira leans into her neck to give the advice. Pressing their bodies together where their arms are linked. Violet squeezes her sister's bicep and gives a quick nod.

She sweeps her gaze across the room, and despite barely speaking in weeks, she immediately finds his eyes. She wished she’d misremembered how handsome he is, and she had in a way, he was more striking than her memories ever could’ve documented. Sharper in a way that only reality is, for memory often dulls pain, minimizes it. And he is devastating. He stands tall, eyes easily above most heads in the room, tousled charcoal waves framing his face. His lips, a bitten plum. She hates him for a moment.

He blinks, and tears his eyes from hers, the thread connecting them snaps, leaving her swaying. After a couple of hours of painful rounds, Violet finally catches sight of another lounge chair like the one at the Duke’s ball, and she nearly moans obscenely when she sinks into it. She considers for a moment curling up on her side and taking a quick nap; the corner is well-shadowed, and she might just get away with it. Then she catches sight of Halden across the room and knows the risk isn't worth the reward. Still, she sinks lower into the cushion, attempting to at least hide as much as possible.

She sips her drink and people watches for a while, enjoying the warmth of the room and the plush fabric surrounding her. Violet’s eyes are drawn to the Tyrrish nobles in the room, it's a fascination she hasn't been able to shake, assignment or no.

Much like the last time she tucked herself into a chair like this, Bodhi eventually finds her, bringing a fresh drink and a smile. “Enjoying the view?” He sits beside her, like before, invading her personal space and tucking himself between her body and the chair’s divide. She doesn't mind.

“Less so now that you’re no longer in it.” He shoots her a smirk that reminds her painfully of the man who has been cold to her all night.

“It's funny, I hadn't sat in one of these chairs since I was a kid until that night at the ball at Xaden’s. I'd almost forgotten we had some here.” Violet marvels at the Duke’s given name, the way his friends and family so easily let it roll off their tongues. She is envious; she wants to taste it.

Her eyes dart around the room, hazy with her own thoughts. “Do you not frequent your own gathering room?” Violet’s smile is wry as she teases him, but Bodhi looks into the distance, thoughtful.

“I do, but this chair isn't usually here; they're in one of the gallery halls upstairs, Xaden’s favorite. No Gentileschis,” he turns to her, “so sorry about that, Flower, but some Reids and Cronins, a couple Bretons.” His smile is welcoming, and she marvels at his attention to her. “But for the ball, Xaden was insistent that I have at least one chair moved down here.”

“Today?” A nod in response, Violet holds the Marquis’s eyes for a moment before choosing her next words. “Does the chair that was at the Duke’s ball typically live somewhere else as well?” He simply nods again, a sense of mischief flickering across his face so quickly she might’ve imagined it.

Mira wanders over, Rhiannon on her arm. The brown skinned woman sits on the other side of the chair, facing Bodhi and offering him a kind greeting. The two chat as Mira draws close to her sister.

“Miss. Sorrengail?”

Violet looks up to find Drake Cordella bowing to her sister. He’s taller than she remembered, standing next to Mira, her sister’s head just reaches his chin. Though her glare alone practically gives her a couple more inches.

“I would like to apologize.” Violet’s brows shoot up. “I do not have any sisters, but for all intents and purposes, if any man had threatened Syrena or Cat with his actions, the way I did to your Violet, I would like to do what you did to me, and more.” He glances at Violet, giving her an apologetic nod, which she returns with a smile. The captain looks back to Mira, whose glare pierces like knifepoints. He is not dissuaded, for he has too many scars from blades to flinch. “So thank you for not decapitating me, but I am sorry for not responding more civilly in the moment of our meeting.”

“Were you coached?” Mira's eyes blaze, and Violet can't help but chuckle at her sister’s inability to accept an apology. Mira is not gracious. Drake seems to find the same amusement as Violet.

He tilts his head, a boyish smile tugging at his lips. “It was suggested to me that I make an effort to be more gentlemanly, though I would have wanted to apologize and speak to you again regardless.”

Mira gives an unladylike snort, crossing her arms across her chest. “Yes, your cousin did warn that my actions may have endeared me to you, which I would like to assure you was not my intention.”

His eyes sweep across her sister’s body, and Violet flushes just watching, he hums. “I can assure you, Miss Sorrengail,” he leans into her space, “I do not find you endearing.” Mira opens her mouth as if to rebut, but before she can, he bows his head and lifts a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Mira turns to her sister, bewildered and frustrated, mouthing What the f—?

Language Violet mouths back, with a playful glare and an eyeroll. Raising her hands and flicking them in a shooing motion, clearly telling her to hurry up and dance with him.

Violet watches her sister with half her attention, the rest on Bodhi and Rhiannon, laughing and teasing along with their conversation. So wrapped in it, she doesn't notice his approach until Rhiannon bows her head and mutters "Your Highness" with a murderous glare.

A tight smile rests on Halden's lips when Violet turns to look at him. "Rhiannon, always a pleasure, Durran." He gives them each a nod before offering Violet his hand. "Vi?" She feels none of the giddy excitement she had when she watched Drake offer her sister the same a few minutes before. She acquiesces, taking his hand, and she steps onto the dance floor with the Prince.

“My father likes having you home, you know.” He pauses, giving her a sidelong glance. She's impressed he waited an entire revolution of the room before speaking. “You were always his favorite.” The pride that fills her brings another emotion with it that she refuses to address. Her skin suddenly feels warm and flushed, prickling at her neck. “He even told me to make up with you, see if you would marry me, or Cam.” He’s watching her now, eyes trained on her face, searching for any sort of reaction.

“Then why did he send me here?” She can’t directly engage with the statement, or she might crumble, collapse right here in the middle of a ball. She nudges his shoulder, signaling she wants to stray away from the center of the room. Despite all the time between them, he recognizes her nonverbal plea.

“A choice he's grown to regret.” Violet wonders if there's more to it than Halden is making it seem as he draws them toward the edge of the dancing.

Her skin tingles, the back of her neck tensing. “I know your father likes me, but I can’t imagine he wants me to be queen. Was the emphasis of this request on the Cam option? Where is the young prince, by the way? My potential husband, I do miss him dearly.” It’s only then that she senses him, the smell of leather and fresh peppermint, like the leaves crushed under bare feet after rain.

“Mistress Sorrengail,” he inclines his head to her, hands remaining braced behind his back. “Your Grace.” She curtsies, eyeing the tension in his jaw, wondering how long he had been behind her before stepping around to greet them.

Halden looks a little surprised at the interaction, then clicks his teeth like he’s just remembered something. “That’s right, you have met, how convenient.”

“Yes, Sorrengail and I are acquainted.” The Duke turns to her, meeting her eyes for the first time since before she left for Basgiath. “I didn’t realize you were back in the market for a husband.” His gaze is heavy, his eyes narrow as he continues. “Though it seems more likely that I was misled and you were never uninterested.”

Violet’s lips part, desperate to reply but not sure how, Halden doesn't give her the opportunity to figure it out. “What are you talking about, Riorson? Of course, Violet is looking for a husband; aren't all unmarried women?”

She isn’t quick enough to stifle the glare she shoots at the prince. And when her eyes flick back to the Duke, she thinks there's the ghost of the smirk she had grown accustomed to on his face. His eyes dart over her, and her skin feels hot from his gaze, as if his hands are running over her instead.

“Aetos! Good to see you.” Dain walks up to the group, the Prince having called him over, but he looks reluctant. Violet doesn’t notice as she is still stuck in the onyx whirlpools rushing over her.

The Duke tilts his head, and Violet hears the drone of the other men beside her chatting. “So the woman I know is still in there.” She’s not sure what the comment means. “What parts of you were real Violence?” For a moment, there is a flash of something else in his eyes, something that feels like a dagger in her chest.

She opens her mouth to speak, closing it again before finally wrangling the words. “I never lied about who I was. And I swear, I didn’t know who you were until Bodhi said your name that day on the stairs." She's not sure if it's the right thing to say, and she's worried it's not enough. Worried she might just drown in the crashing rage of his dark gaze.

“…don’t you think Violet?” She whips her head to the side, so forcefully because she could swear there was a physical thread between her eyes and the Duke’s.

She stammers a moment, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, think about what exactly?” Halden frowns in irritation, and Dian shoots him a look, the familiarity of the dynamic drawing her back to the present.

She glances back to catch the Duke's eyes again, but she only spies his retreating form as he weaves his way through the crowd.

Violet hates that it hurts as much as it does, and she wonders if he believes her.

She needs to leave the hall; the candle smoke feels stifling, the press of bodies around her even more so. She moves toward the wall, hoping to follow it around the room and to the door without incident. Violet thought before that her eavesdropping luck was up when she and Liam overheard the Duke, but now she was certain. She was cursed.

“Why are we even entertaining this anymore, Xaden? You have all the confirmation we could need at this point. Send. Them. Home.” Imogen’s voice was on the other side of the candelabra Violet was attempting to navigate behind. She desperately wished she could force her body to keep going. She did, but not before hesitating.

“Not your call Im.” Violet is certain his voice will haunt her until the day she dies.

“What about little Sorrengail?”

“As I said, leave her to me.”

She leaves the voices behind, praying they don’t see as she flies to the door.

Her face is red, her eyes and nose especially, but she won't cry, she can’t. She also can’t breathe, it feels like the walls are closing in, and she might just fall down the stairs. So she sits, gown pooling around her, fingers tangled in the fabric, focusing solely on filling her lungs with air.

She’s so sick of her world revolving around political games, of her life not being her own. And she's angry that the same is true for so many people she cares about. Her side hurts, like she's being stabbed between the ribs.

Centering her breath, she looks up at the painting at the top of the stairs. It depicts a woman stepping away from the surf of the sea. She carries a baby in one arm, tugging a toddler along with the other. The whole scene is soft and hazy, the woman’s body as strong as the sea behind her. Violet resolves to find a way to play the game as well, to embrace everything her mother taught her and choose to make her own life, not just live the one laid out for her.

“Violet.” Liam steps down until he sits on the step beside her. She resists the urge to lean into him, though she does entertain the sensation of drawing on some of his strength, like maybe he can lend it to her if she presses far enough into him.

She filters through what she can say, she’s so exhausted, and part of her can't even remember what it is he may have figured out, and what she should reveal.

“I only found out when I was home this past trip,” she sighs deeply, trying to force some of the tension out of her limbs. She sees Liam turn to face her in her peripheral vision, and she braces herself and continues. “My friends and I are not aristocratic, not noble, I know none of us were asked to ‘seduce’ the Duke. We were asked to keep an ear out. But I don't think anyone was tasked with him specifically.”

“When I found out, it was because I overheard the council, they were discussing it as if all the women sent here were in contention. As if they didn't give any of us the task, but hoped that one of us would either succeed without being asked, or be pliable once we arrived.”

“I don't think they respect any of us enough to share their plans for us.” She knew this for a fact, because she was the one they were most likely to confide in, due to her parents and her direct work with the council, but even she was not extended such a courtesy. He doesn’t reply, and Violet's skin itches with the need to fill the silence.

She tilts her chin to the painting above them. “I’ve never seen this piece, but I think it’s a Breton, the style, the subject matter. Her work has always interested me, the idea of the mundane painted on a grand scale, of labor as art.” Violet succeeds in distracting herself, lost in the softly illuminated brushstrokes. “Lovely.”

Liam watches her. “You really know Tyrrish art, no wonder…” He trails off, lost in his own thoughts. “Do you speak Tyrrish?” His gaze refocuses, quick to assess her. She doesn't want to lie to him, she nods softly, still studying the painting before her. “I read better than I speak or understand conversation. But yes.”

He nods, still assessing. “Why are you here, Violet?”

She’s not surprised at the question, but her laugh is sharp and quick anyway, almost wet with her unshed tears. “When you figure it out, I would love to know.” She finally turns to hold his clear blue eyes. They unravel her a bit, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. “I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to figure it out.” She lets out a deep sigh. “But now I doubt I’ll have the chance. God, I’ll have to go home and probably marry some idiot, never to get my own research or have access to a library like Aretia’s ever again.” This time, she is weak and indulges in his strength, digging her shoulder into his. They are quiet for a moment, Violet wishing her words felt less like heavy truths.

Liam’s brow is furrowed when he finally speaks again. “No, you will stay, you will finish your studies here. If you want to become a researcher in Aretia, I know the academy would love to have you.” She looks at him, eyes wide, shaking her head in disbelief. He reaches for her hands and continues. “I will tell him what I know to be true, you do not want a political marriage, nor do you intend to trick any of us into one. You are as much of a pawn in this game as you are a player.”

Violet nods, and the blonde dips his head to brush a kiss against the back of her hand before squeezing it and letting go. With a final nod, he rises and begins to step down the stairs, turning just a few away, opening his mouth as if to say more, then hesitating.

Violet speaks instead. “You really won't advise him to send me away?" He shakes his head softly, looking up at her from the base of the stairs.

“But, he's your oldest friend.” Her voice is small, tentative, and utterly bewildered.

Liam’s inhale is sharp – “and you're my newest.” There's a helplessness to the statement, as if the outcome couldn't have changed even if he tried. She holds his eyes for a long moment, breathing through his honesty and finding calm on the other side. Violet allows herself a tender smile, which he returns.

“Goodnight, Violet.”

She sits on the stairs with her skirts pooled around her longer than she’d care to admit. Rhiannon finds her and silently reaches out a hand to help her up. She brushes her cool fingers across Violet's face, fussing over her appearance, setting her hair right, brushing off her skirts, and finally linking their arms together.

Chapter Text

Back in Aretia for the fall season, Violet falls into her routines again. Attending classes at the Academy, spending evenings lounging around the Sanborn Manor, fawning over baby Lukas. The one deviation from her routine in the Spring is Tairn; she had been informed when they returned that she had full access to the Duke’s stables, all the grooms and stable hands were instructed to allow her to ride Tairn whenever she so chose.

She would have taken it as a kind gesture if the Duke hadn’t been even more standoffish than at the Marquis’ Ball. She couldn't stand him, his mixed signals, his side comments, and his sinful smirk. So when Rhiannon and Raegan burst into the salon one afternoon, exclaiming that they have all been invited to the Duke’s estate for Mabon, Violet is thoroughly disinterested. She certainly does not want to drink around a fire with the Duke, see him illuminated in firelight. She’d rather push him in and watch him burn.

It’s an old Tryrrish holiday that’s celebrated in Basgiath as well, but rather differently, she’s sure. Though she’s also sure in neither instance would it be acceptable for her to burn a Duke.

They had been to his estate not many months before, but something about it is different this time when she arrives. More subdued, more homey. The Duke himself strolls out when their carriage pulls up, without a jacket, in only his shirt and vest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Violet pretends her eyes don't linger on the warm brown skin revealed by them.

Bodhi and Eya rode with them from Aretia. At the sight of them, the Duke smiles widely, wrapping each into a hug, a greeting he also extends to Masen and Raegen, scooping Lukas into his arms and strolling up the front steps. Only sparing nods to the others in their party. Lukas tugs at the Duke’s hair, twisting the curls in his thick baby fingers. The man carries on as if it doesn’t bother him, occasionally bouncing him in his arms and pinching his cheeks. Rhiannon eyes her as Violet tries to keep the blush off her face that the scene causes.

He’s in his element, showing them around, dictating how the weekend ahead has been planned. There are servants around, but not nearly as many as she remembers from the Summer Ball. The Duke seems to know almost all of them by name, chatting as he gives out instructions. He is brief and direct like the military leader he is, but there’s still a familiarity to him. He looks softer here, in the warm autumn light, like all the sharpness of him is only ever chiseled for battle, drawn like a weapon, otherwise secure in its sheath.

He hesitates when the servant announces another carriage, his eyes darting across them as if taking count. Bodhi steps out from the entry hall, calling that he will handle it. Garrick trails behind, standing beside the Duke and leaning to whisper something to him that even Violet can tell annoys him. A shadow falling across the face that had seemed so welcoming moments before. His eyes fall on her, glaring, and she can’t imagine what she’d done.

Reagan scoops Lukas out of the Duke’s hands as his attitude shifts; he still spares the boy a smile and kiss on the forehead before passing him off. He squares his shoulders and pats a hand on Garrick’s as they stride to the main doors.

Violet is watching the Duke so closely that she doesn't notice the figures in the doorway until he greets them.

“Your highness, welcome to Riorson Estate.” The bow he spares the Prince is barely low enough, but everyone else in the hall follows suit.

Halden just raises a brow, and Violet tastes acid, like a bitter orange. “Not a very royal welcome, Riorson.”

The Duke’s arms are crossed as he watches the Prince. “Well, in all honesty, I did not know you planned to attend.” His harsh gaze darts to Bodhi, who stands beside the Prince, Dain, and Ridoc in the entrance. “It seems there was some miscommunication in my family.”

Violet smiles at Dain and Ridoc as the two other men engage in what can only be seen as a battle of wills. The taller man sidles up to her, throwing an arm over her shoulder, “Hi Vi.” Ridoc goes for a hug, essentially disengaging her from Dain’s arm, and dives into a detailed rundown of their trip. “...and then, well, you’ll never believe it, Flower, but-” Ridoc is all teeth and joy, his broad frame bringing her comfort just with his proximity. Rhiannon strides over and throws her arms around him as well, joining in the gossip.

After the tense greetings, they're shown to their quarters and spend some time settling in before slowly making their way back downstairs.

The Duke’s demeanor has shifted since Halden and Dain joined the group, as if their presence alone causes him unease. Which it likely did, but Violet is more fixated on the fact that her presence did not. They are all gathered in one of the salons, sipping on tea and chatting in small groups. Imogen and Garrick lean together, whispering back and forth. The Captain's face is a mask, while Imogen’s is furious.

Violet sits with Mira, Halden had taken the liberty of joining them, she avoids his gaze, praying he wouldn’t raise the question of her betrothal again. Her eyes follow the Duke as he strides in, Bodhi beside him, who flashes Violet a tight smile. His companion’s face is blank, all the teasing erased.

“Thank you all for coming.” He barely raises his voice, but nonetheless is able to draw the attention of everyone in the room. “Mabon is one of our seasonal festivals here in Tyrrendor. My parents were always strong proponents of the old ways.” Haden makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a scoff he’s trying to swallow. “We were raised celebrating the equinoxes, solstices, and their midpoints. Those of you who have been here for a festival before know that Mabon was one of Mother’s favorites.” He pauses a moment, and Bodhi interjects, “Along with Beltane, Aunt Talia loved a good fire, so did Mom.” His smile is soft, his voice sharp and teasing. If Violet weren't watching the Duke so closely, she might've missed how generous the interruption is. Garrick takes the cue as well. “Like mothers like sons, and honestly, who doesn't love a good fire?”

The Duke spares them a shadow of a smirk. “I know Basgiath celebrates a bit differently, but here we all pitch in. Part of the ritual necessitates our participation, so we’ll all need to get involved and set up for tomorrow night.” He nods, easing into his skin, a general giving orders.

“Aunt Aileen always had us chopping wood for fires, gathering some of the harvest, making preserves and wreaths.” He lists them off, then gestures at the Tyrs present. “We all have our preferred tasks, what we’re best at,” He sends a sly smile at his cousin, who simply bumps his shoulder against the Duke’s in response. “But you all should choose what you’d like to help with, and we’ll split off.”

Chatter fills the room, hands raise, and folks volunteer. Violet finds her voice after a moment. “I can help, I can chop wood.”

Halden’s scoff is audible this time. “Obviously, the ladies aren't expected to chop wood.” He barely even turns to look at her as he says it, continuing to stare down at the Duke.

Violet’s eyes roll. “Why is that obvious?” Her voice is hostile, biting, and quick, shocking Halden into turning to face her. The Duke watches her subtly, Bodhi does it openly.

The Prince’s words become less certain, stumbling over each other. “I just meant they're usually in the kitchen making breads and the preserves, which is much more appealing than being out in the cold,” he swallows, “or so I’ve always imagined—”

Violet’s voice is like a knife. “Well, allow me to provide you with the opportunity to find out. We’ll swap.” She nods as if the matter is settled, as if she is allowed to speak to the Prince like that. Though no one is around who would reprimand her, and Halden had claimed to want to earn her trust.

He agrees, reluctantly and with more glaring than strictly necessary.

She's sure the glare would have burned her back if it had continued to trail her. Thankfully, Bodhi distracts the Prince as Violet makes her way out to the grounds with the Duke. As chopping wood was, of course, his chosen task. It had rained the night before, leaving the air fresh and lush, the foliage around them bursting. He leads her to a clearing with a covered woodpile and stumps for splitting the logs.

He doesn't say a word, simply gesturing to the station she should take. Violet shifts some logs to sit beside the stump, trying to keep them off the wet ground. She selects an axe from where they hang in the woodshed, removing her coat, she hangs it where the axe was to keep it dry, and makes her way back. The whole time, she keeps the Duke in the corner of her eye.

The muscles of his forearms flex and strain as he swings the axe, bringing it down in a satisfying fluid motion. She imagines how the muscles beneath his shirt must be moving. He exhales quickly each time the blade makes impact, it's a soft huff, and she can't help but find it endearing.

She rips her eyes away to focus on the log in front of her, no matter how distracting he may be, she shouldn't swing the axe without her full attention. The log splits, and she tosses the results on the pile he’s begun between them. Without meaning to, she times her swings between his. It’s because each time she draws her body back to reset, grabs another log, she hesitates a breath long enough to watch him act, arms slicing through the air with weighted precision.

The Duke uses the same opportunity to watch her, just after he strikes, his eyes always snap to her. Her petite form is deadly, arching with each swing. The Duke isn’t sure how her fierce temper fits in her small frame, but he’s ensnared by it nonetheless; she’s like a lethal dose of poison, killing him slowly. He's most distracted by the way her face scrunches in concentration, the pull of her lips, the furrow of her brow. He hates himself for not being able to look away.

Like a pendulum, they each study the other, with every swing getting closer and closer to catching the other in their appraisal.

Violet can’t help but watch his hands. The way his muscles tense and relax throughout, elegant fingers that also look more than capable. There's a scar by his thumb, and she's enthralled by the way his skin moves over vein and muscle. Her body is flush from the exertion, not in the least bit from imagining those hands on her body.

Even like this, he is in complete control. Even with his sleeves rolled up, boots muddy, and the humid air clinging to his skin, he looks wholly in command of himself. She envies it; she constantly feels like she's fighting her body and losing.

She pauses her labor, letting the head of the axe rest on the stump in front of her, tilting her body to lean on it ever so slightly. Violet chews her lip, not sure if she should address their conversation from the ball. His accusations. He strikes again.

“I’ve warned you, Violence.” His voice is warm, “Don’t look at me like that.”

She resists waving the axe in her hand at him, settling on an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. “And I warned you to stop flattering yourself. I’m simply measuring the odds of you swinging that axe at me if I choose to speak my mind.” He quirks a brow at her, the only response she’s likely to get. "Specifically in regard to our last encounter.”

Since she had been studying him so closely before, she can see the shift, the tightening of his shoulders, the way his movements lose their ease. “I have no intention of ever hurting you, Violence.”

It settles something deep in her chest; she trusts it, she trusts him. And she’s not sure how she ended up here. Maybe it started when he stood before her, blood splattered on his chest and her shoes, making her swear to never lie to him. Perhaps it was as he knelt before her, lacing her boots with a half smile. But somewhere along the way, she grew to have faith in this stoic force of a man, so she takes a deep breath, filling her lungs in order to speak her next words.

“I do want to spend my life as a researcher and archivist.” His eyes dart to hers before quickly returning to the log in front of him. He doesn't tell her to stop, which, for him, might as well be encouragement. So she plows on. “I am not on a quest to get married. The king and my mother might have other plans, but I certainly do not.” He swings his arms above his head, the axe crashing down to split the log. She takes a deep breath— real, focus on what's real.

“My mother always loved my brother best.” He finally turns to look at her, but she can't bring herself to see what, if anything, his face reveals. She shrugs, “But Brennan— Mira was Bren’s favorite.” She allows herself a soft smile, “And well, Mira always said I was hers, even if it wasn't true, I like to think it was all the same.” Violet swallows the grief and anxiety rising in her chest, praying that if she just keeps talking, she won't have to confront them. “I love ancient languages; the fewer people who know them, the better. My favorites are rune-based. I hate balls, but not for the dresses or the dancing, for all the political games people play at them. I’d rather dress up and dance with Rhiannon and Jessinia all night, and not talk to another soul.” Violet is foolish, so she flashes her eyes to his, encouraged by the soft attention displayed on his face. “My joints are weak, it’s how I was born, but I refuse to let that rule my life.” No pity shows on his face, just rapt focus, and God, she hates that it makes her feel safe. “I can’t even draw a straight line, but I could read about, and look at art for hours. Your collection has already become my favorite of any I have seen.” A deep breath fills her chest, and part of her feels like she just might suffocate if she doesn't say everything she can think of. “I will never repeat this— But I'm glad you asked me to let Liam watch over me. I do really like having him around, he’s lovely.” This draws a smile from him, and the tightness in her chest loosens.

“I’m very good at darts. Mira taught me how to throw daggers as well, but that trick is more of a secret. One, I guess you already knew, in part at least. I swear—” She begs him with her eyes, and something in his returns the plea. “I am real. And I will do my best to be honest with you, like you asked.”

For a moment, he blinks at her, soft and slow, like a baby owl. The thought nearly makes her laugh. She catches the way his lips twitch, and then a smirk pulls across them.

“Alright, Violence.” He nods, something about it is final, approving. “Though you might consider telling Liam you don’t hate him. He already pled your case, thinking you did.”

A proud smile stretches across her face before she can think better of it. She’s not gloating, but it feels like a comfort all the same. “You really trust him.” Her wonder is clear in her voice, because despite the warmth in her chest from knowing Liam stood up for her as he promised, she is more focused on the sway he has with this immovable man.

The Duke nods, “He might as well be a brother to me. All three of them. We grew up close. And losing our parents only brought us closer.” It's said without emotion, a fact being laid before a court. But she's learning to read him, to see through him, and she can see that those brothers mean more to him than anything.

Her mind wanders to the group he gathered today, his brothers, and his other closest friends, the surviving children of the Tyrrish rebellion. And she and her friends, a package deal with Masen these days, and then the uninvited Prince. She winces.

“I’m sorry about Halden, I know this day must be tough for you all without the added drama of,” she waves a hand ambiguously, “him.”

He offers her a wry smirk and a teasing nod. “He certainly was not part of my plan for the weekend, though I suppose I should have known he would find a way to poke his nose where it doesn't belong, especially where you're involved.”

Violet almost takes the bait, but she’s enjoying that their conversation, for once, has not turned hostile. So she breezes past it. “Well, what is the plan? I’m sure you all have celebrated together for many years. I’m new to this, what does a Tyrrish Mabon look like?”

They continue to split logs as the Duke describes a dozen bonfires across the lawn when his mother used to host half the province. One year where it was just a couple of families, and he, Liam, Bodhi, and Garrick got stranded in the lake behind the Durran’s Manor in a rowboat without oars. Violet felt full from his offerings, nourished by the joyous memories, and the trust he displayed in sharing them. He talks about the toast his father gave every year, and the herbs his mother always wove together to hang across the mantel.

“But this is the first one back here, without either of them. Without any of our parents.” His gaze is fixed just above her head, and she can tell it's taking all his control to even look in her direction. “After she was gone, there was still my father, so much of her lived on in him. But now—now I suppose all that's left of them is me.” His onyx eyes dart down to meet hers at the end of the statement, and she is struck by their sincerity. His gaze open to her in a way she hasn't seen before.

Violet offers a sad smile. “Sometimes I feel that way about my father, everyone always said I was most like him, Brennan, a mix of the two.” She shugs, swallowing the waver in her voice. “I miss him all the time, but it hurts especially in the moments he would’ve held the most space.”

The Duke nods, eyes lost in the distance again. “The pain of remembering, I cherish it, because what—” His eyes snap back to hers, like they can't bear to stray for too long. “What I dread more is the pain of forgetting.”

Her breath catches, and God, his face wrecks her. Violet’s voice is soft when she ventures her reply. “What was she like?”

He rolls his lips in thought for a moment, then a gentle affection graces his expression. “She was made of fire,” Violet smiles, thinking of Bodhi's earlier words. “Or at least that's how it seemed. Everything about her was energy, warmth, and unexpected. She died a long time ago, I was young. It’s easy to idolize what you only knew as a child. After that, it was Bodhi’s mom who raised me.” He splits another log, his arms tensing, hands twitching around the handle of the axe, thruming with nervous energy.

“I think today, remembering her—my aunt, is almost harder. If my mother was fire, she was a hearth, a bonfire, a flaming arrow. She was my father’s sister through and through.” Violet holds his gaze when it finally wanders back to hers. “And she refused to be less than. Bodhi’s father never expected her to be. They were equal, partners. They were best friends, it’s something I’ve grown to envy.” He licks his lips, hesitating. “I don't think I realized until much later how much—how special—”

He keeps swallowing his words but seems unable to truly stop himself. Violet watches him back, unyielding, confining his eyes with hers. Hazel and Onyx. “How much that’s what I've always wanted too—” His eyes pull away. She’s shocked he’s been rendered speechless.

“I’m sorry.” He strides to return the axe.

“Don't—” She doesn't even know what she wants to say, just that she doesn't want the moment to end, that she wants to learn more about him.

“We ought to be getting back.” He returns her coat to her, also handing off a sling designed to carry firewood, swapping it for the axe in her hand. When their fingers brush, her mind empties.

She gathers logs in the sling and sets off after him. Despite his rush to return to the house, moments before, he stands waiting for her at the edge of the clearing. “Is everything ok. Is it something I said?” She resents that she couldn't resist asking for his reassurance.

“No, Violence.” His face is still blank, his voice removed, but he holds out a hand for the bundled logs in hers. Before she can argue, he continues. “I know you can carry it, but you don't have to. Besides, there are good fiddlehead fern shoots on this trail; you should gather some for dinner.” And it sounds like an apology, a reassurance. She accepts, trying to wrap her mind around the man before her.

Violet tries to keep pace with the Duke; his legs are long, and his strides reflect as much. He pauses when she bends to harvest the sprouts, the leaves curling in perfect spirals, using the dagger she carries in her boot. After a moment, he must notice she continues to fall behind because his pace shifts to match hers without a word. The rest of the walk back, Violet is altogether too aware of the distance between them, of every time their elbows brush. She feels like a wave must about the shore, touching briefly only to recede, then be drawn back again. An endless cycle that sends shivers up her spine.

She’s wound so tight and lost in her own thoughts, his voice almost startles her, shoulders tensing. “Please, call me Xaden.” There’s a shyness in him as he asks it, and Violet is outright bewildered at the shift in his behavior. “This holiday is for family and friends, and all of mine, call me Xaden.”

She doesn't even try to resist the way her lips curve at that, and she catches his eyes light up at her expression. “Alright, Xaden.” She shakes her head, quick to scold him. “And here I thought you were the most sophisticated of them all. Bodhi nearly tripped over himself during our first meeting, insisting I avoid his title.”

Xaden scoffs. “Oh, I am. Do not misconstrue my request, I would not make it of just anyone.” His eyes gleam. “And a selfish part of me asked so I may revel in the expression on the Prince’s face when he hears you speak my given name.” He purposely presses his elbow to her arm, and she’s glad they’re walking and he can’t see the way her cheeks tint pink at the contact.

“You are incorrigible.” They fall back into the easy teasing and comforting silences she had grown used to with him.

When they reach the manor and walk into the entry hall side by side, their arms press together as they step through the narrow doorway.

A sensuous silhouette of a woman greets them, standing in the hall at the base of the spiral staircase. The light from the windows illuminates her every curve and her long, luscious onyx waves. Cat Cordella.

Violet swallows her gasp, and she feels the Duke's arm tense against her own.

“Oh, Xaden!” She wrinkles her nose, attempting to look down at the man nearly a foot taller than her. “What are you doing lugging wood around?” Violet thinks of the Duke’s words from a moment ago, that all his friends call him Xaden.

“What are you doing here, Cat?” Xaden’s voice demands an answer, but to the woman's credit, she does not seem cowed by his anger. Before she can respond, Halden sweeps into the room.

“Lady Catriona!” Halden's voice is so sickly sweet that bile rises in Violet's throat. “So glad you could make it.” He stretched his arms wide in greeting, as if welcoming her to his own home, not a near stranger’s

The Duke’s voice is brutal. “You invited a Poromish delegate to my home?”

“She’s not a delegate, she’s your old friend Cat, or did you not all grow up together?” Halden is not very good at playing innocent, but it is a valiant effort.

“I think your understanding of my childhood is skewed.” Bodhi and Garrick rush into the room as if on their way to put out a fire. “Regardless, what made you think this was an open invitation gathering?”

The Prince is clearly becoming increasingly annoyed with Xaden’s lack of blind obligation. “I was under the impression this was a large gathering. That’s how we do it in Basgiath. I wasn’t aware of the cultural differences.” The men stare each other down before the Duke sighs.

“Garrick.” Xaden juts his chin toward Cat’s bags and turns to walk off.

“You won't walk me yourself, Xaden?” She pouts, and Violet resents that it doesn't look as childish as it should on her. “It’s been too long, we really should catch up.”

Xaden doesn't turn. “Don’t push it, Catriona.” Violet almost pities the woman as a true expression of hurt flickers across her features. It quickly vanishes, and she turns to Violet with a sneer. “What are the likes of you doing here?”

Violet simply lets a sickeningly sweet smile spread across her face. “So lovely to see you again, Lady Catriona.” Then spins on her heel and brushes past Bodhi in order to drop her harvest in the kitchen.

After handing off the fiddlehead shoots, she decides she needs a moment of peace. Locking herself in her rooms, she settles at the desk to write. At first, she just transcribes some notes from a book on Veninism, a religion in the Barrens, in order to clear her mind. But then the itch to be productive takes over, and she begins compiling the notes from Jesinia, Rhi, and Mira about the last couple of days in Aretia. There's a glass door to a balcony in her room; she has it propped open, and the sea breeze energizes her.

Violet finishes transcribing the weekly report encoded in an innocuous letter to her mother. She wants to ensure it’s sent out today, so she decides to search for the woman she was introduced to as the head housekeeper. On her way, she swings by the others' rooms, gathering any mail they may have. Rhiannon’s letter for her mother, Jesinia’s addressed to the university, and Mira’s to a town Violet hadn't thought about in years.

Violet is so wrapped in her thoughts about who Mira could be writing to in Luceras, let alone in the small town their grandmother lives in, other than Niara herself, that she loses track of where in the house she is. And if Mira was writing to their grandmother, why?

“But why are they in my house?” His tone is deadly; it freezes Violet in her tracks. It comes from an open door to her left; she hesitates, then relents, as if she were ever about to make a different choice.

“Bodhi,” Xaden’s voice is scolding, exasperated as she draws closer to the wall, tucking her body in the shadow of the door. “None of these people were supposed to be here. Are there any other unexpected guests I should know about?”

“I’m just as mad that Cat is here.” Liam’s voice is petulant, a tone she had never heard him use.

“Oh, are you? Well, that makes it all better, then, doesn't it?” The sarcasm in Xaden’s voice is so vicious that she feels bad for Liam.

Garrick groans at their bickering, and his voice is quick and direct when he replies. “Look, Masen and Raegan were always going to attend. You specifically asked that I ensure the younger Sorrengail was invited.”

There's an inaudible response before she hears Garrick’s again. “What was it exactly? Make sure Violence knows—”

Xaden cuts in, his voice gruff, “For Tairn’s sake, he’s grown attached.” She’s too far to hear Garrick’s muttered “and he's not the only one.”

What she does hear is Liam’s laugh and Bodhi’s voice, quick to assure, “Right, that's why, cousin.”

Garrick sighs before continuing, “The Prince invited himself when he found out, and I couldn't exactly deny him without raising suspicion. They would have found an excuse to storm in here, search the building, even.”

The voices hush and seem to resolve a quick disagreement when Liam’s voice rings out again. “Remember, Xade, we’re trying to play nice.”

An exasperated groan and then Xaden’s voice again. “Fine, I can accept the Basgiath assholes, but Cat? Explain Cat. Now.”

The men do not seem inclined to.

After a loaded silence, Garrick ends up being the bravest. “I don't know for certain, but because it’s Halden’s doing, I can only assume he wants you distracted, or annoyed.”

“Or far away from Violet.”

“Or to test your loyalty.”

She hears an impact, like a fist on a table. “I hate all of those reasons.”

“He knew this wasn't a large party; he was trying to play it off, but he knew exactly what he was inviting her into,” Garick advises.

“Cat has literally never stayed at this house, and I don't want her to now.” There are sounds of sympathy from the other men in the room.

“I could set up a bed in the stables?” Violet should be more surprised at Liam’s impertinence, but Bodhi had warned her how much he disliked the woman.

She's not sure which of the men snorts in response, but the sound of amusement seems to echo around the room. “Thanks, no, the Blue Room is fine. I just hate that this day is being turned into another political farce.”

“I know,” Bodhi’s voice is full of grief. “They deserve better.”

Violet slips away down the hall, back where she came, not wanting to cross the open doorway. She finds the housekeeper and hands off the letters, now lost in a very different train of thought.

Violet certainly does not like Cat. But she can’t help but feel for her. To be invited somewhere you’re not wanted, forced to feel on the outside. Especially with a group like Xaden’s, where they are so tight-knit. No allies in sight.

They gather again in a salon before dinner, and it ends up just being the Basgiath delegation for a while. The rest of the guests are still getting ready or finishing other tasks around the manor.

Violet decides to voice what's been bothering her as she sits tucked next to Mira on one of the sofas. “Halden, why did you invite Cat? It's humiliating to show up uninvited. Was that your aim?” Signing along for Jesinia’s benefit.

The Prince looks shocked that she was bold enough to ask. “Well, I know the Duke has been looking for a bride, and since none of you are in contention,” gesturing at the four of them seated on the sofa, “I thought it would be nice to invite Lady Cordella.” Mira snorts, not even trying to disguise it.

“Right, I just—” He cuts her off, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you want him to be happy? To be married in Navarre's best interests?”

Violet swallows and nods, hands flying “Of course, I—”

“Do you not think he could find it with Cat? Do you know him so well?” Violet hates the question. He knows she can’t answer it honestly without implying some sort of impropriety. She probably shouldn’t even reveal she knew they were once betrothed, which alone was a very good reason not to pair them up now.

“I don’t know, that’s not my concern. It’s just odd you would choose a Poromish woman. And one that his friends, clearly, do not like.” She tries not to glare as she speaks, but based on the Prince's expression, she's sure she fails.

“I didn’t realize you and the Duke were close enough to qualify you as a suitable matchmaker.” He raises a brow and crosses his arms as he stares her down.

“Nor I, you. Regardless, I thought we were meant to be strengthening their relationship with Basgiath, not encouraging them to stray.” Violet straightens, pushing her body forward on the plush cushion. “But besides that, it’s unkind to have brought her here.”

“To whom? The Tyrs or Cat? Because honestly, you shouldn't care for either, Cat is a noble woman and knows how to do as she's told.” Violet vision tints red, blood rushing in her ears. “And you certainly shouldn't consider Tyrrish feelings in any of your considerations, Violet. I’m worried you've lost your way out here.”

She focuses on her breathing, and Mira’s hand on her thigh grounds her. She can’t show her hand. She flops her body back on the sofa and waves a hand flippantly, moving to sign her next words. “I don't care about any of their feelings. It's unkind to us; we're going to have to endure their bickering and her whining. The tone of her voice is grating”

Ridoc’s laugh is sharp. “God, it is, she has a point, your Highness, I was looking forward to a weekend without her shrill shrieks.”

Her friends around her chuckle in support, and despite Halden’s narrow eyes, she thinks she got away with it.

Dinner is a quiet affair that evening. Violet is deep in her own mind. Part of her feels like the universe is conspiring against her. To have Xaden talk about the life he wants, full of the same dreams as her own. Only to have Halden remind her that her future in Basgiath would be the exact opposite.

And despite it all, part of her feels empathy for Cat, another woman treated like a pawn in another country’s games.

She had already begun to feel more at home in Tyrrendor, but now it felt glaring. Violet allows the conversation to wash over her, offering smiles and nods where they’re due, but otherwise she’s absent.

She doesn’t notice Xaden’s gaze on her, as if summoned. Nor does she see Cat noticing said attention and glaring at her in turn.

Violet loves the morning autumn light like this, by the sea. The air is crisp and salty and green, and she's never been anywhere that even compares.

She dresses, grabs bread from the kitchen, and slips out to the stables. Train greets her, nuzzling into her hair, braided in a crown on her head. They ride along the treeline, exploring the grounds, but not venturing into the woods. The memory of a wolf too close for her to risk it alone. When she reaches the top of the bluff that drops to the sea, she catches sight of another rider. Sgaeyl and Xaden make their way up the cliff path she had traversed with them a couple of months ago.

When he catches sight of her, he nods, and they approach slowly when she hears more hoofbeats.

“Morning, Vi!” Ridoc’s voice is like honey, despite not wanting to tear her eyes from Xaden, she doesn't mind the interruption. “Seems like we all had the same idea, a morning ride.” The Duke doesn't spare him a response, just allows Sgaeyl to fall in step with Tairn and rides with them back to the stables as Ridoc chatters away with Violet.

Later, they gather by the herb garden, Xaden holding court once again, instructing the group about the herbs, grasses, and boughs to gather for the wreaths.

As he speaks, she indulges in the excuse to watch him. She lets her eyes devour every inch. His shirt is as undone as the day before when they arrived. Violet supposes they had been riding all morning, knowing her own face is likely flushed. She studies his lips, the way they form around words and quirk at the edges as he teases. There's a warmth that radiates from him, and she basks in it every time his gaze dances to meet hers. Part of her is sure she's imagining it, but his eyes seem as drawn to her as she to them, gold flecked magnets, pulling her in.

“Everyone has their missions?” A flurry of nods and whoops responds. “Ladies first.” He gestures to the herb garden behind him, it’s a labyrinth, low-growing bushes and winding paths, fruit trees lining some of the paths around the edges, creating dappled shade around the perimeter.

She walks past him slowly, deliberately, acutely aware of the space between their bodies, and she tilts hers to hold his gaze a moment longer. Before he is suddenly out of view, and she cannot justify looking back. If she had, she would have caught his face in sharp profile, his eyes lingering on her form as she passed, unable to quell the desire.

Mira tugs her hand, the women laugh and chat as they make their way through the sinuous curves of the trails. After a while, they separate, Mira and Rhiannon opting to sit in some shade next to a raspberry bush, snacking until their lips are stained red.

Violet cuts through one of the outer paths, its more overgrown, tall grasses reach her knees, and she has to duck around some of the boughs of the fruit trees around her. She has a bundle of heather at her hip, and she spins a knife in her hand as she strolls, using it to cut stalks of plants as she goes.

A branch snaps, and she spins to find a familiar lithe frame emerging from around a peach tree.

“Xaden,” She nods and smiles in greeting. She swears more gold appears in his eyes as they light up at her use of his name.

He tilts his chin to her cluster of heather, “Having trouble finding amaranth?” She wonders if civility and small talk physically pains him.

“No,” She bends and cuts another stalk of sweetgrass. “But those seeds are so messy, I’m saving them for last.” She cuts her eyes to him, accusing. “You better not have assigned them to me specifically for that reason.”

His smirk is going to be the death of her. “I knew you were clever enough to figure it out.” She shakes her head as she continues to harvest in silence. Violet’s mind wanders to the last time they were alone, thinking of his confessions about his ideal in a partner. Then, to the memory of Lady Catriona calling him Xaden, and her discipline crumbles.

“Are you considering honoring the betrothal again?” She can’t look at him. “Because what you said you wanted out of a marriage: a partner, a best friend, and well, I just don't think you and Cat—” She hears the grass rustle and the crunch of his boots. “You’re not friends, let alone—” A breath that borders a gasp. “You just shouldn't.”

“Violet.” She looks at him, and he stands just a step away. “I’m not thinking of marrying Cat. I’m not marrying anyone.” His voice rises fractionally, it would be barely noticeable were it anyone else. “Why are you so interested in my marriage?”

She straightens her body, flips the knife, catching the point between her thumb and pointer finger, pinching, ready to throw. “I’m not.”

“Good,” Hands in his pockets, he leans against the plum tree behind him. “Especially because you're the one who, it seems, is getting married.” His voice hardens at the end, turning the words into an accusation.

“Careful, Xaden, it almost sounds like you care.”

“Only as much as you.” If she weren't so annoyed, she might appreciate how evenly matched they are, how equally stubborn. Though someone must always tip the scales.

Today it’s Violet. She looks him in the eye and lets the blade fly, burying it into the trunk a hair away from his left ear. He doesn't flinch, his eyes heavy as he holds her gaze, a heat coils deep in her belly.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Violence?” She might drown in the depth of his gaze. “You know how I feel about women who try to stab me.” The warmth in her abdomen spreads, threatening to ignite her, and her breath catches.

“Vi!” It's the second time they are interrupted today, and she’s starting to resent it. His expression shifts from covetous to irritated in a blink, and Violet can't help but chuckle at him as her sister and Rhiannon step around the bend.

His wrath redirects to her, his eyes pointed, and it only makes her laugh more.

“Vi, how are you faring?” Rhiannon asks, eyeing the Duke and trying to figure out what has her friend breathless with laughter.

“She’s struggling with the Amaranth.” He pushes off the tree trunk as he says it, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger by his head and freeing it. “I believe this is yours, my dear Violence.”

Rhiannon's eyes go wide, and Mira cackles. Violet makes a point to let her fingers brush against the inside of his wrist as she reaches to take the dagger from his outstretched hand. His eyes darken, but he pulls himself taught and away from her, nods, and departs.

“You are really playing with fire, Vi, fighting with the Prince, attempting to murder a Duke…” Rhiannon’s eyes dance as she says it.

“Oh, please, if she wanted him dead, he would be.” Mira proclaims, “Nice aim, Vi.”

Violet gathers the Amaranth, and the three women make their way out of the labyrinth.

The group heads back to the house, arms full of foliage. Eya directs them all to the dining room, where the long wooden table has been cleared of everything and the curtains pulled open wide. Dust motes dance in the rays of sunlight filtering in, washing the rich brown table in warmth. They all lay out their bundles, Soleil and Liam bringing drinks and snacks out on trays from the kitchen.

Xaden doesn't join them, and Violet tries not to notice. Remembering his words from the day before, she gathers the longest stems of sage, strawflower, and mugwort. She begins a process she recalls learning from her grandmother years ago, braiding the stems with willow boughs, weaving a long garland of the herbs and flowers.

When she’s done, Bodhi catches her eye and walks over to her. She lifts her hands to him, with the garland displayed in them. “Help me hang it?”
He does, and he seems to want to say more to her, but before he can, she offers to help Rhiannon in the kitchen with the next batch of cookies.

They scoop the dough onto a well-loved baking sheet and slide it into the oven. Rhiannon sets a timer and fills a bowl of popcorn from the pot on the stove, then jumps to sit on the counter across from the stove. Her body illuminated by the sun filtering through the window behind her, dipping low in the sky. She pats the counter beside her, and Violet joins, grabbing a handful of the snack.

“Did we interrupt something earlier?” Rhiannon challenges Violet with her eyes. “Because it certainly seemed like it.”

“With Xaden?” Violet thought the confusion in her tone would dissuade her friend, but she misstepped. “Xaden?!?” Rhiannon’s brows stretch to reach her hairline. “Oh, then we certainly interrupted something.” She nods in satisfaction and tosses some popcorn in her mouth.

Violet tries to deny it. “No, it’s not like that, we just—” Violet sighs, but it comes out strangled. “We’ve gotten to know each other a bit, and he’s interesting. He’s always surprising me in the best way. And, well, he also supports the reform we do. It’s nice, being around him…” Violet trails off, realizing she may have revealed more than she meant.

Her friend chews her lip, weighing her next question. “Violet, are you falling for Duke Xaden Riorson?” Rhiannon’s voice holds a glimmer of disbelief, on the precipice of a laugh.

Violet shoots her a glare. “I can't be— he makes me angrier than any other person in the whole wide world.” Violet ignores the smile she sees stretch across Rhi’s face in her peripheral vision. “Of course, he can be charming, and capable, and frankly progressive. He’s also undeniably handsome. But for every moment he convinces me of his goodness, there are countless more moments of aggravation and irritation and—” Rhiannon cuts off her friend with a sharp laugh. “Vi, both things can be true.”

Violet is breathless, nearly gulping as she turns to her friend.

“You can want him, and find him aggravating. You can admit he’s pretty, and needs to be put in his place. You can love him, and hate him a little bit.” Rhiannon’s attention is fully on Violet, her body facing the smaller woman who stares ahead at the stove.

“I don't know that I can.” The confession is timid, and Rhiannon just waits. Violet’s voice gains more strength as she continues. “And if I do, feel those things,” she waves her hand toward the other woman, referring to the dichotomous feelings she had just outlined. “Then I’m only condemning myself to misery. Because he could not possibly reciprocate,” Rhiannon inhales sharply, preparing to cut her off again, but she plows on. “He could not, because if he did, then what? Then I continue to spy on him for my mother? For the king? I choose to lie to either him or my mother for the rest of my life. What if he reciprocates and there is a revolution, what then? I abandon you? Mira? No. I can not have feelings for him.” Her head shakes with finality.

“You think I would leave you here?” Violet’s body jerks, and she finally turns to meet her friend's gaze. “Violet, the only reason I didn’t plan to immediately follow Raegan here after her wedding, was you.” Rhiannon’s hand brushes Violet’s.

Violet threads their fingers together, settling her weight against Rhiannon’s body, focusing on her warmth and her pulse against her own wrist. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Vi.” Rhiannon’s thumb presses circles into the back of Violet’s hand.

“It doesn't solve the whole, we were sent here to spy on him part.”

“Fair point.” Rhiannon's fingers flex against hers, and she can feel the tension building in her body. “Do you want to? Still gather information on them, that is.”

“I don't know.” Violet can feel Rhiannon nod her head against her own.

“If there were no politics, no history between your families, would you want him?” Her voice is tender and calm, and Violet thanks the stars for Rhiannon. Her strong, brave friend taking this confession in stride and trying to help Violet through it.

“Maybe.”

“Then isn't it worth finding out?” Rhiannon turns her head so her lips brush against the crown of Violet’s head as she speaks. “I’m not shocked you're feeling this way. I’ve seen how he looks at you. Like he’s seeing the sun for the first time in years, you walk in the room, and his center of gravity shifts. You’re the same, it’s like you're tied together, constantly drawn into each other’s orbit. It reminds me of Masen and Raegen, except they weren't fighting it. Which makes you two all the more intense to watch.”

Violet mumbles, “Well, I did try to stab him again.” Rhiannon’s laugh is full and bursting, drawing a smile to Violet’s face as well.

“Exactly what I mean, and, no, you didn’t.” Violet goes to interject, but Rhi simply shakes her head. “Mira was right, if you had actually tried to stab him, he would have a knife wound right now. You threatened to stab him.”

“Again,” Violet adds. Rhiannon nods in agreement, echoing the word. After a moment of looking at each other with solemn expressions, the women devolve into laughter. Deep, aching, full-bodied laughter. They clutch each other's arms and bodies. Rhiannon drops her back to the counter, breathless.

It's how Liam finds them moments later. He’s trying to figure out what has them so blissfully amused when Halden bursts through the doors. Dain, Mira, and Eya follow, each with varying expressions of annoyance.

“He’s not in the kitchen either!” Violet, unfortunately, doesn't think she needs to guess at who he's talking about.

Eya rolls her eyes out of sight of the Prince. “As I told you, your highness, he’s attending to other preparations for tonight around the grounds.”

“He has us making these,” He waves a poorly woven strand of magnolia leaves. “and he's not even helping. I’m done with these group activities.” With that, he tosses the attempted wreath on the ground and strides out of the kitchen. The others exchange lightly amused looks.

Rhiannon jumps off the counter, offering Violet a hand to help her do the same. “Where is our gracious host? Avoiding all of us?”

Liam answers as Violet steps up to him. “Just needed a break, we weren't planning on such a large gathering initially.” He grimaces. “He's in the rose garden,” his voice lowers, meeting Violet's eyes, “though I’m sure he wouldn't mind your company.”

She exchanges a quick look with Rhiannon, and as everyone is busy heading back to the dining room, Violet slips out of the back door.

The rose garden sprawls at the edge of the lawn to the east of the manor, it has pergolas and arches covered in barbed vines. On one end, towards the treeline, is a stone structure. Two lookout towers with a walkway between them, arched to connect the towers as if a gate belongs below.

She spies his silhouette looking out at the sea, the breeze playing with his dark curls. He looks foreboding, like a bad omen old wives' tales warned against.

Energy crackles under her skin, causing it to flush. Climbing up the stairs isn’t hard, but she’s breathless when she reaches the top, and her hip aches. He’s standing on the narrow walkway that connects the two lookout towers. Rose vines twine around the stone ledge where he rests his hands, leaning against it as he looks out across the grounds.

He looks so at ease, and it makes her skin burn; she wants to push him, to see his resolve crack. He’s given her glimpses, but it's not enough, not nearly. Part of her knows she should walk away, should never want to see him again. But as she studies his profile, the slope of his nose, the angle of his jaw, she just wants to tear him open and look inside. To wreck him, watch him fall apart, shatter every bit of his careful control. And after, if he’ll let her, use her body to hold him together.

She had rehearsed this in her head, the whole walk over to find him. Articulate and poised, but when her voice cuts through the wind, all she can say is, “What is it you want?”

He straightens, eyes locking on hers, slowly turning his body. His expression is blank, the slightest raise of his brow, as if she hadn't even startled him with her question. “Why?” His voice gives nothing away.

“Because I can’t figure you out.” Violet waves her hands around her as her voice rises. “Because I need to know if this is all in my head.” Eyes blazing. “You are entirely confusing. You tease, and you flirt, but you give away nothing. Then, you are cold and avoidant, only to turn around and act as if we— as if I owe you anything at all.” She’s invaded his space at this point, stepping onto the walkway in front of him. The breeze blows her hair to tickle her throat and chest, but she doesn’t flinch. Staring up at him. “And now, acting as if you care for me, like you want something from me, where was that sentiment the past few months? Or when we met?”

“When you climbed out of a window above me?” He arches a brow, and she wants to poke it. “Yes,” her voice, sharp and ragged.

“When we danced on a staircase?” Where her voice is wrecked, his is strong, assured.

“Yes!” God, why is he so obstinate? Her desire to press her hands to his chest and push only increases.

“When my world was turned upside down by knowing your name, who you were, only to realize that I didn't care." His face breaks, softens from frustration, and his voice is still harsh. Violet doesn’t let her expression shift, sending every ounce of her annoyance at him.

“When I realized I wasn’t just angry, you might’ve lied. I was angry you might marry someone else—I don’t want you to marry anyone else.” Violet’s eyes go wide with shock, and Xaden just shakes his head softly, a small, resigned smile on his lips.

“When I realized that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to protect you, to have you, to see you smile at me one more time.” God, she can hear the truth in his voice as it wavers, and Violet thinks that sound alone could bring her to her knees. “That I desperately want to do everything in my power to deserve you.” Her resolve shatters, her face transforms, mouth parting and eyes shining. She can't look away, hypnotized by the gold stars flickering in his gaze.

She doesn’t know how he still has enough control to speak, because she feels like a strong wind might just blow her over the ledge. “When I warned you not to fall for me, what I didn't say is that you might just be my downfall.” His hand twitches like he wants to reach for her, his whole body bowing towards hers. “And maybe it would be our greatest mistake, calamitous, or maybe it would turn the world upside down in the most delicious of ways, because I think I’m falling desperately in lo—”

Their lips crash, his cheeks warm and stubbled against her fingers as she pulls him down to her. His face dipping, he follows her lead, hands floating to tangle in her hair, behind her neck. She feels like she can finally breathe.

Because it is calamity, it is ruin, and it is so delicious.

His lips are soft and firm, pressing against and between hers. They move heavy and insistent, setting sparks across her skin as she digs her fingertips into his cheeks. Guiding his face to hers, not that he needs the encouragement, as he seems to breathe her in, devouring her mouth. She wants more, to taste all of him, to wrap herself in his arms and sink into his chest. Because she might just be in love with him too—

She rips her lips from his, eyes wide and terrified. Her body screams. Pulling away from him makes her feel suddenly untethered, like she has been at sea for months and no longer remembers how to walk on solid ground. Violet allows herself only one moment to take him in, flushed cheeks, red bitten lips, and onyx eyes full of an emotion she doesn't care to ponder.

After a breath, she bolts.

Chapter Text

Violet runs– around him and down the stairs, only focused on distance and the anxious knot forming in her chest. She hears his shouts from the top of the stairs as she thunders down them, heart in her throat.

Her steps falter, and she thinks her lungs stop working, her skin feels too tight, her chest too small for the organ beating within. She keeps going, rushing onto the lawn, grass tickling her legs as she flees.

She’s running and her ankles hurt, she's breathless, but she can't stop, she can't turn and look at the face of the risk she just took. He’s calling her name, and she knows she only has moments until his long legs overtake hers. And she's so terrified that it's what she wants, she wants him to catch up, to wrap her in his arms and offer to give her everything she's ever dreamed. Damn him.

She relents, looking back to catch his eyes, his expression desperate, and she slows. Her hazel eyes soften, and she drinks him in as he steps toward her, slowing his pace as well.

“Violet,” The voice isn't the one she hoped for.

Turning to look in front of her, she freezes. Halden.

She curtsies, her chest heaving and her breath short. Violet’s sure her face is flushed bright red from the running, and more likely from the kissing. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she prays Xaden’s lips don’t look as just bitten as her’s feel.

“Halden,” like a gasp, “the Duke was just showing me the gardens. They’re quite lovely.”

He had stepped up to her, his left shoulder an inch behind her right. The way a couple might stand, possessive, though letting her take the lead. “Yes, my mother's rose garden is quite renowned."

She's tempted to spin and smack him, for they both know the roses had stopped blooming over a month ago.

“Right.” Halden doesn’t spare her a glance, simply glaring at Xaden. “And how exactly does that have anything to do with the preparations for tonight? You're an odd host, Riorson.”

Violet thinks to Halden’s annoyance earlier in the kitchens, and how it seems like the Prince has been rooting for this weekend to be as disastrous as possible. “I derailed him, I was curious about this garden, showing me, is precisely the definition of a good host.” She’s not sure why she feels so defensive of him, so protective of him all of a sudden. “Were you out here looking for us?”

Halden looks affronted at her outburst. “Yes, everyone is beginning to prepare for dinner, and I thought I might find you for a moment to chat. We never finished our discussion regarding my father’s wishes.” Xaden leans ever so slightly forward, body tensing, his shoulder presses slightly against hers, and it’s grounding. She remembers his words from moments before and flushes with heat.

I don’t want you to marry anyone else.

They make their way back to the manor in tense silence.

“I must finish preparations for this evening. We’ll gather in the salon at half past 5.” Xaden nods to them both, eyes lingering on Violet for a fraction of a second before striding off, stiff and proud. Calling over his shoulder. “Shout if you need anything, Violence.”

When he disappears around the corner, Halden makes his feelings known. “He’s insufferable.” Violet is rather tired of the Prince at the moment.

She sighs, though it doesn’t release the weight on her shoulders. She strides across the hall and shepherds him into the dimly lit study. “Halden, please speak plainly for once.” She closes the door behind them.

“We’re on the same side here, and I’m at a loss about what your angle is. One minute, I hear one of us is to marry the Duke, then I hear your father wants me to marry you, or Cam. Then you invite a Poromish woman for the Duke, as if that isn’t a regression of the council’s plans? Tell me.” Her eyes are harsh, forceful, and he folds. He leans against the large wooden desk, crossing his arms and ankles in front of him.

“You're right.” He exhales, refusing to look at her. “Part of it is that they aren't being very forthright with their plans. But now, father wants me to marry one of theirs, as they’re less confident in their ability to get the Duke to marry someone who would actually keep him in line.” Halden finally meets her gaze. “Like you.” Violet proudly keeps her face impassive at the revelation. “They considered it, but because of your background, they believe it's doubtful he’d accept a marriage contract with you.”

She nods at him, sinking down into one of the armchairs. Violet arranges her skirts so she can throw her legs over one of the arms of the chair. Halden scowls at her, but she can't bring herself to care.

“Who do they plan for you to marry? It's not like the Duke has a sister.” His expression remains annoyed, but he answers.

“I don’t know, honestly, I suppose they have a few thoughts.” Violet hums, considering the options. “It’s a shame he doesn't have a sister, because ideally, it would be someone he would remain loyal to, whose counsel he would still consider. You know how odd they are about their women here.”

Odd.

She seethes and is tempted to needle him, to press him on that stupidity. What convinces him that whoever he marries would not remain loyal to Xaden, to Tyrrendor? And what makes him believe that any Navarrian bride they send off to the Duke would remain loyal to Basgiath? Would not choose to be loyal to her new husband, her new country, and all the rights and freedoms that come with it. Any of those questions would be tantamount to a confession, to treason. Instead, she pivots.

“Why Cam?”

Halden's hands flex against his crossed arms, and Violet wonders which aspect of this discussion is bothering him.

“Why not Cam?” His voice is petulant, and he stares above her head.

“Halden.”

He sighs. “They want you close, codebreaking.” He meets her steady gaze and shrugs. “I think your mother had something to do with it. I don’t know the details. And well, it’s Cam, you love Cam.” The tone borders on bitter; it’s sharp and acrid.

Violet studies him. “I do love Cam, not in the manner of desiring to marry him. But I suppose we could find a way to be happy.”

I don’t want you to marry anyone else.

God, she doesn't want to marry anyone else either; she’s not sure she wants to marry anyone at all.

He lets it drop, but his body remains tense. “Catriona, well.” He glares at the wall. Violet waits, hoping the silence will force his hand. “Not my cleverest moment, but I hoped to distract him from you. While the council may not think he would accept a betrothal contract with you,” His eyes flash to hers. “I think others might send reports to make them believe otherwise. He clearly has some level of affection for you.”

Violet scoffs, it's a genuine reaction, so used to the constant tumultuous nature of her relationship with the man in question.

“I’m certain he does not. I think he enjoys people who challenge him, and I think he is suspicious of our presence here.” She slides deeper into the chair, shifting her legs, earning another look from Halden that she ignores. “Which is why I think he pays us extra attention occasionally.”

She waves her hand, further dismissing the idea. “Besides, wouldn't it be better for the council if he wanted to marry me?” Violet hopes her tone remains mildly disinterested as she asks it.

“That's the problem.” His voice is tight, and she simply raises an inquiring brow. “They do want you to marry him. Regardless of what you think of me or how we may feel about each other, I do not want you stuck in a loveless marriage with a rebel. It could be dangerous.”

Violet bristles at the implication, but she can vaguely understand Halden’s perspective. But she is so sick of being told what is best for her. Part of her is also certain that a marriage with Xaden would be far from loveless.

“You don't think I could handle it?” He goes to reply, leaning forward. Violet realizes she doesn't care and stands abruptly. “I don't know why I asked; the point is moot, as I will not be marrying the Duke. I also don't plan on marrying Cam, but do keep me updated.” She starts to walk to the door.

“Hal,” she turns. “I’m sorry you might end up in the sort of marriage you fear for me, do let me know who she is when you do. I know we must do what is best for Basgiath…” Though she’s not sure she wants to anymore. “But let me know if I can help with anything to ensure what's best for you.”

She means it, mostly.

With that, she sweeps out of the room, desperately wanting to crawl into bed with Rhiannon until they're required back downstairs.

Unfortunately, she is unable to have time alone with her friend; instead, her room becomes a space for all the young women of the house to congregate, filtering in and out for the rest of the afternoon. Violet at least gets to strip off her corset and lie in bed with Rhiannon. She drifts in and out of sleep, head in the other woman's lap, as Rhiannon reads and entertains their friends.

The laughter and chatter soothe Violet. Despite her parents' military work, she’s used to big, boisterous groups, to a little bit of chaos. It lulls her into a meditative state, focusing on relaxing her muscles and calming her mind, not the flurry of activity around her.

Eventually, Mira rouses her, and the women get dressed for dinner.

They wander down to the salon, Eya and Soleil joining them in the hall as they make their way. Halden is late to join the group, and Violet can’t help but feel grateful for the respite.

Violet is tucked in an armchair, attempting to get comfortable. Her hips are sore, and she wants her feet off the floor, so she attempts to casually adjust in her chair so her knees can rest against the arm, leaving her feet to dangle below. It's not quite the relief she is searching for, and she shifts again. Mira walks by and catches sight of her, sparing a chuckle, she scoops her sister’s ankles and tosses them over the arm of the chair so that Violet is reclining and the weight of her legs is alleviated.

She throws a glance around the room, but no one seems to mind or notice her pose.

Rhiannon is lounging beside Bodhi, Sloane on his other side. The three chat animatedly, and Violet is pleased that some of Sloane’s initial animosity is slowly ebbing. She joins in a conversation with Mira and Ridoc, chiming in intermittently, and glancing out the window where the sun hangs low in the sky. Washing the room in golden pink light.

Violet taps her foot thoughtlessly, not realizing the buckle on her shoe has come undone and the entire thing is at risk of flying off. Xaden comes up behind her chair, leaning down to speak to her, and one hand drops to her tapping ankle.

Warmth spreads through her body at the point of contact, and she stills.

“May I?”

She meets his gaze, and he's smirking, but his eyes are tender. Violet glances down to watch as his fingers glide over her skin, landing on the clasp of her shoe, tapping it lightly. Nodding in response to the inquiry, she can’t tear her eyes away from his movements. Like the day on the beach, he drops to one knee, wrapping his large hands around her, a frankly unnecessary amount to simply clasp a buckle, she appraises him.

The soft light of sunset warms his skin, casting gentle shadows on his features. It brings out the pink at the seam of his lips, the blush in the hollow of his cheekbones, and the gold flecked through his irises as they watch her in return.

“Be careful, Cinderella, don’t lose your shoe again.” Bodhi's voice cuts through her assessment, his eyes dance across the room with mischief. Violet spins to glare at him, then back to fix Xaden with the same look.

“I didn’t lose it!” She crosses her arms against her chest, squirming under Xaden’s attentions. “I hit my target.”

There’s soft amusement in the Duke’s eyes, while Sloane’s sharpen, inspecting Violet. “That was you?” Her voice is hesitant, at odds with her gaze.

Violet’s skin prickles with the attention of the room seeming to shift to her. Liam and Jesinia have turned as well, Liam signing to Jesinia, interpreting for those who aren't already. She meets Sloane's ice blue gaze and nods.

“Why do you think I call her Violence?” Xaden’s voice is deep and seems to wrap around her, mirroring how his fingers circle her ankle, long since having finished securing her shoe.

Bodhi and Liam let out laughs, knowing the entirety of the story, while many of the women look calculating, with expressions of vague amusement. Sloane’s eyes still linger on Violet, and she doesn't elaborate on the situation, so Violet doesn't either.

“Thank you for your concern about my footwear, Mr. Durran, but I can assure you–” she lifts the article in question, careful not to kick the Duke still knelt at her feet, “they are secured.” Wiggling her foot for emphasis, causing a few chuckles around the room. The group breaks out into smaller conversations again as Raegan and Masen enter the room, the latter drawing the Duke into conversation.

Xaden rises, but remains beside her chair, the hum of his voice providing a deep calm to Violet.

The sun dips below the horizon as they all begin to rise and move to the dining room. Sloane makes her way over to Violet as they go, giving her a nod and a smile. Violet doesn't need a thank you, but she thinks this is as much of one as Sloane is willing to offer. Something Violet can certainly respect.

She walks down the hall, arm in arm with Jesinia, towards the dining room. Xaden approaches her other side, slowing to walk beside her. His eyes remain ahead, but his words are meant for her.

“I never properly thanked you for that. Sloane is like a sister to me, after our parents—” He cuts his eyes to hers. “We were raised together.”

Violet’s eyes widen at the confession, thinking of Halden’s earlier words and realizing that Xaden doesn't know how risky such a statement is. Making her appreciate it all the more, he rarely shows his hand, but since that afternoon, he seems more transparent in his attentions.

“Of course, I would've done it no matter who she was, but I’m glad I was able to help you protect someone you love.” She squeezes Jesinia’s arm as she says it, sparing Xaden a soft smile.

He matches it for a moment. “Well, thank you.” His eyes are sincere as they hold hers. The moment ends as they walk through the door into the candlelit room, and he ducks away to the head of the table.

Violet settles between Imogen and Masen, now accustomed to the strawberry blonde’s begrudging acceptance of her. Across from her, someone had made the mistake of seating Sloane and Dain side by side. At least Cat was seated as far as possible from Xaden.

Bodhi, ever a charmer, was chatting with Dain, whose deep, warm voice still made Violet homesick regardless of all that had transpired. “Violet and I studied together a lot, as children and then later at the University and—”

“Aren’t you General Aetos’ son, soon to be a lieutenant?" Sloane interjects, eyes menacing.

Dian’s hesitant, not quite bashful, but visibly unsure if it's a trick question. “Yes.”

“Right,” She turns to Xaden, eyes cutting. “Why exactly are we sitting here pretending this is normal?” Sloane has clearly decided that with Violet no longer a target, Dain would do in her place.

Bodhi's voice is a drawl, filled with mirth. “Because Mini Mairi, it’s what good hosts do, forgive their guests' parents' war crimes. Or at least avoid addressing them in group settings.” Sloane turns her ire to Bodhi, the ghost of a smirk on his face reveals him; this was his explicit intention.

Violet watches the blush that creeps up Dain's face as the two bicker across him, quite literally stuck in the middle, Sloane leaning far too close.

Eya makes the sacrifice of entertaining Cat, and much to Violet’s relief, the other girl seems to have decided that the silent treatment is her punishment for existing. She can live with that.

And so, Violet spends most of the meal lost in her thoughts, letting the conversation swirl around her. Lost in the sunwashed memories of Xaden’s lips on hers and the words he confessed just before. She shouldn't have run from him, but she had needed to get as far away as possible when that feeling came over her out of nowhere.

The group retires back to the salon, many filtering off to other rooms or activities, Mira challenging Masen to a game of billiards. Jesinia bids them goodnight, telling Violet she wants to rest and read in her room. Bodhi pulls out a bag of dotted ceramic tiles, challenging Garrick to a game, and Violet ends up at a card table between Halden and Xaden playing Hearts, how fitting. Rhiannon sits across from her, rich brown skin luminous in the candlelight as she plays, winning trick after trick.

Halden has been goading Xaden since they sat down, Violet tuning in and out of the back and forth.

“Why is it you seem to always have Violet and her friends around? Trying to steal a Navarrian bride?”

Violet toes her shoe against Xaden’s, an attempt at support, but keeps her eyes trained on her hand.

“It's so interesting what your people think you know. Masen is an old friend, and where he goes, they go; there's no nefarious scheme. Besides, I’m not opposed to such a bride, but I am certainly not on a quest for one.” He leans back in his chair, spreading his legs beneath the table, nudging against Violet’s. “And as I hear it. Your father already has plans for me anyway. I can’t wait to discover what they are.”

Violet resists rolling her eyes, Rhiannon flashing her a look across the table. They play on. Violet feels caught between a panther and his unwitting prey, playing with a meal who does not yet know they’re dinner. Xaden’s sly grin, lethal.

“It seems as if your people are having trouble assimilating to Navarrian customs. Is that what keeps you too busy to spend any time at our court, Duke Riorson?”

“I spend plenty of time in Aretian court, as I am rarely welcomed to Basgiath’s.” The Duke simply shrugs, tossing down another card. “And I thoroughly enjoy my time there. The Academy, especially. I think, much of your delegation has appreciated our court as well.”

Halden gives an annoyed huff, and Violet is struck by the petulance of the Prince. “Yes, well, I doubt any appreciation goes beyond what is necessary to be a gracious guest; your Academy certainly doesn't compare to Basgiath’s. It’s archaic in comparison.”

The Duke appears to remain still, body taught, but Violet feels the brush of his knee against her thigh. “We offer a variety of advanced pursuits for all of our youth. And women in Aretia are professors, advisors, and leaders in their own right.” He flicks his gaze to Violet's as the Prince studies his hand. “Opportunities that are also open to anyone from Basgiath who studies at the Academy.”

Violet’s inhale is sharp, her cheeks flush at the weight of Xaden’s gaze, and she is yet again overwhelmed by his earlier words.

When I realized that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to protect you, to have you, to see you smile at me one more time.

Halden notices the direction of the Duke's gaze, and his voice is harsh. “My dear Violet doesn’t have any interest in such things.” Xaden’s eyes sparkle, and Violet feels her stomach flip. The expression in his eyes is vicious, and it lights something low in her abdomen.

“Is that so? I don’t know that I’ve ever been properly acquainted with dear Violet. The Violence I know doesn’t need to have a man on her nerves or— what was it, Vi?”

She loves the sound of her name shortened like that on his lips, but she kicks him under the table. Sharp and swift, he inhales quickly but only smirks, deeply undercutting any satisfaction the action would have given her.

Violet disregards his leading statement, hoping everyone else forgets it too. “Oh, so you’ve remembered I’m here as well.” Her smile is sickly sweet. “I thought you’d both forgotten, with the way you’ve been speaking to each other.”

Halden looks a bit affronted and is quick to defend. “Violet, we just thought you wouldn’t have—”

Xaden holds Violet’s gaze. Neither of them acknowledging Halden’s words, Xaden cuts off his assurances. “I never forgot you were here, Violence. I should’ve thought that was clear.” His knee presses into hers again beneath the table. The way he had each time Halden said the most damning of his views, reassurance and instigation all in one.

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Dain speaks up from the other side of the room, his brow furrowed, his curiosity genuine. Xaden doesn’t look at him, just tilts his head as if prompting Violet to reply.

Halden interjects, “It’s rather improper.” She resents the implication, Halden’s always after her to be more lady-like, as if there’s something wrong with falling outside of that qualifier. Xaden is openly deferring to her, still waiting for her to reply, though his expression hardened at the Prince’s words.

“The circumstances of our first meetings were...” she trails off, smirking, holding Xaden’s onyx orbs “violent.”

“To say the least, you almost blinded me.”

“You are far too dramatic for your own good.”

“Just today, you threw a knife towards my—”

“Still. It’s unseemly.” Halden’s voice cuts through their rapport, and Xaden raises a brow at him.

“I don’t particularly mind what people think of me. Though if it bothers you,” Eyes back on Violet. “I will cease. Publicly.” His eyes rove over her face, attempting to glean her response. “Tauri, hers is the only opinion I will consider, please be assured of that.”

The implication is damning but Violet can’t find it within herself to mind. Still drawn back to his words that afternoon, the way she had stopped and turned to him. She wondered what they would have said if Halden had not interrupted. If he would’ve finished the thought she had cut off with her own lips. Her face flushes at the direction of her thoughts, and the Duke smirks at her again.

A footman burst into the room, looking rather startled at his forceful interruption.

“Your Highness,” he bows to Halden, “a letter from the King arrived, and we were instructed to inform you immediately. It’s in your room.”

Halden tenses, flashing his eyes for a moment to Violet, who trains her expression to blankness. He rises and, without acknowledging any of them, sweeps out of the room.

“Well, isn’t he just delightful?” Mutters Bodhi, Garrick throws a domino at him across the table where they’re playing.

Xaden gathers the cards on the table before them. She watches his hands as he begins to shuffle them, studying his long, elegant fingers as the cards shift beneath them. There are scars on his hands, callouses, not the typical hands of royalty. She thinks of the night on that balcony, the way he had cut that man’s throat with ease. The way Garrick and Bodhi had stood behind him, in formation, casually lethal. Her eyes travel over him, cataloging the way he holds himself. Violet always knew she likely wasn't the only one of them with secrets.

She had written off the parts of him that shouted military, filing them away but not assuming too quickly. Her mind wanders to earlier, those hands tangled in her hair, at the base of her neck. They were warm and strong, and a little rough, the pads of some fingers hard and calloused. Violet was now quite confident that Xaden is an adept soldier, though according to Basgiath, he’s not supposed to be.

Not wanting to linger on the thought, Violet is drawn in again by the agile moments of his hands on the table.

The doors swing open wide again, framing a figure all too familiar to Violet.

A voice echoes through the room. “Xaden, what are you playing at, hosting Mabon and not inviting —” he meets her eyes.

Violet would say, upon recounting the tale, that the entire room held its breath. That she felt the world around her freeze and then rapidly begin tilting away from her, abandoning gravity and leaving her floating in the aftermath. In truth, a second passes with Violet staring her brother down, until vertigo hits and the world starts moving too fast.

She vaults towards him, she sees his uncertainty, she mirrors it, not sure if she's going to hug him or punch him.

Violet hears a muttered curse from where Xaden sits, “Why do people keep inviting themselves to my home?”

She chooses violence. Her fist connects with his nose sharply. She feels more than hears the crack, and she pummels her fists against his chest as he tries to hold both her and his nose.

“Bloody Hell.”

The room devolves into shouts and chatter. She hears Dain bellow and Rhiannon snarl at Bodhi. She doesn’t care; her mind is narrowed to Brennan in front of her, alive.

Violet’s fists calm, and she ends up breathing heavily in her brother’s arms, wrapping her own against his waist. He’s warm and alive, and she doesn't think she’ll ever get enough of the feeling of his heart beating against her cheek. She finally evens her breathing and pushes away from him.

“Bloody hell is right. Brennan, what is going on here?”

His face is drawn in pain, she’s not sure if it's from her attack or the situation. “Vi, I’m sorry I didn't know you were here, I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t.” She scoffs, and his brows furrow further. “I didn’t know how. I defected and I couldn’t come home, and—” his eyes dart around the room, lingering on Dain for a moment. “I will tell you everything, but maybe, maybe not here.” He holds her shoulders, bracing her body and keeping her steady, upright.

“Halden’s here, and Dain—” She turns to look at him, his brows drawn, his face anguished.

“Are you— After all this time?” Her eyes are glazed, not quite able to cry yet. She swings to Xaden, pulling away from her brother’s hold, to Bodhi and Liam. “And you knew? You all knew.” Her voice cracks, broken and resigned.

Garrick steps forward, holding empathy in his eyes as he glances at Violet before turning to Brennan. “As she said, the Prince is here. We have to move. Now.”

“I won't say anything, Vi.” Dian’s voice is soft, his eyes hard as he glares at Brennan.

“Mira— Where’s Mira?” Everything is panic and chaos.

“I’m coming with you,” Xaden steps toward them. Standing just behind her, as he had earlier, and yet this time it felt entirely different.

Garrick doesn’t flinch in Xaden’s fiery gaze. “You can’t. If you and she are gone, the Prince will be suspicious. You know how he feels about you.” He makes a derisive sound, and she can feel his body, tense and buzzing beside hers.

Bodhi’s voice is soft yet commanding. “Later Xae”

“Fine.” He grits out. Then tilts his chin towards Brennan and Violet. “Liam.”

“I was going either way, brother.” The blonde strides over to them, guiding the siblings out the door and down the hall.

Violet spares a glance behind her. Rhiannon and Dain seem ready to go toe to toe with all the Tyrs, glaring. Rhiannon, with her arms crossed, voice low, as she seems to lecture the Duke and Captain, Dain’s hands in fists at his sides as he raises his brows at Bodhi, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Xaden meets her eyes one last time before the doors close behind them. She swears there might be as much pain in his eyes as there is in hers.

“Are you coming to protect me or him?” Her voice is a croak as she asks Liam.

He presses a hand between her shoulder blades as he leans to check the next hall before leading them into it. “You, Vi, always you.” His gaze is soft as he meets her eyes.

“So you won’t stop me if I try to hit him again.”

“No.”

Her brother snorts, offering a muttered “Well, thanks a lot, Mairi.”

Violet ignores him and nods. “Good.”

Once he settles them in the study, Violet sends Liam to find Mira. She rushes into the room, not sure why Violet summoned her, when her eyes land on their auburn-haired brother, her expression goes blank.

She begins to stride towards him until Violet shouts to stop her, letting her know she already punched him, and she should at least wait to hit him again until he’s explained. Liam then goes to get supplies to clean up Brennan’s bloody face. Violet is gentle as she tends his wounds, already more grateful than she is angry.

Brennan explains everything. Violet curls up on the couch across from him while Mira paces behind her, occasionally grabbing a pillow to throw at Brennan’s head.

He alludes to what Violet was beginning to discover. The war was about more than secession, but he was vague in outlining what else exactly was in contention. Mira nodded along as if she knew.

Brennan did elaborate on the Tyrrish laws and customs that were part of their desire for secession. Their protections of women’s freedoms and their acceptance of sexuality outside of Navarre’s norms.

He came to Tyrrendor to fight for Navarre, to suppress the rebellion, and maintain unity. Then he was injured, near fatally, and was taken care of in a Tyrrish hospital. In that time, he saw their ways, what they were fighting for, who they were fighting for, and he was swayed. He discovered that Lilith and the King were lying to their people and their forces, again vague implications, something Violet feels too tired to push in the moment.

Later, he discovered that Navarre thought he had died from that injury, and by then, he had no desire to correct them. That’s the part that hurt.

“Do they all know who you are?” Violet's voice cracks when she finally uses it. He shakes his head.

“No, I go by a different name here. Aisereigh.” Mira snorts and Violet rolls her eyes, muttering, Whose clever idea was that? He ignores them. “Xaden and his close circle know, but not many outside of it.”

Mira questions next. “Is Naolin alive too? He was supposed to have died in that same attack.” His eyes soften, and he nods again.

Violet’s breath catches, “Do you love him?”

Brennan’s eyes are glassy, and his smile devastated, “Yes, with all my heart.”

Mira throws another pillow, and Violet chuckles at the indignant squawk her brother makes. “Glad you're happy and in love, Bren. But we’re still livid.”

Violet nods, reinforcing her sister’s words. “Is the revolution over?”

He holds her eyes, “Yes.” She doesn't believe him.

“Liar,” Mira speaks for her, and Brennan deflates. His hand still holds a block of ice to his nose, and he folds the other arm across his chest.

“Are you here spying for Lilith and the King?” he raises a brow and winces, Mira smiles.

“No.” Her sister doesn't even try to hide her smug smile, and Violet can't help but roll her eyes and curl deeper into herself on the couch.

“Liar.” He mimics her from before, and they stare each other down.

“Did our father know you were alive?” The older two freeze, their attention finally breaking from each other and swinging to Violet. “Or is there another war going on that no one is willing to talk about?” Neither sibling flinches. “Is that what you’ve been hiding, Mira?”

Her siblings lock eyes, and for the first time since discovering Brennen was alive, Violet thinks they’re on the same side. She can see the entire conversation transpire between them because she's been privy to it all her life. Violet sighs deeply, unwinding her body and pushing herself off the couch. Mira reaches for her, but she waves her off.

“Clearly, you two need to talk alone.” Their expressions are contrite, but they don't correct her. “When you're ready to loop me in, know that I’m waiting and actively trying to figure it out on my own.” She glares at them, but squeezes her brother’s shoulder as she passes him.

“Glad you’re alive, Bren, missed you. Send my love to Lin, and let's do this again sometime soon. Sorry about the nose.”

Mira snorts, “If you hadn't, I would’ve.”

Violet wanders into the dark hall to find Liam sitting on the floor across from the study door. His legs and head bent, he jerks up to look at her as she emerges. His smile is tentative. She steps up to him, tapping her shoe against his and reaching her arms out. He takes her hands in his, playing along as if she were helping him up, in reality, he stands on his own, only tugging her arms slightly.

When he stands beside her, she twines her hand through his arm and slowly leads him down the hall.

“Shall we venture to the Mabon fires?” Liam's voice is as soft as his smile, as if trying to hold her gently after the evening’s events. She nods, leaning into him.

“I’m sorry, Vi. I know you probably don't want excuses, but it didn't feel like our secret to tell. I trust you, after everything you told me the other night, but we had no way of knowing why you were here initially, and–” She squeezes his arm.

“I know.” Her tone is resigned and tired, but she offers him the same quiet smile he’s given her.

“I’m not mad at you, not really. I just–” she searches for the words, wobbling for a moment on her feet, suddenly exhausted from the day. “It’s a timely reminder of each of our loyalties. That I have been a bit naive.”

“Vi…” He trails off, not sure how to comfort her, and she shakes her head as they begin to cross the lawn, towards the orange warmth across the way.

“Do not worry, Liam, I will be ok. Thank you for walking me out.”

She parts ways with him when they reach the blaze, and she begins looking for the man who has been on her mind all day.

The string between them is still taught; she finds him easily, her eyes drawn to him. He stands away from the others, his silhouette dark, blending in with the treeline behind him. His face is drawn, the firelight washing him in gold, highlighting his harsh angles and furrowed brow.

His eyes focus on her as she draws close; she can see the fire reflected in his eyes, and her silhouette slowly eclipsing it. Violet walks to stand beside him, allowing one last moment of silence between them, of calm. His expression has morphed, more reminiscent of someone expecting a scolding than the stormy anger it was moments before. He breathes deeply as if about to speak, and she decides she cannot let him. She turns to face him, and he turns to meet her.

“I feel like an idiot. For believing you when you said you wanted a partner, not a wife, and for thinking that you might see the world the same way I do. And maybe you do, but maybe you were just telling me what I wanted to hear. And I hate that I can’t believe you anymore and that it only worked because I trusted you.”

The bonfire burns between them, shadows of flames dancing across their faces. Violet resents that even now, she finds him strikingly beautiful. The flickering glow emphasizes every curve and sharp angle carved into his bones.

“I thought we were friends, and for a brief moment, I was terrified we were something more. But now I realize the truth is we’re neither.”

“Violet—” She doesn't think he's ever called her by her name before, and it breaks her heart that she's hearing it now, and it might be the last time.

“There is undeniably something greater going on here, and I refuse to be a bargaining piece.” She tilts her chin, trying futilely to stand eye to eye. “My entire life, I have been a pawn in other people’s games. I had always hoped to one day find a partner. For a moment, I thought you might be that man, an equal. But you are just like them, a fox in different clothes.”

He leans towards her, wanting to take a step but resisting.

“Violet, I do want that, I wanted to tell—” she raises her hand to cut him off, her eyes frigid.

“I suppose it wasn't trust, though, was it? Not if neither of us was being honest with the other. You see, you played me well, Xaden Riorson. However, I’ll admit you weren't alone, I was supposed to be playing you in return,” she lets out a cold, bitter laugh as his eyes widen. “But you were very convincing, and I think I got lost along the way. You won.”

As she walks away from him, returning to the fire, Xaden feels not an ounce of victory, only loss and overwhelming sadness.

All the guests have returned to Aretia, and the Duke plans to follow on his own the next day. He should not have been left unattended to drink to his heart’s content. Or rather, to drink because his heart was far from content, if he allowed himself to dwell on it, he might concede his heart was well on its way to being thoroughly shattered.

He sits in the library, a glass of Tyrrish barley liquor in a crystal glass, from the distillery Liam’s family ran.

His chest heavy, he’d felt like screaming since the night before, when Violet had told him goodbye, in no uncertain terms, by the bonfire. And God. Why did he physically ache with the revelation? A knot has been travelling between his chest and his stomach since the conversation. Forcing him to ponder every choice he has ever made concerning Violet, and every choice he made without considering her.

He had never, not with anyone, felt this out of control; she had shredded his every defense and left him reeling.

So he sits, sipping the liquor until it warms every inch of his body, and then pours some more. Because he is quite aware that, if he had truly lost Violet yesterday, it was entirely and irrevocably his fault.

God, who tries to tell a woman he loves her before finding a way to slip in “You know your brother, who you believe to be dead? He's not, and we’re actually very good friends.” He groans, throwing his head back against the armchair.

After another drink, he is pacing the length of the Library.

Another, and his face is pressed against the window, staring up at the stars, wondering if Violet, too, is contemplating them tonight.

A fifth, and he spins the globe in the corner until he worries he’s the one spinning.

With a sixth in hand, he strides to the desk by the fire and begins to write.

My Dearest Violence,

He writes until he fills a page, and then another.

—terrified me. I'm not proud of it, but—

His hand flies across the page, his other tugs through his loose curls. Xaden’s fingers worry the onyx locks apart until they frizz around his face like a halo in the firelight.

—designed to perfection—

His fingertips are stained with ink, and he's chewed his lip raw.

—love for you is true—

He drops the pen, flexing his hand and drumming his fingers against the table before resuming.

—I will answer all your questions, regardless—

He pours a new drink before he signs off on the third page.

—X

Chapter Text

When they return to Sandborn Manor, it is a flurry of activity. The maids carry flower arrangements, while the footmen move furniture up and down the stairs. The head housekeeper stands in the center of the hall, giving orders, signing for deliveries, shooing the dog, and the mail courier. She is a force to be reckoned with, a conductor and her orchestra.

Violet and Rhiannon are unwinding the scarves from their necks when there's a crash. A table tips over from the weight of boxes on one side, papers, envelopes, pine boughs, and ribbons fly everywhere. Scattering to every corner of the entrance hall. The housekeeper shrieks and begins issuing orders like a general, including directing the guests to go upstairs and get out of her way.

Masen’s extended family is coming in from other parts of Tyrrendor to meet the new members of the family. Baby Lukas, of course, and Reagan, whom many had yet to meet. They will be visiting in stages from now until Yule, so everything needs to be ready for the troupe of cousins, aunts, and uncles that will be filtering through Sanborn Manor for the next couple of months. Hence, the frantic desperation of the staff to get the house in order.

Violet drifts through those first days back in a bit of a trance, lost in thoughts of the Duke and her brother. Still torn that two of the most important men in her life conspired and lied to her. Fluttering between sadness and anger. Some days she feels too full of all the dichotomous emotions she can barely bring herself to engage with any of them.

A note from Liam arrives the day after she returns to Sanborn Manor. Informing her where Tairn is stabled, assuring her that the Duke insists Tarin is still hers to ride whenever she wishes. She hates Xaden for it a little bit, because the truth of it is that she doesn't hate him, not at all. She keeps hoping she’ll wake up one day and the ache in her chest will have ebbed– it doesn’t.

So Violet rides, in the cold, in the rain, and takes comfort in her stoic companion. They have an understanding; he accommodates her, a steady source of comfort, and is completely unfriendly to anyone else. It's a distance Violet appreciates at the moment.

Some days the melancholy is worse than others. She tries to find solace in her friends, but there's still a wall between her and Mira, and she's not sure how to breach it. On those days, she's angry, and she and Mira argue like they haven't in years, snippy and on edge. Violet no longer has the patience to make everyone happy.

There's snow on the mountain tops surrounding the valley, the next time she sees him. He stops as if he’s seen a ghost, his hands in his pockets, lips parted. If she weren’t so lost in the pain of seeing him, she might've seen the gold glimmer of hope in his onyx eyes. But as she strolls down the street with Rhiannon, she can’t bring herself to hold his gaze for longer than a breath.

For that moment, her eyelids flutter, and the sensations rush back. His lips on hers, his hand on her back, his voice in her ear. Endless waves of Xaden, strong and vicious and utterly beautiful.

Xaden’s heart breaks watching her look away, for an entirely different reason.

Life goes on, they meet Masen’s family, spend evenings in the salon playing with Lukas, afternoons riding Tairn, and nights lounging in piles of limbs by crackling fires.

Violet goes back to her notes, where she transcribed every missive she ever decoded. Something she certainly wasn't supposed to do. She has the entire notebook written in code, one that only she and Dain know how to read.

She starts a new notebook, trying to gather things that feel related, categorizing each piece of information. She compiles everything related to the Barrens in one section, Poromiel in another.

Then she combs through all of the information to gather everything about trade routes across all the nations. She’s meticulous in her sorting of the information. Searching for anomalies, trends, and using her knowledge of the region's history to attempt to discern the truth.

She’s close, everything points to a conflict, just not on Navarre’s borders. Violet once again is haunted by Seryna's passing comment.

“We have more than one border”

She’s considered the possibility before, but now, now she looks it full in the eye, addressing the terrifying reality. Poromiel is at war with the Barrens. But why Navarre is desperate to keep it secret remains a mystery.

After a week of tension, Mira insists on going out to ride with her. Teine and Tairn don't exactly get along, but the black horse tolerates the other. Which is high praise by his standards.

“So, is this to make yourself feel better, or are you finally ready to have a real conversation with me?” Mira’s back is straight, her demeanor that of their mother, a general. Body swaying with the motion of Teine beneath her.

“Violet, you were never supposed to be part of any of this.” Violet rolls her eyes, indulging in the childish comfort, because she’s angry, frustrated, and near snapping. She has done her best to remain calm, discerning, and levelheaded, but critical thinking can only bring her so far, until she’s left emotionally wrung out. And she’s nearing the brink.

“Well, I am, and you may think I'm mad, but I’m pretty sure knowing what exactly it is I’ve gotten myself into would be safer for me.” Mira’s sigh is enough to tell Violet she’s right.

Mira leans forward, and Teine picks up the pace, Tairn matching with ease.

“Are the Barrens at war with Poromiel?” Her sister’s head whips to meet her gaze, hair flying around her in the wind. “Why is Navarre hiding it?” A war is fought, start to finish, across Mira’s features. Violet is grateful to the victor.

“The Prophet Venin.”

With those three words, all the points Violet has been working desperately to connect snap into place.

Her eyes wide and her lips parted. “They’re afraid the religious extremism will split the nation.”

Mira grimaces. “Much of Navarre is still rather conservative. Set in the ways of the old provinces. Some are more progressive. Having held on to their forefathers' practices. Like Tyrrendor.” She nods her head as if in acquiescence, like providing praise to Tyrrendor was not what she expected, but she sees the validity of what Violet’s been saying all along.

Violet's eyes search the clouds above, as if more answers lay in their vapors. “It makes more sense to me now, Brennan. You.” She darts her eyes to meet her sister’s. “You’re torn, split in two over this, aren’t you?”

Mira’s eyes are focused far off in the distance, beyond the edge of the valley where they ride.

“Does Navarre genuinely think the nation will devolve into civil war?” As soon as she asks it, Violet knows it’s a valid concern. Mira leaves a moment of air, and Violet continues. “I suppose I can answer that myself, with what we’ve seen here in Tryrendor alone.”

Mira’s eyes remain ahead. “They would secede. I’m certain. And this time, other provinces will likely follow their lead, splitting from Navarre as well. They’ll succeed and bring others with them.”

“Would an independent Tyrrendor be the worst thing?” Violet off-handedly wonders when treason became such a casual, everyday occurrence for her.

Mira laughs, breaking the ice across her shoulders. “The King certainly thinks so. But I imagine you are less sure of that than ever. And I would be inclined to agree.”

The sisters ride in silence for a while, each lost in their own turbulent thoughts. Until Violet breaks it again. “Then what is our next move?"

The older woman draws in a slow, steady breath. “I’ve no idea, Vi, I’ve been running myself ragged trying to balance it all. And I’ve no idea what our best play is, how to use our position. As I’m sure Halden told you. The counsel is waffling. They’re old, out of touch, and indecisive. We can’t exactly have a plan in response when there is nothing to respond to.”

Violet nods, mulling it all over, turning it to see every angle in her mind. “When everything falls apart, will you be standing next to Brennan?”

Mira sighs, a controlled exhale. Her face, a storm when she meets Violets. “I will be standing next to you, but I have an inkling Brennan will be at your other shoulder.”

Most of the court retreats to their country homes for Yule. The Sanborns always planned to stay, with Lukas and all the Navarrians in tow; it made more sense to stay put, celebrate in the frost-touched valley of Aretia. They spend many evenings in the weeks leading up to the Holiday at Riorson house to dine. Though somehow she and the Duke are able to avoid one another, never in the same room for long and certainly never alone together.

The candles flicker along the wall where they line Rhiannon's room, washing the furnishings in a warm glow. Violet is sprawled across the bed on a diagonal, taking up a truly impressive amount of space, considering she is the smallest woman present.

Rhiannon and Jessina stand in the shifting glow of the fireplace, hand in hand, practicing a Tyrrish dance Bodhi had taught them the night before. It involves much more footwork than any Navarrian dances they knew. Rhiannon and Regean agreed it reminded them of some of the dances from their province, high energy, hips and arms shifting and swaying with every step.

Violet feels a sense of calm settle over her, the warmth of hearth and home. Despite everything that has come to pass between them all, there is certainty in the women around her. Being with them is joy and safety. It is home, no matter where on the continent they may be.

Rhiannon hadn't pressed her since the Brennan reveal. Though it was obvious she was curious about the Duke. So when Jessinia and Rae wander off to check on baby Lukas and gather snacks from the kitchen, Rhiannon climbs into bed beside Violet, and she needn’t ask what’s on her mind.

Violet recounts the tale, from the moment they’d left the salon until Rhiannon found her in the hall crying later that night. She had scooped Violet into her arms and soothed her until only the sound of hiccups remained.

The silver-haired girl hadn’t been ready then, only sharing snippets of the night here and there, but now she recounts every detail she wishes she didn’t remember.

“It’s not so much that I’m mad at him, part of me understands, I was keeping secrets too. Maybe not quite as big…” Violet raises her brows pointedly. “Though secrets nonetheless.”

Rhiannon hums but leaves space for Violet to continue. The sides of their bodies pressed together, both studying the canopy of the bed above.

“It’s as if the situation reminded me of everything I was concerned about prior, how can we possibly bridge all that there is between us. If I don't have all the information, how can I possibly decide to turn my back on Navarre? To take the leap of faith that is loving him.” Rhiannon flips on her side, propping her head up against her hand. Looking down to study Violet as she speaks. “The worst part is, I want to. I want to jump blind into his arms, come what may. But, god Rhiannon, have I gone mad?”

“Oh, most certainly.” Violet's laugh is sharp and sure. “But that doesn't have to be a bad thing.” Violet stares off above her friend’s head, still lost in her own mind.

“Do you believe he is a good man?” Rhiannon’s eyes are steady as she asks, drawing hers. Violet meets Rhi’s gaze and nods.

“Where it matters, yes.”

“Do you think that based on everything we know, Tyrrendor is fighting for the right things?”

Violet sighs deeply, her eyelids fluttering closed as she nods.

“Then it is not a blind leap. It is up to you, but whatever you decide, know that we will all be beside you. Always.”

They prepare for dinner at Riorson House. They’ll spend most of the nights for the rest of the week celebrating up at the keep. The holiday is an intimate family affair, so she wears a simple dress, a knitted sash cris-crossing on her torso. They arrive early, filtering through the house, in small groups, wrapping presents, gossiping, entertaining the gaggle of children who now fill all the rooms of every building with laughter and chatter.

Violet immediately climbs to the gallery with the Gentileschi. She strolls the length of the hall, appreciating the paintings she hadn’t had the chance to see before. Lingering only briefly in front of Judith, too haunted by the ghosts of the Duke‘s heat beside her, his breath on her neck.

She passes the drawing room on her way down the hall. Voices filter to her eyes through the doors, angled a jar. “And what exactly do you think that will accomplish, Aetos?”

“Nothing, certainly when it comes to you, Miss Mairi.” The voices are soft, obscured by the door and space between, but Violet recognizes them nonetheless.

“Then why exactly do you insist on..." the girl must turn, or walk away, or lower her voice because Violet doesn't catch the entire sentiment.

But Dain's voice is clear and teasing as it replies. “Because I can't imagine not.”

Violet had really been trying to knock her eavesdropping habit, but she can’t help the wry smile on her lips as she thinks of her oldest friend and the girl who can’t stand him. Her mind is still on star-crossed lovers and forbidden romance when she catches sight of Xaden.

She steps down the stairs just as he emerges from the dining room, leaving them standing facing each other. Neither is quite sure how to act. She’s missed him, and part of her doesn't even blame him for Brennan. But gods weren't they doomed either way?

She takes a step closer, and so does he. His obsidian gaze is magnetized, drawing her in, the flecks of gold ground her, keeping her in reality, however minimally.

“How–”

“You look–”

They chuckle in sync, Xaden gesturing a hand for her to proceed.

“How are you?” She’s not sure if she should ask it, but now, standing close enough to touch, she’s not sure she could've resisted.

His lips twist into the impression of a smile, but she knows his lips, and they aren't smiling. “I am well, all things considered.”

She nods, feeling much the same. His fingers tap the glass rim of the vessel in his hand, an anxious, eerie sound.

“You look well, Violet. It’s nice to see you.” Eyes drinking her in, memorizing every freckle.

“And you.” She steals a glance at him, still not ready to look at him for longer than a heartbeat. Haunted by his hands on her skin.

She turns and walks to the far wall of the entryway. Violet’s eyes hold his over her shoulder as she presses open the door to the study, both hoping he does and doesn't follow.

He does.

They stand across the room from each other, a world and a sofa between them. Violet takes a moment to drink him in; she’d avoided looking directly at him lately, like one might shy away from the sun.

His skin had lost some of the warmth it had in the summer, but it is still a rich tawny brown, cheeks and lips flushed from the cold. He’s dressed the most casually she’s ever seen him, a thick cable knit sweater hides his arms and collarbones from her. But somehow it feels more intimate than the various states of undress she’s seen him in before.

Dressed like this, she could picture them in a kitchen, cold morning light streaming in, tea on the stove. She could see a life spent curled up by fires, full of riding through frost-coated grass at dawn, and slow dancing on staircases.

He held a heavy-bottomed glass, delicately gripped in his fingers, half full of amber liquid. She fidgets, wandering over to the globe by a heavy wooden desk.

“I had one of these as a kid, somewhere upstairs.” He tilts his chin to the globe as he leans against the desk, “I’d put pins in every place I wanted to visit.”

“And where do you want to go now?” Violet leans forward as she asks it.

“A million places.” Xaden’s long, capable fingers dance across the continents, spinning the sphere between them before stopping. “But recently, I can only concentrate on one of them.” He holds her gaze, and Violet feels lost.

Violet can’t help the way her heart swells despite its bruising. He’s the same man he always was, except now... now she knows he's likely a general in a war her King hopes to hide. When he looks at her like this, she can hardly convince herself it matters. The more she learns, the more she believes he’s in the right. If only she would allow herself to let it be that simple.

“Was getting close to me always part of the plan?” Because god, despite it all, that was what hurt the most, the possibility that maybe what was between them hadn't been real, hadn't been true.

He studies her, long and calculating; she wants to fidget at the scrutiny. Xaden pushes off the desk and turns to face her, slowly walking over, the world quite literally between them.

“I could have never planned for you, Violet.” His lips tense, chewing on half a smile, gaze still on her face. “Yes, we had always planned to keep an eye on your delegation, but I would be lying if I said getting as close as we did was anywhere in our plans. In fact, Garrick made sure to tease me at every opportunity about how far off course you led me. You threw all my plans into chaos. Thank Amari.”

The last words are reverent, and Violet barely knows how to look at him after the implication. Invoking the old Tyrrish gods brings it all into sharper focus. Violet lets her fingers walk across the globe, slowly spinning it before her. Eyes glazed, breathing stuttered, shaking her head at her own desire to fall into his arms. “There are too many unknowns between us.”

He steps even closer, leaning over the globe between them, bowing his face to hers. His voice swelling and nearly cracking with his next words. “So ask. I intend to answer anything within my power to tell. I intend to assure you that I am here when you are ready. How can you think I am not willing after everything I put in my letter?”

Violet’s fingers freeze, straddling the Atlantic, her eyes frantically searching his. “What letter?”

“What letter…” his brows furrow, and his lips part. Then immediately his eyes harden and he strides up to her, around the globe so it is no longer between them. “What do you mean Violence.” It's a demand, not a question.

She tilts her head to look up at him, “Exactly as it sounds, I never received a letter from you.”

Given all the time in the world, she’s sure she’d never be able to dissect the emotions flicking across his face and through his eyes. “I got one from Liam, assuring you wanted me to still ride Tairn, but nothing from you.” She blinks hard, her heart stuttering in her chest. “Your grace.” Desperate to maintain a fraction of distance. The heat radiating off him, the intensity of his onyx gaze make her want to lose any semblance of conviction she still clung to.

His face continues to be at war with itself, brows drawn, eyes aflame, lips pressed in a hard line. He turns, his face a writhing mess of shadows cast by the dancing flames in the fireplace.

“What did it say, Xaden?” She steps up to him, the closest they’ve been since that fateful day.

His eyes fall closed, and he tilts his head back, like a prayer, like he's gathering his mind. When he dips his face and meets Violet’s gaze again, his eyes are clear, lips parted, and face open.

There’s a loud noise from the hall, sharp peals of laughter and shrieks. Footsteps slam through the hall, getting louder. When the door flies open, Violet had already taken a step back, though her eyes never leave the Duke’s. His hand twitches, raising ever so slightly to reach for her.

As the others spill into the room, he drops it back to his side.

The world seems brighter the next morning, cast in a sharper focus. Part of her is desperate to seek him out after his promise, and the other is terrified. For she is certain, once he lets her in, she will not know how to walk away; she will be his, and she will be glad.

Rhiannon knocks at her door, insisting she join them on their walk to the market. She prepares, and as they cross the entrance hall, a maid interrupts.

“A letter for you, Miss Sorrengail.” Violet thanks the maid and tells the girls she's going to hang back when she sees the return address.

She tears the envelope open as she takes the stairs two at a time, ducking into her room to read it in private. Violet is sure that at first glance, no one else would know who Aaric Greycastle was, but she didn’t want to give anyone a reason to ponder the name.

Dear Violet,
Clever no? You’re probably rolling your eyes as you read this.

She is.

I’m sure you have a dozen more clever and surreptitious pseudonyms on the tip of your tongue.

She does.

But I had to ensure you would entertain the letter, and not open it in certain company. So I stand by my selection. You’re alone, aren’t you?
Father believes I’m on my birthday tour of the nation, and I am. But I did ditch my guard a few towns ago and am taking what I’m calling an alternative route. Do you think he’ll mind? Don’t answer that.
I’ve missed you Vi. I’ve discovered a lot this past year, so much that I wish I’d paid more attention to the code you and Dain used to pass notes with.
I shall be at this inn for another fortnight. I would love to find a way to see you, Vi. If you’re in Aretia, I have a feeling our interests align.
All my love,
Aaric

If nothing else, the letter eases any lingering worry she had about being married off to Cam. As she is certain the King hasn’t the foggiest idea where he is, and that Cam has no intention of letting him find out.

She chews it all over. Pacing her room, reviewing what she knows, her conversation with Mira, with Xaden

Finally, she stops, looking out her window to the mountains around the valley. She resolves to take a page from ‘Aaric’ and take her life into her own hands. Instead of joining her friends in the city, she heads up the slope of the nobles' quarter.

Violet walks to the keep and strides into the Duke’s private wing. She's surprised the guards allow her, but she shouldn't be; they’ve been instructed to let her go nearly anywhere she pleases for months.

She stops one and asks for directions to the Duke, his study, perhaps? They oblige, and she can't help but query if the general public is given this level of access to the Duke.

“No, my lady, they are not.” Her brows furrow, and she opens her mouth to inquire further. But when the guard raises a brow, she swallows her words. Who did they think she was? And was it not telling that she was unaware of her level of access?

The door is ajar when she arrives, and she sees him pacing in front of a desk.

“Anything in your power?” Her voice cuts through the room, mirroring his words from the night before.

His body turns to hers, eyes rushing over every inch as they always do these days. His jaw ticks, but he nods, quick and certain.

“Who were the men that attacked me?” She steps farther into the room, nearing him. She knows the answer at this point, but part of her wants to test him.

He tilts his head, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m not sure exactly, but we believe they were from the Barrens. Likely an elite unit of their military.”

“So, there is a secret conflict?” He nods.

“How involved is your province?” His brows draw together. She can see the conflict traveling across his features.

“Are you asking as Violet or as the King’s spy?”

“Tell me either way.” She has no intention of spying on him for the King any longer. She was certain that was rather clear. But trust needed to go both ways; if he wanted to earn hers back, he also needed to leap, blind and untethered.

His eyes flutter, she can see him lose the battle within himself, almost scolding himself for the risk.

“Very.” Onyx meets Hazel, electricity crackling as he nears. “We provide weapons to the Poromish; we have been attempting to provide refuge as well, though it is difficult with Navarre’s stance on-” he moves his hands in front of him, fluttering and gesturing as if trying to encompass everything and nothing. “-things.”

He walks closer, so she could reach out and touch him, if that were the sort of thing she were want to do. “There’s a bit more to our level of involvement, of course, something I’m happy to discuss in detail. Just maybe not today.”

Violet studies him. If wishes came true, she would have unravelled him by now.

“You’re an admirable leader, Xaden.” The flicker in his features of shock, to pride, then desire sends Violet's heart racing. She clenches her fists, digging her nails into her palm. Focus.

“Brennan.” She says it like a safe word. His jaw clenches, but he nods for her to go on. "I understand how it happened, and I understand there wasn't a natural moment to reveal it. I had no commitment to you or your cause." He looks like he wants to interrupt, but she doesn't let him. "But I want to know what he is to you, how he came to you."

Xaden's eyes are steady on her as he speaks. “We met when I was 17, around when my father died. It was—” he tilts his head, thinking. “I was figuring out a lot of things, and everyone still in the Tyrrish government was older, and most hadn’t been close with my father, as all who were, were dead. But Brennan, he was closer to my age, and still experienced in war and the like. It was... Easy to look up to him, build a rebellion with him.”

Violet can't help the tug in her chest at the sentiment. The image of a 17-year-old Xaden, alone and unsure, inheriting a war, a rebellion, and a province.

“I had thought it would be easy to lie to you about it. For his sake. My friend, my counselor, and confidant. But as I said, Violet, you disrupted all of my plans. Something for which I will forever be grateful.”

Gods, this isn't getting any easier. Every instinct in her body screams for her to tuck herself into his arms, one of the only places she's ever felt safe. “What was your relationship to my father?”

His arms are crossed before him at this point, clearly restraining himself from reaching for her. “I never met him, but…” his jaw works as he worries his lower lip. “We corresponded for many years, and he with my father before me. It was mostly research-based, at least at first; they got political. If you’re ever interested, I have them all archived. He was an incredibly intelligent and insightful man, as you well know.”

She hates him all over again, for being a man she thinks she could love, a man she might already. Violet schools her features, but her breathing quickens. “Thank you. I would love to read them one day.” His smile is gentle and affectionate, and new waves of frustration wash over her.

She has to inhale deeply in order to get the next words out. “What was in the missing letter?” Her gaze is steady on him, categorizing his every move. He looks away, focusing on the trees outside the window.

“Just—” He cuts himself off, his sigh heavy. “Whatever is in my power to give you, is yours, Violet. That's what it said, that’s what matters.”

Part of her screams that it isn't all that matters. That she needs to know, needs all the information. She wants to throw herself at him, cut him to pieces until he confesses all the parts of himself he’s insistent on hiding away.

She breathes. He had given her more than she had expected tonight, more than she was sure even he expected. She would unravel him; she just needed to be patient. He had a province of people who relied on him, a family that had already grieved more than young people should. If Xaden needed time, she would allow it, for now.

Chapter Text

That day changes everything and nothing. They dance around each other at each event, every dinner, and all the evenings in the salon. She feels his eyes on her skin near constantly. Every night, orbiting closer and closer, but still not quite meeting. It’s maddening. But Violet refuses to give in, to let his gravity eclipse hers.

Riorson House is alive with the holiday. Every night, it is warmed by fires, garlands on mantles and around door frames. They spend more time there than at the Sandborn manor. Joining for luncheon and often not returning until late into the night. They all fall into the cadence of evenings at Riorson house, so much so that Violet tends to look forward to it, despite the crackling tension that still flows between her and the Duke.

Violet spends one morning before they depart responding to Cam’s letter, in as much ambiguity as he had written to her.

My Dearest Aaric,

I think my biggest gripe is with ‘Greycastle’. Did you simply look at the building closest to you and think, ‘yes, that's it’? Though it was a telltale giveaway, it was you, and not another estranged Aaric, not that we are estranged. Yet.
I’m intrigued to hear of your discoveries. I have made a good many of my own. If only you were as good at codes as you are at languages.
Your relatives have certainly been a pain in my side as of late. Playing matchmaker. You know that man I used to date? The one you always warned me would break my heart? Well, it was suggested I marry his brother. Because they want me to remain in the family, worried I might like it here more than I do at home. I, of course, assured him his fear was unfounded. And you know I’ve never been a good liar.
Though the twins do love it here, and you know how loath I am to ever be separated from them, so we shall see. I do hear the brother may not be readily available. Hopefully, I can find a way out of it before he returns. Or maybe I will find a husband here, as originally intended. Do you think that would be so bad?

Love, Always,
Lilac

Aaric had often called her various other purple flowers throughout their childhood, teasing, in the way kids often do. Lilac had always been her favorite, over Iris, or Petunia, which was particularly awful. She posts the letter with the housekeeper on her way out with their entourage. With Masen’s family, they were quite the gaggle, the young ones and mother took the carriages, the rest strolling or riding up the hill to Riorson house.

Some nights, as they lounge after dinner, Garrick or Bodhi rushes in with missives, leading to hushed conversations and darting eyes. Violet ensures her back remains rod straight when this happens, ears attuned to their voices, refusing to lean toward them and reveal her interest. She is sure Xaden sees right through her. Some nights, every inch of her aches and burns, a riot against her traitorous heart. Because, despite her best efforts, she’s found herself utterly infatuated with Duke Riorson.

That night, it’s Brennan who steps into the salon after dinner, and tension immediately fills every line of Xaden’s body. Mira is on the balcony discussing the best daggers for concealment with Imogen. So Brennan only greets Violet fleetingly and hollow. He then goes to the Duke, and the two bend together, voices a low, unintelligible rumble. Xaden’s eyes don’t leave hers.

After a moment, they retire to his study, and Brennan's presence sets Violet in motion after nights of quiet observance. Quick to follow behind them, she slips into the study after Bodhi. He eyes her dubiously but doesn’t stop her.

“What's happening?” She refuses to hide in the room, seeing what she can overhear, she wants them to confront her, see her, and her competence.

Xaden doesn’t seem surprised she followed them, but Brennan does. The Duke’s eyes sweep over her form before returning to her face, always cataloging her well-being. “We’re not sure.”

Violet nods, as if this is a valid response, which it might be. She holds Brennan's eyes when she replies. “Well, I’m Navarre’s best codebreaker, use me.”

The men silently argue, eyes fierce, until Brennan finally bows his head. She sits with them until late that night, the fire dying low in the hearth. Liam eventually insists she let them put her up at the keep, as everyone else had returned to the Sandborn’s hours before.

Violet pores over every missive they’ve ever received, thinking back to her mental catalog of the ones she decoded for Navarre. She’s able to glean new information that they had previously missed. Brennan looks at her as if seeing her for the first time, and in many ways, he is.

The Barrens seem to be amassing troops throughout Poromiel, but in seemingly random areas. Some align with Navarren outposts. But others have no logical, or at least obvious, reasoning.

Violet sleeps fitfully, distracted by both the developments in the war and the knowledge that the Duke is asleep under the same roof.

On the morning of the Solstice, they go to the keep early. The Duke mentioned the night before that his family always spends the solstice harvesting holly, willow, and cedar. To later weave wreaths and garlands before they light a bonfire intended to warm the longest night of the year. What he had failed to mention is that when unsupervised, this task turns into a snowball fight. Which is why Violet is taken off guard when, after Xaden and Brennan go inside to meet with Felix, Garrick throws the first snowy attack. Though she and her friends quickly rise to the occasion.

Her chest hurts, and it’s euphoric. The cold air coats her lungs, leaving them feeling like they might crack on impact. She’s breathless with giggles and gasps as snow hits her torso.

“Rhi!” It's a shriek and a laugh rolled into one, her friend cackling as she sprints across the powdery snow. Flakes sprinkle through her braids and cling to her eyelashes. Violet's nose is red and raw.

Liam darts around her, ducking behind her body to use as a shield. Mira only adjusts at the last second, sending the snowball wide so it doesn’t hit her sister in the face.

“Mairi!” Mira’s voice is sharp across the quiet white world. “Don’t fight dirty. And don’t you DARE use my sister as a human shield.”

His hand squeezes her elbow. “Thanks, Vi.” Their laughter harmonizes as he backs away, eyes trained on Mira, dipping a hand in the snow to build a new ball. Violet’s gaze locks onto Garrick, who has scooped Imogen over his shoulder after she dumped a handful of snow down the back of his shirt.

Violet runs across the field, scooping up enough snow for multiple rounds, then shouts Garrick’s name.

Snowballs aren’t much different than daggers, well, not where aim is concerned. She nails him in the face, twice in a row. His hand goes up to wipe away the ice water and lets Imogen free, allowing her to slide down his tall frame until her feet plant solidly on the ground. There’s a flush on both their faces when the strawberry blonde spins to Violet.

”Thanks, Sorrengail!” Imogen’s grin is wide as she sprints away from Garrick just as his hand shoots out to grab her, fingers grazing her coat. Violet returns a victorious salute and spins to find her next target.

Reagan dashes away from Masen, twisting and turning her body to remain out of his reach, endlessly evading her husband. Her shrieks and laughs echo through the cold air, dampened by the soft snow falling around them. After a few laps around the garden, Masen catches up, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her into the air. Her voice bubbles as she commands that he unhand her. He tilts his body back, attempting to carry her, and she kicks into the sky, her skirts billowing around her legs, pumping into nothing.

He places her back down and spins her in his arms. The next thing Violet knows, they are dancing, nose to nose, whispering, in their own world. Masen spins Raegen, her boots kicking up clouds of snow as they glide across the garden. Her cheeks and nose are tinted red, a soft flush on her deep brown skin, the pink on Masen’s face much more vibrant against the light brown of his cheeks, glasses fogged up from their combined breath.

Violet's heart aches at their intimacy, their easy affection. When she had confronted Xaden the other night, one of the things she asked was that he let Masen confide in Raegen. There had been one night they slept apart. Rae instead twined between Violet and Rhiannon as their breaths slowed into sleep. She had been heartbroken and validated all at once.

When she went to him the next morning, whatever she told him made him cry. Their fingers have been intertwined near constantly ever since. Violet is a bit awed by their love; if she weren't so happy for them, she might just be envious. They seem so capable of weathering any storm as long as they're together. She wonders if that's a choice, or luck. Or maybe a bit of both.

Rhiannon interrupts her train of thought, weaving their fingers together and pulling her towards a sled by the stairs to the house. Violet’s heart aches, but she breathes through it, the ice of the air numbing the dull throb.

“Rhi! I’m so cold, I can’t feel my face!” Violet exclaims as she tucks her body against Rhiannon’s. Rhiannon peppers her cheeks with kisses when they sit on the sled, Mira valiantly tugging it across the snow. Violet’s laughter bubbles in her chest, bright and lively.

Shrieks and cheers filter across the lawn, and Violet is sure they can be heard from the house. After she is chilled to the bone, her nose numb and her mittens soaked, Jesinia tugs her wrist and leads them back to the keep.

The steward directs them to a room where they can freshen up. Violet notes that it's the same one she had stayed in the week before. Jesinia waves off the maid and runs the water in the enormous bath, warm to the point of steaming through the chilled air, but not so hot as to shock their systems.

“Tyrrish holidays certainly embrace celebration much more than ours. If only I had been raised to laugh and play, not sit still while a priest drones on in a drafty room.” Jesina’s fingertips are red and raw as she signs, bright against her bronzed olive skin.

Violet nods along enthusiastically as she strips layers of wet, cold, snow-encrusted clothes off her form.

“And the way they respect and prioritize the earth, the nature that provides for us. It's quite beautiful.” She tilts her head in thought, then signs on. “I don't think the council anticipated us looking upon their traditions so kindly, though.”

Violet’s skin barely puckers when exposed to the cool air, already as chilled as humanly possible. She grabs a robe to place by the tub and then quickly steps in. Slowly lowering her body into the rising warm water. She releases an incredibly unladylike sound as she does, tilting her head back, eyes fluttering closed. Jesnina’s laugh makes Violet open her eyes and watch as her friend signs.

“I obviously couldn't hear that, but I’m sure anyone next door would have, if your expression is anything to go by.” Violet tosses a washcloth from the edge of the tub and hits her friend’s shoulder. The other woman simply continues to chuckle, stripping off her last layer and joining Violet in the small pool.

They soak, brushing through their hair, silver-tipped light brown and rich mahogany strands floating in the water as they each submerge up to their ears.

There's a clatter at the door, and the twins' voices meld together as they burst into the room. They come bearing changes of clothes, laughing and filling the space with joy and chatter. Violet’s body relaxes fully for the first time in days as Rhiannon brushes through her damp hair, braiding it loosely against her head.

The bonfire that night warms Violet to her core. She catches sight of Xaden, illuminated in the ochre firelight, all harsh lines and golden eyes. Her mind is lost in memories of her heart breaking beside a different fire. Of flames reflected in his eyes as her reality fell to pieces. She breathes through the rising panic, the uncertainty.

I intend to assure you that I am here when you are ready.

He is steady, every day it seems her world tilts on its axis, and every day he stands tall, in arm's reach if she needs him. She will find her balance; each day it feels both closer and farther away. Violet is beginning to feel that they just might be inevitable, and her resistance is futile.

The days between the Solstice and Yule are spent reading and socializing between the manor and Riorson house. Always full of voices and chatter, of Masen’s nieces and nephews, as well as other extended cousins of Xaden’s friends. One day, Violet wanders, finally landing in a salon with warm afternoon light. She settles on one of the couches, a book spread on her lap. She had spent the last few hours watching baby Lukas and some of his cousins. After handing them off to their parents, she longs for a bit of peace and quiet before their next meal.

Yule is lovely in Aretia. They stretch it over many days, first with a feast for the Solstice. Then days of preparing the home for Yule, evenings spent around the hearth. Then Yule itself, only to be followed by more family-filled nights until the Navarrian New Year. Liam mentioned that they sometimes travel for it, as it is not a Tyrrish holiday. Sometimes spending it by the sea or on the country estate. Or deeper inland, where he and Xaden spent many of their teenage years.

Yule in Basgiath was so cold in comparison. Time wasn’t spent in a cocoon of love and family, but in displaying your wealth and good fortune to your peers. Preening and participating in the pomp and circumstance of the season, the large balls, the royal events. It was a horrible chore.

Dain finds her eventually, though clearly not on purpose. His face is surprised but not displeased when he takes her in.

“Looking for a hiding spot as well?” She returns to her book to mark her place as she asks it.

Dain’s smile is soft and teasing as he flops onto the couch across from her. “That obvious?”

“More than that, it’s what I’m doing, and we were always rather alike.”

They fall into an easy rhythm, chatting, debriefing about their first Aretian Yule, and generally enjoying each other's presence. It’s peaceful and nostalgic, until Halden bursts in, interrupting, his hair askew and a franticness to his movements. There's a letter in his hand, and his bright green eyes meet each of theirs, panicked.

They both rise, but do not bow at his entry. He waves a hand, and they resume their seats. Though as Halden now paces in front of the couch where Dain had sat, he opts to sit beside Violet. Together, they face the Prince as he moves, finally placing the letter on the table before them.

Violet quickly reaches for it as Halden resumes his movement across the room. Her eyes dart across the page, Dain leaning his body into hers to read over her shoulder. It’s a coded letter, but a simple one. Violet and Dain could’ve cracked it easily as children.

As discussed, the Mairi girl is the best option. Word is, that family matters deeply to him.

Violet almost curses under her breath, but swallows the impulse.

You are to lead discussions regarding the terms of this union with the Duke. We will send the council along shortly, to Aretia, to iron out the details.

Violet’s eyes dance across the page, only skimming once she realizes the letter's contents, her vision blurring. Sloane. Gods, the irony of her saving the girl from unwanted advances all those months ago, only to be put in this position now.

She looks up and watches Halden, while Dain clearly prioritizes reading the letter in its entirety. He looks so young, his jaw set and his hair falling messily across his brow. Sometimes she forgets that his twin died in a war when they were too young to even know what they were fighting for. He never planned to do any of this alone.

“I’ll need both of your help with this.” The prince still does not look at them as he speaks, likely wearing a line in the carpet as he does.

“Violet, they might still ask that you marry Cam, but well, not any time soon. As Cam’s missing.” Dain’s body beside hers thrums with tension. She subtly shifts to rest a hand on his thigh, stroking a soothing circle by the bend of his knee. Halden is too involved in his pacing to track the movement.

“And with Cam missing, they're even more pressed to secure the provinces, if anyone were to find out…” his hair fluffs around his face where he's been running his hands through it. Violet studies him. It’s odd he’s not more concerned for Cam’s well-being, having already lost one brother. Unless he knows Cam is fine, simply evading their father.

“Violet, you need to convince the rest of them.” His eyes are a bit wild as he commands it. “I will make inroads with the Duke, but you must work behind the scenes to bring the rest of his people to our side.”

He nods, as if this is decided, then continues. “You’ve spent time with this Mairi girl, you think she will be easy to charm?” Dain scoffs from beside Violet, who presses her fingers more aggressively into his leg in warning.

Halden’s voice is cruel. “Right. Well, you’re not exactly the most charming of all of us, Aetos.” He sneers, and Violet is tempted to smack Halden for being such a spoiled brat. Ever since he first arrived, he has been a burr in all their sides.

And if one were to ask Violet, Dain was certainly the more charming of the two, and shockingly the one she hadn’t courted.

He nods again, and they are clearly dismissed, until Halden’s voice cuts through the room again, following them as they head for the door. “Dain? One more thing, Violet, you may go.” They turn to each other, and Dain smirks as Violet rolls her eyes. With a nod of her head, Violet leaves the two men, only one thought on her mind.

For a moment, as she flies up the stairs, she considers what she is doing. Rushing to tell something to a man who hadn't bothered to give her the same consideration. A small part of her understands why he did it, and she can't honestly say she would have made a different decision, had the roles been reversed. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt, didn't leave her chest cracked open.

Occasionally, she wondered if he was wholly unaffected. But then she would catch his eye, and she could see her own heartbreak like a mirror.

Violet knew he was working to rectify it, in his own way. She shoves the pettiness away, knowing that the only way forward is together. And if she expects him to come to her from now on, he deserves the same. Besides, he's the only person she wants to talk to right now. The only one she’s sure will still her racing heart.

She finds him in a corridor, and without thinking, she wraps her hand around his arm and tugs him into the nearest room. It's a bedroom, something she doesn't consider as she paces, releasing his arm but remaining within his reach.

“Miss. Sorrengail.” Her body jerks at the name. She hadn't realized how much she loved his peculiar term of endearment until it was gone. She misses the sound and shape of it on his lips.

“I won't be marrying Halden.” His eyes flash, focusing wholly on her. “Or Cam, if he or I have anything to say about it. Though don't celebrate just yet, you won't like the King's plan.” Onyx orbs narrowing, he continues to watch her, silent.

She paces, wringing her hands, not sure what to do with the energy bursting inside her. Attempting to breathe deeply and calm her mind.

Finally, he tilts his head, surveying her. “That’s why you pulled me into a random bedroom? To tell me your King's secrets.”

“Yes.” She drops her body to the bench at the foot of the bed, deciding her pacing did her no good.

“I think that's treason, Violence.” Her heart soars because it sounds like praise.

“I know it is.” She holds his eyes, swirling pools, like black tiger’s eye, deep and irradiant, glimmers of gold flashing as they dance across her face.

She tugs at the delicate chain around her neck, weighing the words in her mouth, knowing they will anger him. “He’s unsure of who to convince you to marry, so he's landed on what he believes is the next best thing. He wants Halden to marry a woman high up in the Tyrrish court, one important to you.” His eyes darken, and fists clench. “I swear I don't know how they figured out she was the best choice. I suppose it's not a secret, but well, they want him to begin negotiations with you, to marry Sloane.”

He turns away from her, his muscles taut. Just his profile on display for her, his jaw ticks, and the soft light from the window illuminates the hollow of his cheek. Finally, he nods, curt and decisive.

“Thank you for warning me.” He strides away, like he might walk out the door, but turns at the last moment. Eyes dark and unknowable. “How do you feel, in all of this?”

She exhales with a huff, her body sagging a bit with the release. “Relieved to not be married off, guilty because it just means another young woman, who wants it as little as I do, will be.” She tilts her head to study him.

He nods, eyes far away, and yet somehow still devouring every inch of her face. She continues, “and I’d like to find a way to help if I can.”

His eyes refocus, and she has to catch her breath. “Violet, you already have.” His hand flexes, and he turns to go, hesitating once again. “And I meant what I said, I don't want you marrying anyone else.”

Before he can slip out of the room, she finds her voice. “Does that mean you want me to marry you?”

He doesn’t turn back to her, but she knows he heard. Finally, he replies, voice soft, still turned away. “One day, if you’ll have me.” Then he is gone, and blood rushes in her ears as her heart attempts to pound out of her chest.

Once she gathers herself, she walks out to find Jesinia in the hall. Her eyes survey Violet, trailing over the neckline of her dress and her bare hands.

“I just saw the Duke exit that same bedroom. I don't suppose an escort is about to follow you out.” She signs the words, and Violet knows they are alone in the hall, but a blush rises on her chest all the same.

When she fails to answer, Jesinia simply smiles. “Well?” Violet shoots her a confused look, fluttering her hands, unsure how to reply.

“Details, Violet, details.” Jesinia joins her, and they begin to walk down the hall towards the library. “You were just in a bedroom with the rakish Duke who has been watching you longingly for months and I am requesting all the sordid details”

Violet can't help the laugh that bubbles from her chest. How can she possibly explain? The promise of a future proposal from a Duke she is clearly willing to commit treason for. One who is quite thoroughly in love with her, whom she kissed only once, in his mother’s rose garden. Yet his lips and his warmth have haunted her every day since. Violet was sure the ignoble acts Jesinia was asking after were much more romantic than the truth.

Though perhaps, the truth was the most romantic of them all.

That evening, as dinner draws to a close, Violet wanders onto the balcony of the grand room. The air is cold, and the valley is quiet. Most of the city, feasting in their homes, or away in the country.

“Vi–” She turns to find Dain in the doorway, and she spares him a sad smile.

He steps up to stand beside her at the railing, looking out over the mountains. “You told him, didn't you?” He cuts his eyes to her to watch her reaction. Violet learned to be a better liar over the last few years, but Dain had known her forever; all her tells burned into his mind.

“Yes.” He nods at her confession, clearly unsurprised. His voice is soft, but the content surprises her. “Good”

Violet reels. “Did you just approve of my near treason?”

He chuckles, shaking his head at her. “Come on, Vi, you’ve known me my whole life. I know I’m not perfect, but I do listen to you. Eventually.” His smile is rueful, teasing himself with the words. He swirls the drink in his glass, dark amber liquid sloshing up the sides, his eyes focus on the motion before he continues.

“I failed you. I should have been on your side from the beginning, but I didn't realize that what I was doing wasn’t helping. I don't want to stand by and fail someone else. Especially someone you care for.” Violet reaches a hand to grip Dain’s bicep, squeezing. “Besides, I know you well enough to know that the side you align yourself with is the right one. You’ll tell me in due time, I’m sure.” His eyes are far away, studying the shadow of the peaks in the distance. “Besides, I’ve started having my own suspicions.”

Violet can’t help the way she gapes at her oldest friend. Before lifting on her toes to brush a kiss against his cheek. He smiles in return, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“Hal's going to Basgiath tomorrow, for the New Year. He'll return with the council, I believe." Dain glances out across the valley before continuing. "Hal also asked that I stay close to her. Publicly, in case she’s targeted once this is all announced. And between you, me, Halden…and soon Sloane…” He captures Violet’s gaze. “He also wants me to spy on her and her family.”

Violet isn’t surprised at the request. It's smart, it's what she assumed Xaden meant when he had Liam keeping an eye on her.

“I won’t tell him anything she doesn't want me to. We can confer and figure out what I should relay to ensure there's no suspicion.” Violet nods along with his plan. She wonders if Sloane will accept that Dian is on her side. It might take time, but if Violet was able to warm up to Liam, have him become one of her dearest friends, surely Sloane and Dain could accomplish the same.

“You think she’ll take it well?” Violet eyes her friend sidelong as she asks, and is nearly surprised by the genuine smile on his lips.

“Unlikely.” His voice is oddly affectionate, and Violet laughs softly in reply.

“Reminds you of anyone we know?” Her voice is light, but there's more to Dain's gaze as he nods, his smile turning gentle and thoughtful.

They stand in silence for a moment, Violet leaning into Dain's side, focusing on the breathing of her oldest friend in the world. Thankful that despite the rocky past few months, he is always on her side.

She finally speaks again, looking up at him, thinking of the young man she wrote to a few mornings prior. “Cam is well, he wrote to me.” A flash of hurt and frustration crosses Dain's face. “I’m sure he believes you’re still at Basgiath. And…” she hesitates. “He likely still believes you to be a resolute rule follower.” At this, Dain rolls his eyes.

“You always took each other's side. It was insufferable then, and it has not become more endearing with time.” Violet's laugh is sharp as it echoes against he rocks surrounding them.

She breathes deeply as she rests her weight against Dain, letting the cold air dance across her skin, keeping her awake and grounded in this moment. No younger version of herself would ever believe she would be standing in this city, body pressed against Dain's, wishing he were someone else.

Chapter Text

Yule arrives, and the entire Sanborn household is at the Duke’s. Children run underfoot, music filters through the halls, and everyone helps to hang the last of the wreaths and holly. Violet is sent to the Duke’s study with a pile of boughs by Soliel, the coordinator of the final decorations.

The room is quiet when she enters, a fire, low and cracking in the hearth. She drops her armful on one of the sofas, then begins to untangle the garland for the mantle. Her eyes take in the room; it’s the first time she’s been in it alone, and it feels… intimate. She takes in every aspect that is intrinsically Xaden. The jacket over the back of the chair, the book facedown, splayed open, holding his place on the windowseat, and a dagger stabbed into the surface of the desk, pinning a single sheet of paper in place.

Violet stands by the fire, hanging the woven mass of holly, when the door slides open. It's near silent, but she can tell it's him. Xaden enters and closes the door behind him before he notices her. When he catches sight of her, he stands frozen for a breath watching her in the flickering firelight. She offers him a smile, and it immediately eases the tension in his shoulders, as if he were worried about how she would react to them being alone. Like they hadn’t been unchaperoned more times than she could count.

He’s not wearing a jacket, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, the top two buttons undone. Is this man ever fully dressed? Violet can't help the way her thoughts wander and her eyes drag over his collarbones.

“Lady Violet.” Her body reacts to the rough rumble of his voice, and she knows she is damned. The rare use of her first name sets her skin ablaze.

“Your Grace.” His smirk is sly, tugging at his lips.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Soliel put me on decorating duty.” She gestures to the pile of greens with red berries still on the couch.

He nods his head, accepting her answer. “I’m glad you're here.” He makes his way to his desk, tapping its surface as he circles it. “I have something for you.”

Violet fills with heat. “I didn’t–” she swallows. “Well, I wasn’t sure what the tradition is, and well–” His smile is teasing, so she bites her tongue.

“Realx Violence. I didn't get you something only in the hopes of receiving something in return.” His smile softens. “I wanted to.” Xaden pulls a long flat box from a drawer in his desk and approaches her.

He holds it out, presenting it in his palms, bowing his head slightly. Violet is glad her hands don't shake as she raises them to lift the lid. Four daggers and two hairpins rest on a bed of velvet, and she can't help her sharp breath in response. She hovers over them reverently.

“They’re Tyrrish. I noticed you only carry blades in leg sheaths.” He tilts his chin towards her, “which of course are very useful, but not at a ball.” He places the box on the mantel and lifts the tray of blades to reveal delicate sheaths beneath. “These are designed to fit in a bodice, or corset.” Xaden lifts one and slides the blade within. “May I?”

Violet still hasn't been able to speak, but nods her consent. He circles her body, and she is sure she will never react to another man the way she does to him. Xaden’s hands are delicate as he unloops a couple of the buttons at the base of her bodice where it meets her skirt.

“Typically, you would add these as you dress. I won’t remove anything, but I do need to slide this between your bodice and corset. Is that ok?” Gods, how can he be so gentlemanly while asking the least gentlemanly thing?

“Yes, that is fine, I don't often wear corsets though.” He hums and she feels the warmth of his hands as he fits the sheath against the boning, then deftly re-bottons her dress.

“The sheaths are versatile. Soliel or any of the other Tyrrish women can walk you through the various configurations. Some of them are designed to strap directly against your skin.” His voice wavers, and his hand flexes against her waist before he steps back. “The hilt is delicate, and the weight is ideal for throwing. Try it.” He juts his chin in the direction of where the dagger is concealed. “Just the pearl of the hilt should protrude, and when you have two there, it will look like an aesthetic choice to those who don't know.”

Violet bends her arm and reaches behind her back, finding the pearl handle easily. Sliding the blade out of the sheath, hearing the telltale metallic song as she does. It takes a moment for her to figure out the best way to grip and unsheath the dagger. Once she does, it's a quick and fluid movement, holding the dagger between her fingers, ready to throw in seconds. The smile that tugs across her face is reckless and true, utterly pleased with herself and the gift.

“I’m glad you like them, Violence.” His smile is languid, watching her.

She nods, flicking her wrist, and the dagger sinks into the seam of the trim around the window frame, not damaging the wood but burrowing into the gap. “I love them.” She turns back to him. “And the hairpins?”

He reaches for the box and fishes one of the silver pins from it. It's about 6 inches, a slender taper with a silver molded flower on the end. A Violet. It looks small and delicate in his hand. With his thumb, he notches under one of the petals and slides out a needle-thin blade, entirely concealed in a metal sheath that makes up the body of the hairpin.

Violet inhales a soft gasp at the motion. “It’s beautiful, Xaden.”

She barely realizes her slip, his muscles tense, and his fingers flex as she reaches to take the adornment from him. Violet sweeps her eyes around the room and lands on the mirror tucked beside the fireplace. Stepping up to it, she surveys her coronet braid, turning her head to either side.

She decides to slide the pin above her ear, into the base of the braid, where it rests against her scalp. This way, the violet will look as if it is tucked in the braid, but when she pulls out the blade, there's no risk of nicking her hair or ear. She admires the silver petals in the mirror, especially complementary to her strands of silver woven through the plait.

So captivated with the image, she barely notices the Duke’s approach. She watches his reflection in the glass as he steps up to her, his chest warm against her back. His chin hovers above the top of her head. He has to lean, dropping his ear towards his shoulder as he goes to fit the other pin in her braid. His hands are gentle as he weaves the metal through the plait to rest above the other violet, like a small bouquet. Violet is captivated by his image in the glass. She can't tear her gaze away as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, leaving an indent as he focuses on the task at hand.

When he finishes, his hand drops to her shoulder, not his side, and Violet’s breath catches in her throat. Her eyes locked on the reflection of their skin contact. His palms are not quite rough, but they are capable, firm against the soft skin where her neck meets her back. His hand splays wide enough to circle from her collarbone to the nub of her spine at the back of her neck, and she has to repress a shudder.

Every inch of her skin stands at attention, an electric current thrumming through her bones.

“Utterly perfect.” He exhales the words, yet to raise his gaze to meet hers in the glass. Violet thanks the gods, because if she had to stare into irradiant onyx, she might just melt away. She can feel the words against the skin of her cheek, and she's unsure what exactly he's referring to.

She swallows, trying to recenter her mind, only to be distracted by the rise and fall of his hand against her skin as she does. The pads of his fingers press imperceptibly harder as he flexes with her movement.

Grasping at a thread of sanity, Violet remembers her manners. “Tha-nk you, your grace.” She nearly chokes on the words. Stuttering her way through. “You are far too generous.”

His chuckle is a soft breath filtering across her skin, his curls nearly brushing against her temple as he shakes his head. “No, my dear Violence, this was entirely selfish.” His thumb rubs a soft circle against her spine, and she loses all sense of reality.

“I plan to fashion you an entire set. More than one, if you’ll allow it.” Violet can't help the way her body sways towards his, like a flower to the sun, reaching and mindless. “If I have my way, you will never spend another day without Tyrrish protection. Daggers with pearls, emeralds, or violet hilts. Clips, and pins, and crowns with blades.”

His hand rises as he speaks, the digits encircling her throat, lifting to stroke his thumb against her jaw. Her spine stretches with the motion, her body taut and primed to do with as he may. For Violet had accepted that no matter how hard the journey may be, she plans to end up by Xaden’s side, however he’ll have her.

“Sounds like you have a bit of work ahead of you then.” Violet feels the vibration of his chuckle through her, where she hadn't realized she was now leaning against his chest. Their bodies pressed together in an unseemly manner, yet Violet couldn't find it within her to care.

His lips move against her temple, pressing his next words into her skin. “Good, I had hoped you’d like the idea, Vi.” He presses a tender kiss against her flushed skin before stepping away, releasing her jaw and leaving her completely unbalanced.

Watching him in the mirror, she can tell he is not as unaffected as he attempts to seem, but she still can't fathom how he brought himself to pull away and was standing on his own. As she comes back to herself, she realizes there are voices in the hall, coming ever closer.

The Duke quickly crosses the room, pulling his jacket from his desk chair and drawing it over his frame just as the door bursts open. Liam and Bodhi tumble into the room, all limbs and laughter.

“Vi! Soliel says we’re to–” Liam's voice cuts out when he catches sight of Xaden behind his desk. “Oh– Xaden, sorry, I’m sure she wouldn't have sent us if she knew you were here”

“Wouldn’t she?” Xaden only raises a brow at his friend, not elaborating beyond the veiled implication. Violet quickly gathers herself as the men stare at each other, Bodhi's eyes cutting to slowly trail over her form. They catch just above her ear. A sly smile playing at his lips.

She strides to the mantel, snapping the box shut with the remaining two daggers and sliding it behind her back.

“What did Soleil want?” She thanks the gods her voice is steady, and then she wonders when she started thanking the Tyrrish gods instead of Navarre’s singular deity. Liam's eyes finally drift to her, his smile easy but his gaze sharp.

“We’re gathering in the main hall. She needs a hand with the last few wreaths and table decor, then we graze and chat until dinner.” Liam bumps his shoulder against Bodhi’s all energy and sunshine. The Duke’s cousin remains steady, still observing with a gentle smile.

Violet follows the men out of the room, briefly diverting to the coat closet in order to tuck the rest of her gift in her cloak pocket.

The rest of the evening, she can’t keep her eyes away from Xaden, drawn in, much against her will, to his warm brown skin, his onyx eyes, and his strong, capable hands. The ghost of them against her neck haunting her the rest of the night.

Dinner is a festive affair, the tables are intimate, and the children run around the room, never sitting still for long. People rise from their seats, leaning over others to chat and flow about the room. Wine and food aplenty. Violet finds herself between Bodhi and Rhiannon, listening attentively as the two volley back and forth.

“Well, in Tyrendor, January 1st means nothing to our celestial calendar. The new year was nearly 2 months ago, when we welcomed the darker half of the year. November 1st is considered the time for rebirth and new beginnings.” He shrugs with the statement, as if it is both the most obvious thing in the world and one he is not sure how to explain.

“Then, why do you celebrate?” Rhiannon's voice is clear, but Violet has been counting her glasses and knows her friend is well on her way to intoxication.

Bodhi's eyes are sharp, cutting across the room to Xaden before landing on Rhiannon. “Well, we are loyal to Navarre, no? We are one people, so we must honor the traditions of our king.”

Rhiannon snorts, and Violet is quick to smack the back of her hand against her friend's torso. But Bodhi's brows raise all the same, flickering over both women, cataloging every tell.

Seeming to ignore the slip, he continues, “We often spend the new year at the sea.”

“Why venture so far?” Mira’s eyes cut across the table. Discerning.

The conversation continues, and Violet keeps her gaze filtering across the Tyrs and her friends, attempting to understand exactly what is going on behind the scenes, despite the seeming impossibility of it.

The night before, Xaden had pulled her and Sloane aside, attempting to mitigate the backlash he was sure to come with Halden having assigned Dain to watch Sloane. Thankfully, the Prince was called back to Basgiath for the holiday, and only Dain had remained. Hopefully, smoothing the path for the two to find common ground before the Prince wrecked havoc on them.

She had stood beside him as they spoke in a small sitting room. Sloane’s eyes like daggers across the room, glaring at each of them in turn.

“Sloane. We’ve discussed this. I have no intention of forcing you to marry him.” Xaden's whole body seemed to deflate with his sigh. “These things take time. The negotiations and engagements of this caliber are often long, and a royal wedding is an enormous affair. We’ll find a way to get you out of this before then.”

Sloane continued to glare, but didn’t interject, which Violet took as a good sign, picking up where Xaden left off.

“If not Dain, they’ll try to find someone else. Or just assign a guard, and Tauri isn’t exactly known for subtlety. But with Dain, we at least know what he is and is not disclosing.”

This time, Sloane took advantage of the pause, her voice cold. “So he claims.”

Violet's eyes flashed to Xaden’s. “I trust him with this.”

“Oh well in that case…” Sloane lifted her hands in a mocking, appeasing gesture, clearly not trusting Violet in the slightest.

The older girl crossed her arms and cocked her hip, utterly unladylike and not at all concerned about it. Sloane had seen her throw a shoe at a man; the young woman was under no false illusions about who Violet was.

“If I say I trust him on this, I do. I have no desire to see you married off, any more than I wanted to be married off myself to that weasel.” Sloane’s brows raised at the word usage, but she revealed no other sign that her opinion may be swayed. “Dain is imperfect, but he has learned from his mistakes, and I do believe I might just be able to convince him that Navarre is not what it seems if given the time. And frankly, I think you would be a beneficial part of that.”

Violet twists the interaction in her hands, mulling over the future and all the unpredictable moments outside of her control. She feels so completely out of her depth in many ways, despite the strong sense that she is exactly where she needs to be.

Dain sits beside Sloane that evening, making a point to remain leaned away from her, never addressing or engaging the blonde. But Violet has known Dain her whole life, and despite the outward appearance, she’s sure the entirety of his attention is attuned to the woman beside him.

Just as Violet is hyperaware of the Duke across the table from her. She can feel him move throughout the room, always attuned to him. But she refuses to look. Focusing instead on the feel of the pearl hilt at the small of her back, of the firm, hard metal, cool against her scalp. Holding her in reality. But thoughts of his gifts illicit memories of his hand around her throat, the warm pressure of the pads of his fingers. Decidedly distracting.

Later that night, once Dain, Jesinia, and most of the Basgiath contingent have retired, Xaden gestures for Violet and Mira to join him. The sisters exchange a look before following the Duke to his study.

He leans against the dark wooden desk, fingers curled over the carved lip. As always, there’s an air of casual elegance about him, it’s lethal and disarming, and Violet hopes she never gets used to it.

His eyes rove over each of them before landing on Violet. “Transparency?” She simply raises a brow at his ask.

“We’d like to get another delivery of aid to the Poromish in time for the Navarrian New Year, but we’re trying to be covert. Lewellen, where Liam and I spent time after our parents' passing-” Mira’s hands flex at the words, the only tell that she knows passing is not a sufficient word. “-is along the Poromish border. That’s why we’re going there for the new year. We will stop at a Tyrrish outpost along the way and do the supply drop with one of Serena’s drifts.”

“I am telling you, because socially, it would be expected that I invite you to join our New Year's festivities.” His focus drifts, his fingers drum against the wood. “And personally, I would like you to join. It would also certainly help our cover, but I am giving you the choice to join our party informed, as opposed to uninformed.”

Violet watches him the whole time he delivers the information. Mira glares at his hands. He adjusts his stance, redistributing his weight and crossing his arms, meeting Violet's eyes once again.

”You asked me not long ago what I did for the war effort; this is an opportunity to, rather explicitly, answer that question.”

Violet can’t help the wry smile that tugs at her lips. ”Going above and beyond to answer that for me, are you not Duke Riorson?”

“Always,” it sounds like an oath from his lips.

Violet drags her eyes around the wood-paneled room that had felt so different just hours before. She knew her life would be altered after the day she agreed to her mother’s request, followed the King's orders to trail Raegan to Tyrendor. But in moments like this, she is struck by the sheer unpredictability of her life. Of the choices she is now faced with.

Her eyes land on Mira, who has finally raised her own to meet her sisters. Violet has never claimed that the Sorrengails possess a unique ability to communicate as some families do. Though there is something to be said about knowing a person your whole life, providing a certain ability to read the lines of their face. And Mira was deferring to her in that moment, concerned but ready to take the risk.

”We will accompany you, and assure any inquiring party that the journey was as usual,” Violet answers for both of them, something in their dynamic having changed the other day upon Violet's revelation. Mira is true to her word that she would stand by her sister's side, and Violet is glad they feel more like a team now than they had thus far on this trip.

Each woman bows their head and turns on a toe, stepping towards the heavy oak doors.

“Oh, and Miss. Violet?” She hesitates in the doorway, turning towards the Duke as she takes a step back inside. Mira is a few strides down the hall already, but she glances back at her sister when she hears the call. The Duke steps into her space, just barely out of Mira's line of sight, his voice dropping low so as not to be overheard.

“You forgot this. Before.” She feels a light pressure at the small of her back and the telltale song of a blade sliding home. “If I didn't know better, I’d think you didn't like the gift very much.” His palm spreads warm against her spine, and her smile is true as she meets his dark gaze.

It was the one she had thrown that lodged itself into the wall.

“Good thing you know better.” Her breath catches in her chest, “Goodnight, your Grace.” She dips her head and makes a point to brush against him as she passes through the doorway. There was enough room to avoid him entirely, but she had the urge to prolong their contact, a part of her wishing Mira wasn't just down the hall, eyes trained on them.

They set out on the road to Lewellan. Travelling in the winter can be difficult, but it doesn't snow much in Tyrrendor, just in the mountains. So the roads are mostly clear and well-travelled.

Their route had them stopping in towns along the way, finding boarding houses for the night. On the third morning, when they expected to reach the drop by noon and Lewellan by the evening, their plans went awry.

Violet sits between Jesinia and Mira, book in hand but barely reading, mind in the clouds, when she hears shouts. It seems one of the scouts had returned to the main caravan. Xaden rode on horseback near her carriage with Bodhi and Garrick on either side. “Your Grace,” the scout is breathless but forges on. “There seems to be a rockfall ahead, blocking the road. The carriages will not be able to manage around it.”

Garrick curses under his breath, but Violet catches it on the breeze, practically sitting on her sister's lap in order to hear the men outside. The cousins remain silent, a conversation entirely of expressions seeming to pass between them. Finally, Bodhi sighs, “I don’t like it, cousin.” Xaden shakes his head in response, “If we want to have shelter by nightfall, we must ride for Athebyne.”

Violet wracks her memory for anything she knows of the outpost, flicking through her mental catalogue of decoded missives. Some of the unusual troop movements had been relatively near the outpost, but not so much so as to be alarming. As far as she knew, the Barrens had yet to launch any true attack on Navarrian soil. But then again, honesty was not exactly the crown’s strong suit as of late. Xaden gave the command, and their party switched paths, veering east instead of south at the fork in the road.

When they stop not long after to rest the horses, Violet declares she wants fresh air and is tired of feeling cramped. Tairn is with the party, and Liam helps her saddle him as folks lounge in the grass and stretch their legs at the side of the road.

Without urging, Tairn falls in step beside Sgaeyl as they depart again.

“You’re suspicious.” It’s an observation, not a query, he still nods. Answering with a question of his own. “And you aren’t?”

“Oh, incredibly, are rockfalls typical in this area this time of year?”

He tilts his head in thought, bobbing it as if unsure of the answer. “Not typical but not unheard of.”

“The troop movements near Athebyne weren’t ideal, nor were they egregious.”

His eyes are distant as he listens. "No, but I don’t like the idea of bringing you all to a potential warfront.” Violet worries her lip as she studies the horizon, her body swaying with Tairn’s steady movement beneath her.

“Did your last report from Athebyne imply it was?” She sees his head shake out of the corner of her eye. And she turns to face him. “Well then. We can only make decisions based on what we know. Not what worries us. This is the best decision we can make with the information we have. Come what may.”

He turns to look at her, his hands flexing around the reins near his lap. “Gods, you are incredible.” It’s reverent, and Violet feels the flush across her chest that she’s becoming accustomed to in his presence.

“Glad you’ve finally noticed.” She attempts a haughtiness in her voice, but she’s not sure it lands.

His face turns wicked, his deadly smile gracing his lips. “Oh, I’ve noticed Violence, that first day on the staircase, I noticed, I just took my time voicing it.” The heat rises to her cheeks. “A mistake I don’t plan to make again.”

The party rides up to the outpost just as the sun begins to kiss the horizon. They sent a courier ahead when they realized their route had to change. So the Captain is out front to greet them, guiding them into the keep, behind the safety of its stone walls. Violet surveys the courtyard as the Duke and the Captain exchange pleasantries and discuss the state of the roads.

“...In fact, you are not the only ones diverted here. Some of the Poromih delegation bound for Draithus arrived a few hours ago, also blocked from returning home.” Bodhi's body goes rigid, and Xaden's eyes snap to hers before quickly shifting to meet his cousin’s. Who would have known about both of their travel plans? Those men on the balcony were the last she’d heard of anyone from the Barrens crossing their borders.

The captain rattles on, not catching the silent conversation amongst his guests. Tairn unwillingly follows the stableboy tasked with leading him to the stables, and Violet falls into step with the Duke and his cousin. Xaden is tense, heat rolling off him.

“I don't like this.” His voice is quiet but still reaches her ears. She darts her eyes around the surrounding geography. For a small outpost, it is well fortified, the location and vantage point ideal, considering they’re on a ridge overlooking a valley.

“You know something?” He shakes his head, slow and intentional, his words soft as he answers her. “No. But something isn’t right.”

Violet tries not to let the feeling rattle her. Head high, she follows him up the stairs, Dain, Mira, and Sloane close behind her. They enter the main hall, beginning to shed their wet coats, when Violet’s attention is captured by a figure crossing the hall in front of them. The Captain is ahead of them, welcoming them to the fortress and gesturing around the hall. But Violet can only focus on the man in a Tyrrish uniform across the room.

Violet's lips part, and Dain beside her goes tense. Her eyes lock on emerald green orbs, much more welcome than the ones they left behind in Aretia. Before she can find her voice, he's striding across the hall, raising a hand to shake Dain’s.

“Ah, yes, allow me to introduce one of my Lieutenants.” The Captain pauses, allowing her oldest friend to continue the introduction.

“Aaric, Aaric Greycastle. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Dain mutters a curse below his breath that only Violet can hear. His knuckles are white as he grips the younger man’s hand tightly.

Mira’s voice is soft behind Violet. “God, not another one.”

Aaric simply smiles, all charm and secrets, and Violet remembers knowing him before he ever learned how to smile like that.