Page 90 of Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
Nathaniel wrapped her in his arms and kissed her forehead. “Violet, he’s already yours.”
She tipped up her chin until her mouth was a breath away from his. “That’s awfully convenient,” she said with a smile he would remember for the rest of his life. “Because he’s stuck with me for good. I accept your offer, Mr.Marsh.”
And she sealed it with a kiss.
So this was what bone-deep contentment felt like, Nathaniel marveled. This was what it felt like to be so in love that all his little anxieties sank into the ground like summer rain. He wanted to bottle this feeling and sell it in the apothecary—no, he wanted to hoard every vial for himself so he could open them whenever he wanted to remember.
Or perhaps that wasn’t right either. Perhaps Nathaniel’s happiness lay in the knowledge that rooted deep in his heart: that it didn’t need to be preserved at all, and he could feel this way forever, whenever he wanted, because that was what it meant to be with the person he loved.
“Dragon’s Rest will be all the better for having you as a permanent fixture,” he declared. “You’ve helped this town bloom into life again, Violet.” His hand crept to her neck, his thumb tracing her jaw. “You’ve certainly helped me see that there’s more to life than just surviving it.”
She clasped his hand beneath her own, holding it to her as she looked up at him with shining eyes. “You’ve taught me that too,” she said. “I want to be more than I was.”
“And you will be.”
He could practically see that weight disappear from her. It wouldn’t be gone forever, he knew. She would feel the burden of her past as surely as he did his, but they would carry it together.
“I love you,” she sighed, and pressed up onto her toes to kiss him.
Nathaniel’s heart soared. “I love you too, Violet Thistlewaite.”
“Thorns and all?”
When he kissed her again, he never wanted to stop. “Thorns and all.”
Epilogue
Thorns and All
The Serpent Gardens of Dragon’s Rest grew famous for always being in season, no matter the time of year. Once word began to spread, people came to the mountains from far and wide to wander the grounds and hear of the sorcerer who once lived there and the dragon who’d stopped him from coming back.
Karina the Tempest wore a red cloak, hood up despite the summer heat. It was hard for her to be in public without being recognized, Violet supposed. Violet’s own part in the tale of Dragon’s Rest had sometimes made it uncomfortable for her among the tourists who flocked here in droves—and that was without anyone other than her friends knowing about her past as the Thornwitch. She couldn’t imagine being recognized everywhere she went.
As the hero approached, Violet took a deep breath. Nathaniel squeezed her hand.
“It’s going to be alright,” he assured her. She took comfort from his presence at her side and the way he could tell from the quaver of her breath that she was nervous. She remembered thedays when she was afraid to let anyone see her emotions and not a single soul in the world really knew her.
The way she lived now was much better.
“You look well,” said the hero when she got close enough. “Civilian life seems to agree with you.”
Violet cleared her throat. “It does. I own a flower shop in town.” She felt oddly formal, like if she was anything but polite, the Tempest would pull out her sword and strike her down for not living up to their last conversation in these gardens.
“And the Thornwitch?”
Violet knew what she was asking, but she still felt nervous answering. Thankfully, Nathaniel took over, rattling off a speech like he’d rehearsed it. He might well have; she wasn’t sure.
“The Thornwitch’s magic was never the problem; it was the way Violet learned to use it.”
The Tempest looked at her. “Is this true?”
“Yes.” Violet cleared her throat and repeated herself. “Yes. I’ve spent the past year learning more about magical theory than I ever thought possible. Thanks largely to this one.” She nudged Nathaniel with a grin, and the Tempest stared.
They both seemed to realize at once that there had been no introductions. He stuck out a hand and said, “Nathaniel Marsh. I’m Violet’s fiancé.”
He beamed as he said it, and Violet blushed, twisting the ring on her finger that they’d forged together—woven from delicate vines and miniscule flowers she’d conjured and transformed into gold with Nathaniel’s alchemy. Pru was beside herself with wedding plans and had already made Daisy a fancy wedding collar to wear on the big day. But Violet wasn’t in a hurry, and she knew Nathaniel wasn’t either. For the first time in her life, she had a real future, and she had no plans to rush it.
The Tempest looked between them, amusement plain on her features. “Congratulations.”
