Chapter 5: Open and Honest
Violet grabbed Mira's arm and steered her out of the bedchamber before anyone could say another word.
"Office," she muttered. "Now."
She didn't look back at the kings. Couldn't. If she saw Cassian's smug grin or Evander's steady patience, she'd lose her nerve entirely.
Mira followed without resistance, though her silence had weight. It pressed against Violet's shoulders as they walked through corridors that hadn't seen sunlight in decades, past tapestries faded to ghost-colors, past sconces thick with cobwebs and dust. The palace had been beautiful once. You could still feel it, buried under years of neglect.
Violet pushed open the first door she found.
The office was a relic. Gilded ceiling gone dull, desk scarred by centuries of ink and elbows, a window cracked down the middle overlooking a moat choked with blackthorn. The air smelled like old paper and something else—old magic, maybe. The kind that lingered long after the spell was forgotten.
She closed the door behind them. Leaned against it. Closed her eyes.
"Start talking," Mira said.
"I went to dinner."
"I gathered that much."
"I followed your advice. You said I should go. See what happened. Stop avoiding them." Violet opened her eyes. Mira stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, silver hair catching the weak light from the window. "So I went. And we talked. And then we kept talking. And then—"
"You slept with them."
"Yes."
"Both of them."
"Yes."
"At the same time."
"Mira."
"I'm not judging. I'm clarifying."
Violet pushed off the door and started pacing. The office was small—six steps one way, five the other. She made it to the window, looked out at the blackthorn, turned around. "It wasn't planned. None of it was planned. I didn't go there thinking—I mean, I didn't even know they were—" She stopped. Started again. "I didn't know I was their mate."
Mira's expression shifted. The hard edge softened, just slightly. "You didn't know?"
"No." Violet laughed, and it came out brittle. "I thought I was just their advisor. Their friend, maybe. I thought the tension was—I don't know. Political. Territorial. Two kings who couldn't stand each other, using me as a buffer."
"But they're not."
"No. They're not."
Mira walked to the desk and perched on its edge. The old wood creaked beneath her. "So what are they?"
Violet stopped pacing. Stood in the middle of the room with her hands hanging at her sides, feeling like she'd just run ten miles. "They're my mates. Both of them. And they've known for years."
"Years?"
"Five, at least. Maybe longer. They wouldn't tell me exactly when they figured it out." She rubbed her face. "They said they didn't want to pressure me. Didn't want to force something I wasn't ready for. So they just—waited."
Mira was quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that meant she was thinking, not judging. "That's either very romantic or very stupid."
"I know."
"Which do you think it is?"
Violet dropped into the chair behind the desk. It groaned like it might collapse. She didn't care. "I think it's both. I think they're idiots who've been circling each other for two hundred years, too stubborn to fix their own marriage, and then I came along and suddenly they had something to agree on."
"That sounds complicated."
"It is."
"And you're in the middle of it."
"I am."
Mira slid off the desk and knelt in front of her. Took Violet's hands. Her grip was warm, steady. The same grip that had held Violet's hand when they were children, when everything was new and terrifying and wonderful.
"Violet. Look at me."
She looked.
"Are you okay?"
The question was simple. The answer wasn't.
"I don't know," Violet admitted. "I feel like I've been turned inside out. Like everything I thought I knew about myself, about them, about what I wanted—it's all different now. I woke up this morning between two kings who've been in love with me for years, and I didn't know whether to run or cry or—" She stopped. Breathed. "I'm not upset. I'm not. I just—I need a minute to figure out what this means."
Mira squeezed her hands. "That's fair."
"Is it? Because I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"You're not. You're just processing. It's a lot."
"It's everything."
"Okay. It's everything." Mira stood, pulled Violet to her feet, and hugged her. Tight. The kind of hug that had gotten them through centuries of bad decisions, broken hearts, and late nights spent wondering if immortality was worth it. "You're going to be fine. You know that, right?"
"Am I?"
"Yes. Because you're the smartest person I know, and you don't make decisions lightly. If you're in this—whatever this is—it's because some part of you wants to be."
Violet pulled back. "I do want to be. I think. That's the terrifying part."
"Terrifying is good. Terrifying means it matters."
"Since when are you the voice of wisdom?"
"Since I married a Fae Duchess. You pick things up." Mira's expression turned serious. "There's something else."
"What?"
"The Court. The Fae Court. If they find out—"
"They won't. Not yet." Violet grabbed Mira's arm. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't tell anyone. Not Aneara, not the ambassadors, not the courtiers. I just—I need time. Time to figure this out before the entire kingdom starts gossiping about the witch who's sleeping with two kings."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "You're not just sleeping with them. You're their mate. That's different."
"I know it's different. That's why I need you to keep your mouth shut."
"For how long?"
"I don't know. A week. A month. Until I can look at them without feeling like I'm going to spontaneously combust."
Mira snorted. "That might take a while."
"Then it takes a while. Please, Mira. You're the only person I trust with this."
The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled the cracked window, pushing against the glass like it wanted in.
"Fine," Mira said finally. "I won't tell anyone. But you owe me."
"Anything."
"I want details. Later. When you're less likely to faint."
Violet laughed—a real laugh this time, surprised out of her. "You're horrible."
"I'm your best friend. It's my job." Mira headed for the door, then paused with her hand on the latch. "One more thing."
"What?"
"Those two kings? They looked at you like you were the sun. Both of them. I've seen a lot of things in three hundred years, but I've never seen two people look at someone the way they looked at you."
Violet's throat tightened. "What way?"
"Like you were the answer to a question they'd been asking for two hundred years." Mira opened the door. "Whatever happens next—don't run from that. It doesn't come around often."
She slipped out. The door clicked shut behind her.
Violet stood alone in the dusty office. The blackthorn scraped against the window. The floorboards creaked under her weight.
She pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was still beating. Still whole. Still hers.
For now.
She didn't know how long she stood there. Long enough that the light from the window shifted, the shadows stretching across the scarred desk. Long enough that her legs started to ache, that the heat of the night before faded from her skin and left something quieter behind.
When she finally left the office, the corridor was empty.
But at the end of the hall, where the passage opened into the main wing, two figures waited.
Cassian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, dark hair still tousled from sleep. Evander stood beside him, straight-backed, hands clasped behind him. They weren't touching. Weren't speaking. But they were there. Together. Waiting.
For her.
Cassian spotted her first. His face broke into a grin—that easy, warm smile that had made her heart stumble for five years, before she'd understood why. "There she is."
Evander turned. His expression was harder to read, but his eyes—those deep, ocean-blue eyes—held the same thing they'd held this morning. Wonder. Relief. Fear.
"Everything okay?" Cassian asked.
Violet stopped a few feet away. Looked at them. Two kings. Two mates. Two men who'd been waiting for her, patiently, stupidly, for years.
"No," she said. "But I think it will be."
Evander's mouth curved. Just slightly. Just enough. "That's more than we had yesterday."
"Don't get sappy on me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Cassian pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them. He didn't touch her—not yet—but he stood close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the pine and smoke of his skin. "We should talk. All of us. About what happens next."
"I know."
"Not now," Evander said. "She needs time."
"I don't need—" Violet started.
"You do." Evander walked toward them, stopped beside Cassian. Two kings, side by side, both looking at her like she was something precious. "We've waited five years. We can wait a little longer."
"We're not going anywhere," Cassian added. "That's the whole point."
Violet looked at them. Really looked. At the stubborn set of Cassian's jaw. At the quiet patience in Evander's eyes. At the way they stood together—not touching, not quite, but close. Closer than they'd been in decades.
Maybe she wasn't the only thing they had in common.
Maybe she was just the thing that had finally made them stop fighting.
"Okay," she said. "Time. I can do time."
Cassian reached out and took her hand. Just her hand. His thumb rubbed small circles against her knuckles, warm and steady.
"Good," he said. "Because we've got plenty."
Behind him, Evander nodded. And for the first time since she'd woken up tangled in their sheets, Violet felt something other than panic.
She felt hope.