Chapter 6: Flustered, Fawn and Frustrated
The corridors of the palace were empty at this hour, which was a mercy.
Violet walked fast, heels clicking against ancient stone, the sound echoing off walls that had heard centuries of secrets. Her hair was a disaster—half the pins gone, the rest barely holding. Her gown from last night was wrinkled in ways that told a story she wasn't ready to tell. And her skin still carried the faint marks of two mouths, two sets of hands, two kings who had spent hours learning her body like scripture.
She needed a bath.
She needed a change of clothes.
She needed to stop thinking about the way Cassian's voice had gone rough when he'd said her name, or how Evander's hands had trembled against her hips, like he couldn't quite believe she was real.
The palace gates loomed ahead. Two guards stood at attention, their eyes forward, their expressions carefully blank. They'd seen stranger things than a rumpled witch leaving at dawn. Probably.
Probably not.
Violet lifted her chin and walked past them like she owned the place. Which, technically, she did. Or close enough. Five years as Royal Magical Advisor bought you certain privileges. Like not being questioned when you stumbled out of the kings' private wing looking like you'd been thoroughly debauched.
Because she had been.
Thoroughly.
She made it three steps past the gate before she heard it.
"Morning, Vi."
She spun.
Mira sat on a low stone wall, legs crossed at the ankle, a cup of something steaming in her hands. She looked fresh as a spring morning—silver hair perfectly tousled, silk dress unwrinkled, expression infuriatingly amused.
"How long have you been sitting there?"
"Long enough." Mira took a sip of her drink. "You look like you wrestled a bear. And lost."
"I need to go home."
"I figured. That's why I'm here." Mira stood, brushed off her dress, and fell into step beside Violet. "I'll walk with you. Make sure you don't collapse in a ditch somewhere."
"I'm not going to collapse."
"You're walking like your legs forgot how to work."
Violet didn't dignify that with a response.
They walked in silence through the waking city. The market square was just beginning to stir—bakers hauling trays of bread, merchants unlocking their stalls, a few early risers stumbling toward the coffee house on the corner. The smell of fresh pastries and brewing tea wrapped around them like a blanket.
Violet's stomach growled.
"Hungry?" Mira asked.
"Starving."
"When did you last eat?"
"Yesterday. Before the dinner."
Mira's eyebrow climbed. "And after the dinner?"
"I was... occupied."
"Occupied." Mira's mouth twitched. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"We're not calling it anything. We're not talking about it."
"We're absolutely talking about it. Just not yet." Mira steered her toward a small bakery tucked between a cobbler's shop and a bookstore. "First, food. Then, you tell me what happened after I left you in that office."
Violet didn't argue. She was too tired. Too hungry. Too full of feelings she didn't have names for.
The bakery was warm and smelled like cinnamon and yeast. They grabbed a small table in the corner, and Mira ordered for both of them—pastries, fruit, a pot of strong tea. The kind of breakfast that required no decisions, which was exactly what Violet needed.
She ate in silence for a while. Let the sugar and caffeine do their work. Let her body remember what it felt like to be human-adjacent instead of a vessel for two kings' undivided attention.
"So," Mira said eventually. "You talked to them."
"I did."
"And?"
"And they want to talk. Properly. About what happens next."
"What happens next," Mira repeated. "That's vague."
"It's not vague. It's just... complicated." Violet wrapped her hands around her teacup. "They've known about the bond for years. Five years, at least. They've been waiting for me to figure it out on my own."
"Five years?"
"Yes."
"While running a kingdom together. While pretending to hate each other. While you sat in the middle of every meeting, oblivious."
"I wasn't oblivious. I just—" Violet stopped. Sighed. "I thought the tension was professional rivalry. Territorial. Two kings who couldn't stand each other, using me as a buffer."
Mira leaned back in her chair. Crossed her arms. "And now?"
"Now I know they weren't fighting over territory. They were fighting over me."
The words hung in the air. Violet had said them out loud, which made them real in a way they hadn't been before.
"Damn," Mira said softly.
"Yeah."
"That's a lot."
"It's everything."
Mira reached across the table and stole a piece of Violet's pastry. "So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. That's why I need to go home." Violet finished her tea and stood. "I have research to do."
"Research?"
"There's not much I know about triple bonds. Or whether they're even possible. Two people can share one mate—that's documented. But two established mates finding a third? That's rare. Rare enough that I've never seen it."
Mira stood too. Tossed some coins on the table. "You're going to the royal library?"
"Maybe. Eventually. But first—" Violet hesitated. "What do you know about Aneara? When she found out you were her mate. How did she know?"
Mira's expression softened. It was the look she got whenever she talked about her wife—that quiet, private joy that made Violet both happy and achingly lonely.
"She knew immediately," Mira said. "The moment we met. Fae are like that. They feel the bond like a physical thing. Like a thread tied around their heart, pulling." She paused. "Why?"
"Because I'm wondering if Aneara might have answers. About bonds. About mates. About whether what I'm feeling is real or just—" Violet gestured vaguely. "Sex magic. Aftermath. Wishful thinking."
Mira's face went carefully blank. "You're asking if you can talk to my wife."
"I'm asking if you would talk to your wife. For me." Violet grabbed her arm. "I know you said you wouldn't tell anyone. And I'm not asking you to. But Aneara isn't 'anyone.' She's high fae. She's been alive for centuries. She might know something about triple bonds that isn't written down."
"The court records—"
"Would take weeks to search. And I need answers now. Before I see them again. Before I make any decisions I can't take back."
Mira was quiet for a long moment. The bakery bustled around them, but here in their corner, the world had gone still.
"Aneara will know something's up the second I ask," Mira said finally. "She reads me like a book."
"Then let her read. Just—don't confirm anything. Say I'm doing research. Say it's for a client. Say whatever you have to say."
"And if she doesn't believe me?"
"Then trust her to keep quiet." Violet let go of Mira's arm. "You said you'd do anything for me."
"I said you owed me. Different thing."
"Mira."
"I know. I know." Mira sighed. "Fine. I'll talk to her. But I'm not making promises about what she'll say or what she'll know. Fae are weird about bonds. They don't talk about them like we do."
"I don't care how she talks about it. I just need someone to tell me if this is possible. If three people can be bound the way I think we are."
Mira looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded. "I'll go now. Aneara and I were supposed to meet for lunch anyway."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. If she gets that look—the one where she decides to meddle—we're both doomed."
"She's not going to meddle."
"She's a Fae Duchess with a soft spot for lost causes. She's absolutely going to meddle." Mira headed for the door, then paused. "Vi."
"Yeah?"
"Take a bath. A long one. And maybe burn those clothes."
Violet looked down at her wrinkled gown. "That bad?"
"That bad." Mira grinned. "Good luck with the research."
She was gone before Violet could respond.
The walk back to her apartment took longer than usual. Every step felt heavy, like her legs were moving through honey. The streets of the village were alive now—children running to school, vendors calling out their wares, a couple arguing about something in the doorway of a shoe shop.
Violet passed them all without seeing. Her mind was already three steps ahead, buried in possibilities and problems.
Triple bonds. Was it possible? The magic of mating bonds was ancient and poorly understood. Witches documented what they could, but there were gaps. Things that couldn't be explained by theory alone. And this—this was definitely one of those things.
She reached her building and climbed the stairs. Her apartment was on the third floor, tucked into the corner where the light was best. The door swung open at her touch—old magic, tied to her blood—and she stepped inside.
The scent hit her immediately. Jasmine and caramel. Home.
Glass jars filled the shelves, herbs and potions organized with obsessive precision. Leather-bound tomes lined the walls, their spines cracked, their pages soft from centuries of use. The velvet chaise lounge sat in the center, draped in a shawl embroidered with constellations that shimmered slightly in the morning light.
Violet made straight for the bathroom.
The bath was almost too hot, but she needed it. Needed the steam to clear her head. Needed the water to wash away the last traces of last night—the smell of both kings still clinging to her skin, the ache in muscles she'd forgotten she had.
She sank into the tub and closed her eyes.
Two mates. Two kings. Two men who had spent years waiting for her.
It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. The bond between Cassian and Evander was old—centuries old. They'd been mated long before Violet was born, before she was even a thought in the universe's mind. For a third person to enter an established bond, the magic would have to be—
She didn't know what it would have to be. That was the problem.
The old texts said bonds were formed between two souls. One perfect match, one person who completed you. But what if the magic was more complex than that? What if some souls needed two mirrors instead of one?
She thought about Aneara. About the way Mira had described their first meeting—the pull, the thread, the instant knowing. Was that what Cassian and Evander felt when they looked at her? Had they known the moment they saw her, all those years ago, that she was supposed to be theirs?
Five years. They'd waited five years to say anything.
Violet sank lower in the water and groaned.
The knock came when she was halfway through drying her hair.
She froze. The towel stilled in her hands. The apartment was warded against intruders—magical and otherwise—which meant whoever was at her door had been invited in at some point. Which narrowed the possibilities considerably.
She pulled on a robe. Walked to the door. Opened it.
Mira stood on the other side, still in her silk dress, looking slightly out of breath.
"That was fast," Violet said.
"I ran." Mira stepped inside, already talking. "Aneara wasn't at lunch. She was at the palace. In a meeting. With your kings."
Violet's blood went cold. "What?"
"I know. I know." Mira held up her hands. "I didn't tell her anything. But she said something. She said there's been talk."
"Talk?"
"At court. Whispers. About the 'special advisor.' About how Cassian and Evander have been acting differently lately. How they've stopped arguing in public. How they've been seen—" Mira paused. "Together. Without you."
Violet sank onto the chaise lounge. The constellations on the shawl shifted, rearranging themselves into patterns that meant nothing and everything.
"What did Aneara say?"
"She said it's nothing yet. Just speculation. Nobles love to gossip. But if anyone finds out—"
"They'll use it. Against them. Against the alliance." Violet buried her face in her hands. "I knew this would happen. I knew—"
"Stop." Mira sat beside her. "This isn't your fault. You didn't ask for any of this."
"I know what I asked for." Violet's voice was muffled. "I asked to be their advisor. I asked to spend time with them. I told myself it was professional, that I was just doing my job. But maybe I was—"
"Maybe you were falling in love with them. That's not a crime."
"It's too soon."
"Says who?"
"Says me. Says the entire court. Says the gossip wheels already spinning in every noble's head."
Mira was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Aneara wants to help."
"Help how?"
"She didn't say. Only that she'd been where you are." Mira looked at her. "Fae bonds are different. She's shared someone before. She might actually understand."
Violet lifted her head. "She told you that?"
"She didn't have to. I've been married to her for eighty years. I know when she's holding back." Mira's expression softened. "She'll come by later. Tonight, maybe. If you're willing to talk."
Violet didn't answer.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows. The jars on her shelves clinked softly. Somewhere in the building, someone was cooking something that smelled like garlic and rosemary.
Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.
"Okay," she said finally. "Tonight."
Mira nodded. "I'll let her know."
She left. The door clicked shut.
Violet sat alone in her apartment, surrounded by jars and books and the quiet hum of old magic. The shawl on the chaise lounge had stopped moving. The air smelled like jasmine and caramel and the faintest trace of Cassian's smoke.
She didn't know what tonight would bring. Didn't know what Aneara would say, or what answers she might find. But she knew one thing for certain.
She couldn't hide from this.
Not anymore.