Chapter 18: Flaunt and Groom
The door to Evander's suite stood open now, propped wide with a heavy iron doorstop shaped like a snarling wolf. Violet could hear them before she saw them—Cassian's laugh, bright and careless, followed by Evander's lower rumble, a sound like distant thunder.
She stepped through the doorway and stopped.
They had transformed the space in the hours since she'd left. The rough sketches were gone, replaced by a massive table dragged from somewhere in the depths of the palace, its surface covered in fabric samples and paint swatches and what appeared to be at least three different blueprints of the east wing. Candles burned in iron sconces along the walls, their flames steady despite the draft that crept through the ancient stones. The air smelled of parchment and wax and something warm—sandalwood, she realized. Evander's scent, woven into the fabric of the room itself.
"Violet." Cassian straightened from where he'd been bent over the table, his golden eyes catching the candlelight. Ink stained his fingers, and there was a smudge of something dark on his jaw—charcoal, maybe, or paint. "We've made progress."
"Progress," Evander repeated from his position near the window. His voice carried the weight of someone who had been arguing for the better part of an hour. "If you can call it that."
"You said you liked the blue."
"I said I liked the concept of blue. The execution is—"
"Perfect. The execution is perfect."
"The execution is excessive."
Violet crossed to the table, her boots clicking against the stone floor. The blueprints spread before her showed the east wing in meticulous detail—every corridor, every chamber, every window marked and measured. Someone had drawn small arrows indicating the path of sunlight throughout the day. Someone else had added notes in the margins, cramped handwriting that she recognized as Evander's.
"This is thorough," she said.
"Evander's doing." Cassian waved a dismissive hand. "I wanted to just pick a room and start moving furniture. He insisted on structural analysis."
"Structural analysis prevents collapsed ceilings."
"You're paranoid."
"I'm careful."
"There's a difference?"
Evander made a sound low in his throat—half growl, half sigh. Violet watched the way his shoulders shifted beneath his tunic, the tension coiling and releasing. A hundred years of estrangement, she reminded herself. A hundred years of sleeping in separate wings, of avoiding each other's eyes across council tables, of letting silence calcify into something almost solid.
And now they were here. Together. Trying.
She reached out and touched the blueprint, tracing the line of a corridor with her fingertip.
"The skylight," she said. "Where should we put it?"
The tension broke. Cassian grinned, leaning over the table to point at the east-facing wall. Evander moved closer, his presence a wall of warmth at her back. For a moment, they were simply three people bent over a shared project, their breath mingling in the candlelit air.
Then the portal crystal in Violet's pocket began to vibrate.
She pulled it out, frowning. The crystal pulsed with a soft blue light—not the urgent red of an emergency, but something more insistent. A call she couldn't ignore.
"Mira," she murmured.
"Your friend?" Cassian asked.
"The same one who just spent half an hour interrogating me about our relationship status."
Evander's eyebrow rose. "Interrogating?"
"She means gossiping." Violet pressed her thumb to the crystal, accepting the connection. "She's not subtle."
The crystal flared, and Mira's voice spilled into the room—not the tinny whisper of before, but clear and sharp, as if she were standing right beside them.
"Vi. Vi, are you there? I need to talk to you. It's important."
Violet glanced at Cassian and Evander. Both of them were watching her now, their expressions ranging from curious to mildly alarmed.
"I'm here," she said. "And I'm not alone."
A pause. Then Mira's voice again, carrying a note of barely suppressed excitement. "Oh good. Perfect. That's actually perfect. Put me on visual."
"Mira—"
"Don't argue with me. I've been thinking about this for the past hour and I have opinions."
Violet sighed and activated the visual component of the crystal. Mira's face materialized above it—silver hair cropped close to her skull, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, light brown eyes bright with mischief.
Behind her, Violet could see the familiar details of her friend's study. Bookshelves crammed with volumes in a dozen languages. The perpetually dying fern in the corner. And Aneara, seated in a wing-back chair with a cup of tea, watching her wife with an expression of fond resignation.
"Hello," Mira said, her gaze flicking to Cassian and Evander. "Kings. Lovely to see you again. You're looking well."
"Ambassador." Evander inclined his head, his voice carefully neutral. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
"To Lupercalia." Mira's smile sharpened. "Or Imbolc, if you prefer the old terminology. The Lunar Eclipse Love and Youth Festival. Ring any bells?"
Violet felt her stomach drop.
"Lupercalia," she repeated.
"The one and only. It's next week, Vi. Next week. And I have it on good authority that the two of you—" She pointed at Cassian and Evander in turn, her finger jabbing through the magical projection— "have never attended. Not once in two hundred years of marriage."
Cassian's brow furrowed. "We've been...busy."
"You've been estranged. Yes, I know. Violet tells me everything." Mira waved a hand. "But that's beside the point. The point is that Lupercalia is the single most important event in the magical calendar for mated couples. It's a celebration of bonds. Of love. Of—"
"Sex," Aneara said from her chair, without looking up from her tea. "She means sex."
"Aneara!"
"What? It's true. You were going to make it sound poetic and then get to the part about sex anyway. I'm simply streamlining the process."
Mira shot her wife a look that was equal parts exasperated and adoring. Then she turned back to the crystal, her expression shifting to something more serious.
"Vi. You've been marked. You're bonded. This is your first Lupercalia as a mated woman. You can't skip it. You can't."
Violet's face was burning. She could feel the heat climbing up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. Cassian and Evander were both looking at her now—Cassian with curiosity, Evander with something deeper. Something searching.
"I don't—" She swallowed. "I haven't thought about it."
"You haven't thought about it because you've spent the last five years avoiding anything that might resemble fun. But things are different now. You have mates. You have a bond. You have two kings who look at you like you're the center of the universe." Mira's voice softened. "Don't you want to celebrate that?"
Violet closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she could see the memory—sixty years old now, faded at the edges but still sharp enough to sting. Mira and Aneara at Lupercalia. The way Mira had melted when Aneara spoke to her in that low, commanding tone. The way she'd leaned into her wife's touch like a flower turning toward the sun.
Violet had been the third wheel that night. The observer. The one who held their cloaks while they disappeared into the crowd.
She'd told herself she didn't mind.
She'd told herself a lot of things.
"What exactly happens at Lupercalia?" Cassian asked. His voice was carefully casual, but Violet could hear the interest underneath.
"Nothing and everything." Mira's smile returned. "There are rituals, if you want them. Blessings for new bonds. Ceremonies for those seeking to deepen their connection. But mostly—" She shrugged. "It's a party. A very large, very magical party. The kind that goes on for three days and nights. The kind where you lose track of time and wake up in someone else's tent with no memory of how you got there."
"Witches," Evander said. His tone was flat, but there was something almost amused in his eyes.
"Witches, warlocks, fae, shifters. Everyone with magic in their blood. Everyone who wants to celebrate the turning of the season and the warmth of connection." Mira's gaze sharpened. "You should come. All three of you. It would be good for you."
"Good for us how?" Cassian asked.
"Good for you because you've spent a century pretending you don't love each other. Good for you because you've just bonded with Violet and you haven't even begun to explore what that means. Good for you because—" Mira paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "Because Lupercalia has a way of revealing things. True things. Things you didn't know you needed to say."
The room was quiet. Violet could hear the wind outside, howling against the windows. Could hear the soft crackle of the candles, the distant echo of footsteps somewhere in the palace.
She could hear her own heartbeat, loud in her ears.
"Mira," she said. "Can we talk? Just us?"
Mira's expression flickered—confusion, then understanding. "Of course. Give me a moment."
The crystal dimmed, and Mira's image vanished. A second later, Violet felt the familiar tug of a private connection—Mira's magic reaching for hers, pulling her into a space where only the two of them could speak.
She turned to Cassian and Evander. "I need a few minutes."
Cassian nodded, his golden eyes soft. "Take your time."
Evander said nothing, but his hand found hers—brief, warm, a squeeze that said more than words.
She stepped away, moving to the far corner of the room where the shadows were deepest. The crystal pulsed against her palm, and she let herself fall into the connection.
Mira's voice was immediate, sharp with concern. "Are you okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine. I'm—" Violet pressed her free hand to her chest. "You surprised me, that's all."
"Surprised you? Vi, you've known about Lupercalia your entire life. We went together for decades before you got your position at court."
"That was different. I was single then. I was—" She paused, searching for the right word. "I was on the outside. Looking in."
"And now you're not."
"And now I'm not."
Mira was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was gentler than Violet had heard it in years.
"I remember the last time we went together. Sixty years ago. You spent the entire festival sitting by the fire, watching me and Aneara. You said you were tired. You said you had a headache. But I saw your face, Vi. I saw the way you looked at us."
"How did I look?"
"Like someone starving at a feast they weren't allowed to touch."
The words hit Violet like a physical blow. She pressed her back against the cold stone wall, letting it hold her up.
"I didn't realize," she whispered. "I didn't know I was so obvious."
"You weren't obvious. You were my best friend, and I knew you better than anyone. That's how I knew." Mira's voice softened further. "That's how I knew you were lonely, even when you said you weren't. That's how I knew you were hiding, even when you said you were fine."
"I was fine. I had my work. I had my books. I had—"
"Minx the cat who hated everyone."
"She was a good cat."
"She was a demon in fur."
Violet laughed despite herself—a wet, shaky sound that caught in her throat. "I miss her."
"I know you do." A pause. "I miss seeing you happy. And you are happy now, aren't you? With them?"
"Yes."
"Then come to Lupercalia. Let me see it for myself." Mira's voice turned coaxing. "Let me watch you be happy. Let me watch you melt the way I melt for Aneara. Let me—"
"I don't melt."
"Everyone melts. Even you."
Violet closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she could picture it—the festival grounds at night, lit by floating orbs of witchfire. The scent of incense and roasting meat. The sound of laughter and music and moans drifting from shadowed corners.
She remembered standing at the edge of it all, watching Mira and Aneara dance. Remembered the way Aneara's hand had settled on the small of Mira's back, possessive and gentle. Remembered the way Mira had shivered, her sharp edges going soft, her bossy tongue going silent.
She remembered wanting that. Wanting it so badly it hurt.
"What would we even do there?" she asked. "Cassian and Evander—they're not witches. They don't know our customs."
"They're shifters, Vi. They understand bonds better than anyone. The wildness, the instinct, the animal need to claim and protect." Mira's voice turned thoughtful. "I think they'd surprise you."
"How?"
"Because Lupercalia isn't just about sex. It's about trust. It's about surrender. It's about letting go of the masks we wear every day and showing our mates who we really are." A pause. "Don't you want to know who they really are?"
Violet thought about Cassian's easy smile, the way he deflected seriousness with humor. Thought about Evander's quiet intensity, the walls he'd built around himself over a century of solitude. Thought about the marks on her throat, invisible but burning, binding her to them in ways she was only beginning to understand.
"I know who they are," she said. But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't entirely true.
"Not all of them," Mira said. "Not the parts they keep hidden. Not the parts that only come out in the dark."
The wind howled. The candles flickered. Violet opened her eyes and stared at the shadowed corner of the room, her heart pounding.
"What if I'm not ready?" she asked. "What if it's too much, too soon?"
"Then you set boundaries. You say no. You take it slow." Mira's voice was firm. "Lupercalia isn't about doing everything. It's about being together. It's about celebrating what you have and exploring what you might become."
"Mira—"
"Vi. Trust me. Trust yourself. Trust them." A pause. "You've spent three hundred years being careful. Being safe. Being alone. Don't you think it's time to try something different?"
Violet didn't answer. She couldn't.
Because Mira was right. She had been careful. She had been safe. She had built walls so high and so thick that even she couldn't see over them anymore.
And now there were two kings standing on the other side, waiting for her to open the door.
"Think about it," Mira said. "Talk to them. And let me know what you decide."
The connection broke. Violet stood alone in the corner, the crystal cold in her hand, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
She turned.
Cassian and Evander were standing by the table, watching her. They hadn't moved. They hadn't spoken. But there was something in their eyes—something patient and knowing, as if they'd heard every word despite the privacy spell.
"Lupercalia," Evander said. Not a question.
"She wants us to come."
"She wants you to come." Cassian's voice was gentle. "She wants you to let us see you. All of you."
Violet's throat tightened. "And what if I'm not ready for that?"
"Then we don't go."
Cassian crossed the room in three long strides, stopping just inches from her. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone.
"We don't do anything you're not ready for," he said. "Not a single thing."
Evander moved behind him, a shadow given form. His hand found hers again, their fingers lacing together.
"Tell us what you're afraid of," he said.
Violet looked at them—these two men who had waited centuries for each other, who had lost each other for a hundred years, who had somehow found her in the middle of their slow, painful reconciliation.
She thought about the marks on her throat. Thought about the bond that thrummed whenever they were near.
Thought about the way Mira had melted for Aneara, soft and pliant and utterly undone.
"I'm afraid of losing myself," she whispered. "I'm afraid of becoming someone I don't recognize. I've been alone for so long, I don't know who I am when I'm not."
Cassian's face softened. "That's not losing yourself, Violet. That's finding more of yourself."
"He's right." Evander's voice was low, rough. "I spent a hundred years building walls. A hundred years telling myself I didn't need anyone. And then you came, and the walls started falling, and I realized—" He paused, his jaw tight. "I realized I was never protecting myself. I was trapping myself."
Violet's eyes burned. "And Lupercalia?"
"Lupercalia is a chance to let go. To stop thinking. To just—" He shook his head. "I don't know what it is. But I know I want to find out."
"Together," Cassian added. "All three of us. If you're ready."
Violet closed her eyes. The wind howled outside. The candles flickered. The palace creaked and sighed around them like a living thing.
She thought about the girl she'd been three hundred years ago, young and uncertain and terrified of her own power. Thought about the woman she'd become—competent, respected, alone.
Thought about the future. All the days and nights stretching ahead of her, endless and infinite.
She could spend them in safety, behind her walls.
Or she could spend them finding out what it meant to be loved.
"I don't know if I'm ready," she said. "But I know I don't want to keep standing at the edge."
She opened her eyes.
Cassian was smiling—that warm, brilliant smile that made her chest ache. Evander's eyes were bright, his expression fierce and tender all at once.
"Then we go," Cassian said. "We go to Lupercalia, and we see what happens."
"And we stay together," Evander added. "No matter what."Violet nodded. Her hand tightened around Evander's. Her cheek leaned into Cassian's palm.
"Together," she said.
The word felt like a promise. Like a door opening. Like the first step into a world she'd been too afraid to enter.
Outside, the storm raged on. But inside, in the candlelit warmth of Evander's suite, something was blooming.
Something new.
Something that had been waiting three hundred years to be born.